Eric Estrada and deveganization ...

The biggest question I have from the past week: Am I wearing my elbow pads on my knees? I finally hit Munger Trail for the first time this summer, all decked out in robo-roller gear. My God. It takes 15 extra minutes to get ready. And forget about hopping songs on the ipod while wearing wrist guards.

Chuck has started hitting the farmer's market after work and before I wake up. When he asks what I want, I like to say "surprise me." Last week he brought home lamb's quarter, and my challenge was to find something to do with it. (I made lamb's quarter strata). This is basically a very nutritious weed, and if I ever write fan fiction about the farmer's market, it will include a hyper-stoned farm boy pointing to a lawn across the street and saying:

"I'll give you everything you can fit in this burlap bag for $6."
"What is it?"
"It's lawn."
"What do I do with it?"
"Hmm ... just use it like you would spinach."

He got us some mint on Saturday and I'm a little stumped. I may use it in a sauce to cool down fried chickpeas. But I'd like to use it in a dessert. Ideas? I don't want to use it for mojitos. But only because mojito drunk is like pixie sticks drunk.

As for the rest of the past week:

FOODIFIED



Rhubarb and Strawberry Crumble: I was trying to figure out why this was so damn delicious -- aside from the obvious, duh, rhubarb and strawberries -- then I remembered exactly how much butter I put into the crumble and cringed. Zoiks. Oh well. It was truly awesome.




Spinach Strata: I had all sorts of fun with this one, substituting lamb's quarter for spinach, and tapioca gluten free bread for firm white bread. This quiche-y mix is stone-cold comfort food. Comfortably bland, but lovely. My mom used to make something similar for every Christmas Day breakfast, which is why I was confused that I never encountered any ham. I made mine a day ahead of time so I could just stuff it in the oven. This one made me have "If you like Eric Estrada ..." stuck in my head.



Chick Pea Taco Salad: This is an old standby from when I first started making foods. It's a vegan taco salad mix of avocado and chickpeas, with garlic, lime juice and salsa. Of course, I completely deveganize it by adding cheese and serve it on tortilla chips with some sort of green. I used a mix of herbs that included cilantro. Wee! Summer food.

Tonight for dinner we had spicy garlic salmon, with a side of leek & potato soup and a fruit compote mix that included strawberries, rhubarb, blackberries and blueberries. Over ice cream. And we ate on the deck. Awesome.

READING
Unlubricated: A Novel by Arthur Nersesian: It’s 2001 and Hannah is a paycheck-to-paycheck actress, disrobing and gyrating, pressing the flesh at parties, in a relationship with her college theater professor Christy, and looking for a break. She’s at a party she shouldn’t be at when she overhears a former classmate, Bree, talking on his cell phone: He has unearthed a copy of a lost play written by the infamous and recently deceased Lilly Bull, a woman who’s life included a prostitution phase and that time she killed a downtown street musician. Her play “Lubricated,” is mentioned briefly in her memoir, which is all the rage after she dies.

Hannah propositions her old friend: She’d like to produce this play, and besides, Bree, an out-of-control addict owes her a favor.

There is a lot going in Arthur Nersesian’s novel Unlubricated.

Full review here.

FLICKS
Tell No One This was a suggestion from the Rockstar Amy Abts. It was fantastic. French suspense about a man whose wife is murdered. Eight years later, he seems to be receiving messages from her. Layers of intrigue unfold. And I cried.
Alien Dammit. I thought TiVo grabbed the sequel. This one is lighter in goo and tank tops and marines. But it did put me in a good place to watch "Aliens" later this week.

SERIOUSLY BUNK TV
Warehouse 13: Reader Quackers asked if we'd been watching this instant SyFy classic, so we immediately watched two episodes. Oh my lawd. It is like Willy Wonka meets Doc Brown of Back to the Future. Holy Hokey Hell. Secret Service agents dispatched to a super-secret base in South Dakota. They solve crimes involving paranormal keys. (ie: a former musician's music makes the people who hear it paralyzed with love! Perfect soundtrack to a bank robbery.) Oh world. We can do better than this. I'll keep watching so you don't have to.