Chicken Taco Soup

After being gone for about ten days, and knowing that I only had a few precious days at home before my next stint of traveling, I had an overwhelming urge, from the minute I walked in my front door (at 11 PM, mind you) to BAKE ALL THE THINGS. COOK ALL THE THINGS. I just wanted to revel in the glory that was my kitchen, food readily available and of my choosing. Not a hotel catering service. Not a dining hall. Not Easy Mac, stirred with a car key and eaten with a dorm swipe card. 

Before I left, I had embarked on a breakfast adventure--treating my boyfriend to delicious, boozy cinnamon rolls, baked from scratch and topped with a gooey, cream cheese and bourbon frosting. I'd even had the foresight to freeze half the batch and leave him baking instructions, so he could make them on his own without me (obviously, this was a ploy to keep him from getting upset about me taking off for nearly two weeks). This confectionary masterpiece became dubbed as "special breakfast," and it precluded my desire to COOK ALL THE THINGS. You don't get the recipe for that... But it's an important part of this story. That's why I'm telling you. That, and I'm a little bit of a tease.

In another attempt to keep my boyfriend from hating me, my job, my commitments to camps around the country and my inability to say no to a teaching offer, I left presents. Presents and notes. For each day I was gone. Yes, its nauseatingly adorable and you're throwing up in your mouth a little. It's ok.  I would be making gagging faces at myself right now, if I weren't so head over heels in love with this boy. There is some adage that says something about having to have survived the worst to be able to appreciate the best. I've written off my past as an experience I needed to have. A painful, challenging, horrendous learning experience. And now? Now I know that I have something good--someone who cares about me, appreciates my ambition, supports my decisions and balances me. Proof:

Special breakfast was reciprocated. After being gone for what felt like forever, my first morning back home consisted of french toast (from REAL french bread), mimosas and absolutely no work on my part. Watching my boyfriend feverishly stir cinnamon into cold milk, visibly frustrated that it wouldn't dissolve, scrolling through his recipe on his iPad... I melted a little. He was willing to step in to my realm, try his hand at something that I love doing, just to make me feel special. And while I have known for some time that this boy was special, there was definite confirmation that morning.  I felt lucky. Content. Happy. And it was ok that, other than a quick trip to the store, we spent the entire day doing nothing. It's not my MO, but it felt good. I could revel in a day of laziness, because I wasn't going to have to pick up the slack later by myself. 

I have gotten used to taking care of myself. I have needed to know that I can fix things, do things, manage things on my own. But in the past few months, I've slowly gotten comfortable NOT having to do them on my own. My boyfriend may not be an expert on fixing sprinklers, but we figured it out together. He may not be super jazzed to mount my TV or fix a loose hinge, but he'll do it. He may not love to cook, but he'll get up and make me breakfast because he knows I'm exhausted and worn out from traveling. He'll do things not because he wants to, not because he gets anything out of it, not because he has some ulterior motive... He just wants to make me happy. And that makes me the luckiest girl in the whole world (insert gagging noises here). 

And in return, I want to do everything, be everything, bake, cook and clean everything, embody everything that perfect should be. I know what it feels like to be unappreciated, and I want to make sure that I never make another person feel that way. I can't help but have some guilt about my summer spent jumping around from one camp in one city to the next. Being gone for a total of almost an entire month doesn't seem like a thing you do for someone you really care about. So naturally, when I am home, I want to DO ALL THE THINGS that I can to demonstrate my appreciation. 

I've always considered my kitchen abilities to be something of a gift. I just have a knack for throwing things together that work. Which is surprising, because I don't understand any of the science behind it and I often screw up the math. But it still works (further proof that math and science are unnecessary). And as someone with an overwhelming need to help others (hence for years as an RA), putting my gift to work and feeding people is a natural outlet for me. So when we started talking about dinner ideas, after Special Breakfast #2, I knew that this recipe would be a winner. First, it has beer in it. I mean, who doesn't want beer with their dinner? Second, it all goes in a slow cooker... So I could spend the whole day finishing our two bottles of champagne and orange juice, while dinner cooked itself.

