Monday, February 20


homemade sourdough french toast.
it's pretty much exactly as awesome as you'd imagine.
i even cut two pieces of bread, and let them stale up overnight,
so i could be certain of the big action in the morning.
plan your work,
and work your plan, man.
with the accompanying breakfast bits and bobs,
totally hooked up, in full F*ing effect.
that's right.
i was prepared to bring some sunday brunchy-style
gentleman barbarian culture to my kitchen,
and i did just that.
my normal everyday breakfast is Tea 'N' Toast.
i love it.
some sunny unseasonably warm sundays scream out for a special something,
and when the situation calls for it,
i am compelled to take heed, and the take charge of the stovetop.
check the BIG-breakfast-type teleport:
you see that red raspberry sauce?
and just three ingredients-
1/4 cup real grade b heavy maple syrup;
1/4 cup mostly crushed freeze-dried raspberries;
1/2 tsp vanilla.
low heat, small saucepot, a few minutes, BOOM.
you win.
white mountain white sourdough bread, 
straight from the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress test kitchen laboratory and bakery.
cut thick, and cut in half, and soaked in the batter that matters!
i had 1 1/2 cups soymilk;
1 tsp vanilla;
2 T crushed chia-flaxmeal blend;
1 T nutritional yeast;
2 T agave;
cinnamon, nutmeg, and a dash of salt.
that sat until it was thickened and sticky,
and the bread was turned and tossed in it until most of it was absorbed.
i fry mine up in butter until both sides are plenty brown and crisp, 
but the soft centers are still obvious and excellent.
with that raspberry wizardry,
and MORE maple syrup,
AND powdered sugary snow?!?!?
that's a preposterously decadent fourgy of frenchies.
worth every post-meal minute of disgust at my own gluttony.
real talk.
that scrambo was pretty much the hottness, too.
with molto torn baby spinach and a bit of basil, 
plus cilantro sprankles?
how could that even be any better?
ah, yes, you're right:
...with a bunch of fried tomatoes.
good idea.
lucky for me, i already i knew that.
scrambo is pretty straightforward.
exxxtra-firm tofu, barely pressed, and crumbled,
with olive oil, a generous blast GPOP,
a punch of nootch, a pinch of salt, black pepper,
and turmeric for color and magical antioxidant free-radical whatevers. 
and i enjoy a touch of smoked paprika.
just to sexxx it up a lil' bit more.

.....what else?
well, OBVI,
those skin-on oven-roasted homeboyfries are what else!
one larger-side o medium potato,
cut into small cubes, tossed with salt, peppr, and oil;
then roasted at 380F until golden and crispy
one quarter of a smaller red onion, and a tablespoon or two of butterish,
sauteed together, with those hot 'tatoes added in,
and activated with smoked paprika, hot paprika, louisia ho'sauce,
GPOP (always and forever),
and in this instance, just because i had it on hand- 
the crumbled bits that remained form the tempeh discs i cut the night before.
hash-style tempeh, with a little fresh parsley for good measure.
don't skimp on the colors, kids.
they're good for you.
scallion sprankles on top?
hell yeah.
how could you even think to skip 'em?
rules is rules, holmes.
y'can't get weak up in the home stretch.
that's a sure-fire way to get a future disinvitation for life.
a big ol' fat kid breakfast is NOT what i needed.
it is exactly what i wanted.
this was one of those times where i'm left alone with my desires,
and i indulged them to the fullest.
the last thing that my body requires is a megawatt turbo-volt ohm-my-goodness
kiloton tune-up of tasty treats.
for real.
i have a genuine problem, here, guys.
i can't see the line between reasonable and gluttonous.
one slice of french toast looks so sad,
and two looks like a hog wild pigout.
but, then again-
one and a half seems like somebody was being a noncommittal quitter.
this is where it gets rough, y'know?
too much is the right amount,
i said it, it's documented, i meant it-
that comes at a cost, however.
it ALL costs something, after all.
in this case, it's a blarping out of my midsection.
i'm a fairly slender fella, friends...
when this two-month maniac mealtime binge finally hit me,
it hit me hard enough to be noticeable.
that's the thing about getting older-
very specific areas and parts decide to function at half-or-lesser efficiency.
take, for example, my hairline-
thanks for nothin', faulty follicles. 
like i needed a little help looking like a real A*-hole every day.
(shoutouts to hats for the assist)
my waist is kind of a jerk, too.
for all the hiking crabtree and i do every day, 
rain or shine, wind or sleet or snow,
and all of the permissive, pervasive, persuasive, prohibitive weather in between,
it's just not enough exercise relative to my appetite.
i'm NOT a fatty. 
not by a long shot.
but that doesn't mean i've not got a pygmy paunch developing.
i don't get bigger everywhere,
just at that losery 40something spare tire spot.
and when you're skinny,
it shows up starkly, 
stretching the stomachs of your tailored shirts an' that.
nobody wants a sourdough hula hoop below their top two abs, bruh.
trust me.
which brings to mind another item on the 
things-that-you-don't-care-about-as-you-scroll-down-to-the-picture list. 
in answer to the most common question i get asked,
i.e. 'how are you not three hundred pounds?',
i totally AM, 
just on the INside.
it's when i hit around 305 metaphysical el-bees 
that it starts to burst through to my visible waking self as well.
guess what i had for supper last night?
steamed cauliflower and borccoli, over jasmine rice, with red onion.
also, delicious.
there has to be some sort of adjustment.
i'm serious.
there's a ratio that needs to be maintained between ugly and dope.
no foolin'.
and really,
i don't know if i can muster up more dopeness these days.
not because i'm already superlative.
take it easy, dude.
i'm just running on fumes, and until such time as i recharge my creative batteries,
i'm gonna have to focus on not getting much worse looking.
you've got to pick your battles, as they say.
we'll be walking a bit longer than yesterday, along trails a bit more challenging.
if i can visibly see the physical results of eating for three by myslef, 
that means it's been happening for a minute, and the tab has come due.
old and busted tastes amazing, but it sure looks awful.
you know that's not an acceptable excuse.
there's no such thing;
never quiet, never soft.....

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