tossed in.

i ate pizza for lunch.
yup.
the coolest dude at work,
dusty jones,
brought me a tomato pie,
and i devoured all six slices of it in seven minutes flat.
here's the thing about that, though-
i also munched up a bunch of candy,
because i make bad choices when i'm stuck in bad places,
and i chose to indulge in sweet junky crap as further punishment
as i crept through wal*mart picking up studio supplies,
and an immersion blender,
and a few squeezable dressing containers.
ha.
so i doubled down on foodstuffs,
despite the lack of a plan for dinner.
actually,
i just figured i'd skip dinner, since i snacked on sh!t all day long.
...that is, until i though a bit harder about it.
y'know?
i mean,
rules is rules, after all,
and too much is the right amount.....
awwwww, man.
when i thought harder about it,
i knew i HAD to make something.
so i grilled the heck out of some salty, sour-creamy, whole-wheat-and-spelt flatbread.
yep.
teleport:

SIKE.
it wasn't just bread.
c'mon.
i'm not a weak diapery waterbaby, friends.
i brought out the ingredients,
and tossed a bunch together to see what'd stick.
the greenery is pretty choice, too:
shredded carrots, and shredded baby kale;
raw red onion rings, and red cabbage for color;
purple tomatoes;
baby cucumber slices;
and scallion, celery, and radish,
for that full-bodied zesty crawnch magic.
yup.
it turns out, i like a bed of that freshie-freshness.
also,
it goes great with that GPOP-propped fried tofu!
dry-fried, actually, to a black-edged firmness eveybody should try,
with soy sauce and oil and that double-powder dust-up to finish it off.
stacked on the salady stuffs,
and double-drizzled with spicy sriracha and cilantro-coconut dressing?
expert!
and then,
just to take it to eleven,
i lit it up with cilantro sprankles.
that's right.
a little zizzly-zazzle to make it exxtra nice.
that flatbread was the business, too, kids.
it went a little somethin' like this-
-
two tablespoons of whole wheat;
two more of spelt;
a tsp. of salt;
.75 cup of a.p. flour;
a scoople of sour cream (2 T?);
a tsp of baking powpow;
.5tsp baking soda;
and just under half a cup of warm water,
hand kneaded, hand pressed,
and hot griddled to a brown and lovely, slightly puffy finish.
wooooooooooo!
-
i ate that whole big ol' plateful of hottness,
knowing full well i am a sloppy and disgusting glutton.
y'know something else?
it was TERRIFIC,
and i regret not even one bite.
hahahahaha.
there's a kind of sorcery that i summon up whenever i'm making food.
like,
no matter what sort of sh!tball suckturd day it's been
right up until the point where the kitchen unfolds it's mysteries
out into the light of a tight and bright refrigerator light, directly in front of me....
as soon as i'm at the grabbing pots and pans,
everything aligns,
and the path before me is clear.
i take great comfort in the ritual of making meals,
and i take almost a great a pleasure in talking about it afterwards.
we need to eat in order to live,
and that's an inescapable truth,
but if we make our lives a series of acts of active participation,
expert intention and execution,
and intense expressions of passion and pleasure-
well,
i'm not saying that a chili-cheeseburger wouldn't do the trick-
but only if you're passionate about being a total A*-hole.
i'm about the super-fancy compassionate conscientious capabilities
of a higher level illuminated and elevated plane of creativity.
easy isn't invited,
ugly might be, as long as it's also dope,
and all of it has to be part of a true story,
or the only retelling it'll get is to be told to F* right OFF.
.
making things,
and making them well,
and then making them even better,
is all i ever want to be doing.
it's all really happening,
and that's the whole point;
never quiet, never soft.....