Chicken Taco Soup

• 1 red onion, diced
• 1 (16 oz) can chili beans, drained
• 1 (16 oz) can black beans, drained
• 1 (16 oz) can corn, drained
• 1 (8 oz) can tomato sauce
• 1 (12 oz) bottle of beer
• 1 (10 oz) can diced tomatoes with green chiles
• 1 packet taco seasoning
• 3 whole boneless, skinless chicken breasts
• 1 jalapeño, diced
• 1 red bell pepper, diced
• 1 green bell pepper, diced
• 1 t cayenne
• 1 t garlic salt
• 1 T minced garlic
• 1/2 cup chicken stock
• 1/4 cup cilantro

1. Place all ingredients in a slow cooker, except for the chicken. Stir well.

2. Submerge the chicken breasts in the other ingredients (make sure they are covered).

3. Set slow cooker for low heat and cook for 5 hours.

4. Remove chicken breasts about four hours in. Shred. Return to soup for one more hour.

5. Serve with sliced avocado, crushed tortilla chips and queso fresco.

Cilantro & Lime Sauce

Standing on the stage at James Madison University last weekend, I was staring out into an auditorium full of shiny high school faces... And I didn't know a single one of them. It was a weird feeling for me--to be at yearbook camp, without my kids, getting ready to kick off a weekend of Yerding without the crowd I'm used to doing this with. And for some reason, I was overcome with such crazy self-doubt that I wasn't sure I was going to be able to get through my opening presentation. Maybe my skills don't translate across the country?

Of course, I was being silly. Insecure. I just lost my footing for a minute--a temporary stumble, but I caught myself. I lead things off with a loud (as loud as I could be after losing my voice for the 5th or 6th time in two weeks), "If you can hear my voice clap once..." call out, and we were off. We drew pigs. We made funny faces. We did things in a minute to win it. We ate candy for breakfast. We made it rain. And we yearbooked. A lot. And learned. A lot.

There was one evening, the last night of camp, I think, when I was lounging in the computer lab with one of my fellow instructors and a sales rep from Baltimore. We were chit chatting, talking about all the weirdo kids you find at yearbook camp and in your classroom, and one girl (one of the aforementioned odd balls) came up to ask me some questions about the writing class I had taught earlier in the day. I went over her notes with her and when I was done, she just smiled and said, "Thanks Ms. Young. I learned really good from you. You've got good styles and I think my writing is going to be more better."

The irony of her compliments were not lost on me, but it still melted my heart a little bit. I'm used to being in a classroom with kids for months before I can get them to worship the ground I walk on and hang on every word. But this girl felt like I had made a difference for her in just a few short days. And despite the self doubt that I had felt at the start of camp, I felt invincible. If I can get kids to nerd out on font and page design and King Pica and Adobe Kuler during their summer vacation, then I'm on the right track. It doesn't matter WHERE the kids are--Orange County, San Diego, or the East Coast--I know how to get through to them, even without cupcakes.

And sometimes, I get that same feeling when I tackle a meal in my kitchen. I don't always know what I'm doing when I start out, but somehow, it all comes together in the end. And I might still be unsure of myself, even as I dish it out... But all it takes is one compliment, one "yum," a second helping and a smile for me to know that I did it right. I do know what I am doing in the kitchen, despite not having any sort of actual training (other than watching my dad when I was growing up).

I watch cooking shows (probably more than I'd like to admit), and I think that it is something I would like to try. But then I watch the contestants fillet a fish, or do some sort of fancy mousse or crazy recipe from their memory and I just don't think I can hack it. But when I'm presented with my own mystery box and a flavor that I want to create, I  manage to nail it. Maybe I do have what it takes.

This sauce is something I threw together, while watching Master Chef, and making tacos. After being gone for 10 days, I was itching to cook so I wanted to make everything. As I was setting out the bowls of chopped onions, peppers, shredded chicken, cheese and cilantro, I realized that there wasn't any sauce or salsa. Needless to say, problem solved...

Cilantro & Lime Sauce

• 1 cup fresh cilantro
• 1/4 cup greek yogurt
• 2 T miso paste
• 2 T olive oil
• 1/4 cup lime juice
• 1/4 large avocado
• 1 t garlic salt
• 1 t pepper
• 1 t cayenne

1. Toss in blender/food processor/magic bullet. Blend until smooth.

2. Top your favorite festive dish... Fish, chicken, tacos, chips, etc.

Lemon Dill Potato Salad

Growing up in Smalltown, USA, there are things that inevitably made their way into my life, for better or worse. I've been told before that tiny towns every where are exactly the same. There are certain staples that you would find in Podunk, Oregon that would also surface in Backwoods, Louisiana. From one small town to another, you'll find friendly faces, neighborhood block parties, a crunchy vernacular and staple foods.

It seems that in any small town gathering, at any neighborhood cookout and at 4th of July and Memorial Day, Labor Day and summer BBQs around the country, you'll find tables laden with flavors of Americana. Apple Pie. Burgers. Hot dogs. Macaroni and cheese. Corn on the cob. Berry cobblers. I can get behind most of these things (ok, except the ones made with meat). But there is one cook out staple that I will never understand: potato salad--the mayonnaisey, creamy, buttery kind. How do people eat that? I mean, if that was the flavor and texture you wanted, why not just squirt some mayo on a celery stick, ants on a log style, and go to town? That's basically what you're getting.

Even in my days (ok, decades) as a fat kid, I never loved the flavor of mayo, whether it was smeared on a sandwich or dolloped all over perfectly good potatoes or macaroni. As I've learned to cook, and been able to tailor my dishes to flavors that I like, I've been able to experiment and create--much to the joy of my tastebuds (and the scale).

So, while this recipe may contradict all the things we know about what potato salad is, that doesn't make it any less delicious. I've learned, especially in the last few months, that the commonly accepted prescription for "perfect" isn't always right. Sometimes you have to take what works and run with it--whether it follows your timeline, schedule or BBQ checklist, or not. When it works, it works, right? Don't question it. Just love it.

Lemon Dill Potato Salad

Adapted from Food Magazine

2 pounds rainbow potatoes (regular ones work too, but the colored ones are so much more fun)
1 cup celery, diced
1 cup red onion, diced
1 lemon's zest
2 tablespoons capers
2 cups kale, deribbed and sliced into ribbons
2 tablespoons garlic, minced
1/4 cup olive oil
3 tablespoons lemon juice
2 teaspoons dill (fresh preferred)
1 teaspoon smoked sea salt
1 teaspoon smoked paprika
1/2 teaspoon black pepper

1. Heat water to a boil.
2. Wash and cut potatoes to uniform size, about 1/4 inch thick.
3. Boil potatoes until they are tender. Drain and transfer to a bowl.
4. Stir the celery, onion, capers and kale into the potatoes.
5. Whisk together the remaining ingredients.
6. Drizzle the lemon and olive oil mixture over the potato mixture. Toss to evenly coat.
7. Refrigerate until ready to serve.

Chocolate Chip Pudding Cookies

There are some natural combinations in life that just work. Peanut butter and jelly. Mac and cheese. Sunshine and flip flops. Romey & Michelle. They are duos that have roots so deep that trying to separate them just doesn't make sense—they go together (cue the closing dance scene and music from Grease). These combos have become ingrained in the way we pack our lunches, they ways we survived the poverty of college, the way we dress ourselves and the way we define our friendships.

Even if mac and cheese or a perfect beach day aren’t in your repertoire, chances are you have pairings of your own that have come to define the way you do things.  Something feels wrong, out of balance, if your duo isn’t complete. Your mojo is totally out of whack if you don’t have the perfect shimmy to go with your shake.

When you are introduced the perfect pairing, it’s like an epiphany. How did harmony ever exist before this combination was defined? It’s one of those things that you didn’t know you needed—but now that you have it? There is no chance you could live happily without it.

Not every match in my life is material. As I’ve mulled over this idea of sweet harmonies, I’ve realized that the concept extends far beyond my culinary, pop culture and fashion realms.  My personal life is full of things that I didn’t know that I needed, but now that I’ve experienced them, I’m not sure I can survive without them. My friends run the gamut of personality types, from over protective and motherly, to something of a loose cannon here and there. And each one of them offers me something, some aspect of themselves, which I can’t live without.

Since the Fall I’ve seriously struggled with understanding who I am and what I want. I made a lot of choices in my personal life that I wasn’t proud of, but I was not thinking long-term or practically. I was thinking, ‘What will make me feel better, right now?” I guess I was an embodiment of the instant gratification generation. I didn’t want to wait to heal. I wanted my life to implode, to sweep up the pieces into a tidy pile, forget it ever happened and instantly go back to being Jess. I didn’t need to grieve, or process or recoup… Or so I thought.

Turns out, running full speed ahead, without a break, without a breath to process, without time for yourself means you basically slam into a brick wall that you never saw coming. And that hurts. Probably more than what set you off running in the first place. I hit that wall after the New Year and I realized that if I didn’t chill the fuck out I was going to miss out on the chance to let something good happen for me.

What I had to realize was that I needed to LET it happen. I had to get out of my own way and for, probably the first time in my adult life, stop planning everything and just let my life happen to me. I needed to experience my own life, instead of driving it. And once I accepted that I can’t plan for every what-if scenario and guard myself against every emotion I may experience, good things started happening.

And now? I’ve discovered all kinds of things that I didn't know I needed in my life, but now they have the perfect place. You could say I have all the things I knew I wanted (and deserved), plus all kinds of bonus stuff. And the bonus stuff? It’s the best part.

When things finally go right, after they've felt wrong and forced for so long, it’s better than an epiphany. It’s like taking a huge breath, when you didn't realize you’d been holding yours in for who knows how long. You don’t always know that it’s right, until you stop trying to figure out what it is and just let it be. And then, if you’re lucky, the pieces fall into place… And you find yourself happier than you knew you could be, with your life going in a direction you never fathomed you’d have the courage to face again.

Relationships aren’t supposed to be hard. Connecting with another person is supposed to be sort of a basic instinct, right? We want companionship. So why do we make it so complicated? Why do we concoct a complicated formula for what should really be a simple, perfect pair? And when we finally find that match, why question it? Let it be. When you find that one thing that you didn’t know you were missing, but suddenly you have and can’t imagine life without? Don’t fuck it up.

I’ve had this recipe for chocolate chip cookies for ages. I’ve understood the concept of a cookie since I started baking in middle school. But I never found the perfect balance of ingredients until I started playing with this recipe. And once I stumbled across the addition of pudding to the mix, I realized I had a winning combination. And I don’t mess with that. You never knew you needed pudding in your cookies, but once you have it, you’ll never turn back. The chocolate chips are just the bonus stuff.

Pudding Plus Chocolate Chip Cookies

Adapted from Allrecipes.com

Ingredients

• 4.5 cups flour
• 2 teaspoons baking soda
• 2 cups butter, softened
• 1.5 cups brown sugar
• .5 cups sugar
• 2 (3.4 oz) packages instant pudding mix (whatever flavor you fancy... I usually use vanilla or butterscotch)
• 4 eggs
• 2 teaspoons vanilla extract
• 4 cups chocolate chips

1. Preheat the oven to 350 degrees.
2. Sift the flour and baking soda together. Set aside.
3. In a large bowl, cream the butter until light and fluffy. Add the sugars.
4. Beat in the eggs, one at a time.
5. Add the pudding. Blend in the flour mixture.
6. Stir in the chocolate chips.
7. Drop cookies by rounded spoonfuls onto an ungreased cookie sheet.
8. Bake for 9—12 minutes. 

Friendship Bread

A shiny, pink, plastic orb used to answer all my questions about the future. With a couple shakes and some patience while the bubbles and glitter settled, guidance would take form as a triangular beacon of wisdom. When my biggest life challenges were as simple as, “Should I eat a red popsicle or a blue one?” and “Should I watch ‘Saved by the Bell’ or ‘Full House’ first?” it didn’t seem  absurd to put all my faith in a Pink Glam Magic Eight Ball. But 20-something years later? Asking a children’s toy for life advice is, arguably, ridiculous. Despite this, I find myself longing for the solace that could be found in a vigorous shake, a cloud of glittery water and a vague answer bobbing to the surface.

As I’ve gotten older, I’ve learned that perhaps pinning all your hopes on the completely random responses of the Glam Ball is not all that realistic. Instead, I transitioned into much more mature methods for charting my destiny—flower petals (he loves me, he loves me not), wishies (your wish only comes true if you blow off all the fuzzy white things) and digital clock readings (11:11—make a wish!). Of course, moving from the sticks to an urban area has made it much harder to find the appropriate greenery needed, and my preaching to kids to stop watching the clock during class makes it hard for me to not look like a hypocrite for doing the same.

Fortunately, my life has brought new, increasingly accurate and significantly more intelligent guidance into my life. The friends I have made, especially in the last decade, deserve so much of the credit for the person I have become.  Friends that loved me enough to tell me when I was being a huge bitch, while helping me pick up the pieces when my life fell apart, have made me realize the value of solid confidants.

My friends that date back to my senior year of high school are distant, but my changing relationship with them taught me so much about what it takes to become a functioning adult. Despite the fact that we aren’t talk-every-day kind of friends, I know that if I had a moment of need, they would be there. When we do reconnect in person, you’d never know that we hadn’t had a face-to-face conversation in years. They are good at reminding me where I come from—a small town in the middle of nowhere, where people talk a little more slowly and life moves at a different pace. Values are different. Priorities take on new meaning. Traditions are strong, allegiances run deep and grudges are like gridlock.

Since moving to San Diego, I’ve managed to create such a strong network of friends that I honestly can’t imagine my life without them. Some friends have come and gone, but from each person I have learned. My friends have shown me what unconditional love is. They have shown me what tough love is. They have given me a good “momming” a time or two (I still stand by my skirt argument, ladies!). I know I’ve written plenty about how much I appreciate them and all they have done for me, but I don’t think it can be said enough. They swooped in and helped me hold it together and picked up the pieces when I fell apart. They let me make mistakes, but make sure that I learned from them. And when something finally went right, they helped me be brave. They encouraged me, they supported me and they reassured me that I could put faith in something new and I would be ok. And when they were right, it wasn’t, “I told you so,” but rather, “I’m happy for you.”

And while some of my friends may argue that I have other motives, I do my best to show my appreciation to those that love me. Usually this is done through baked goods (which, conveniently, guilt some friends into logging miles with me). And what is more perfect than Friendship Bread to show the people I love how much they mean to me?

Amish Friendship Bread

Adapted From Allrecipes.com

• 1 cup Friendship Bread Starter (see previous post)
• ½ cup vegetable oil
• ½ cup applesauce
• 1 cup sugar
• 1 teaspoon vanilla
• 3 eggs
• ½ cup milk
• 2 cups flour
• 1 ½ teaspoons baking powder
• ½ teaspoon baking soda
• ½ teaspoon salt
• 2 teaspoons cardamom
• 2 tablespoons of sugar (for dusting)
• 1 (5 ounce) package pudding mix (choose your flavor based on what kind of bread you want)
• 1 cup chopped walnuts (optional)
• 1 cup shredded carrots, zucchini, chopped apples, mashed bananas or other addition of your choice (totally optional, but can add flavor and texture to the bread)

              1. Preheat oven to 325 degrees F (165 degrees C). Lightly grease two 9x5 inch loaf pans.

      2. In a large bowl, stir together Amish Friendship Starter, oil, applesauce, sugar, vanilla, eggs and milk.

      3. Sift the flour, baking powder, baking soda, salt and cinnamon.
4. Stir into the starter mixture.
5. Mix in the vanilla pudding mix.
6. Fold in the chopped nuts and/or other additives.
7. Pour the batter evenly into the prepared pans.
9. Sprinkle the tops of each loaf with sugar
10. Bake for 60 minutes in the preheated oven, until a knife inserted comes out clean.
11. Cool for 10 minutes in pans before removing to a wire rack to cool completely.

Amish Friendship Bread (Starter)

RIP: every serious relationship I’ve had. Long live the lessons I have learned, the experiences I have gathered and the self respect I have gained. I won’t forget to remember the times that were good, the obstacles we overcame and the ways my life has changed. There are times when I see things that remind me of a life I used to live, and my heart gets heavy. I can feel my cheeks prickle with pink and tears burn in my eyes.  Sometimes, I think about the way I thought my life was supposed to be—the things I was supposed to be doing by now, the milestones I wanted to have achieved, they family I wanted to be a part of—and I can’t help but wonder if I’ve made a mistake. Sometimes, I come across an old picture, or a scribbled sentiment on a sticky note or I see a familiar face out in public and it hurts. It hurts in a way that I can’t explain. It hurts in a way that makes me want to scream and cry and run and punch someone and curl up in the fetal position and eat ice cream and puke all at the same time.  

When I think of the good things, I want them back. I miss knowing someone is going to be there when I come home. I miss knowing that someone was unconditionally proud of me, no matter what. I miss knowing that there was someone who appreciated my flaws and loved my quirks. I miss holding hands and hold you me. I miss falling asleep on the couch, snuggled in a perfect way. I miss talking about next week, next month, next year, next generation.  I miss the idea of forever.

But the second I let myself revel in those old memories, the bad comes flooding back. The unkept promises. The lies. The messes. The hurt. The tears. The emptiness. The fake. The pretending. The disappointment. All of the things I swore I’d never settle for, after watching my parents’ loveless marriage. It’s easy to say, “It wasn’t meant to be,” but where does that leave me now? And after all of the turmoil and carnage my heart, my feelings, my courage and my ego have survived, can I risk that all again?

I don’t know the answer. And that makes me uncomfortable. It makes me scared. It makes me feel… vulnerable. It makes me feel not at all like the strong, capable, determined and fearless woman the past six months have helped me become.  I feel like I’m teetering on the verge of something new, toeing the line of taking a big risk, but every time I abandon my apprehensions and take a big step forward, every ounce of logic in me pulls me back so quickly I feel like I’m suffering from emotional whiplash.

But if I’ve learned anything over the past several months, it’s that with challenges comes change. And sometimes, that challenge is not knowing. It’s not having a plan, not having an idea of what the outcome is going to be. Sometimes you have to let go, have faith, a little blind ambition and just believe that everything will come out ok.

There are times when I encounter recipes that are the same way. I read the ingredients, I think about the flavors and then I wonder… people eat that? But, more often than not, when I put my faith (and skills!) behind a recipe, everything comes out ok. Sometimes it takes some tweaking, some patience, but in the end, it all comes out delicious.

Amish Friendship Bread Starter

Ingredients

1 packet (.25 ounce) dry active yeast

¼ cup warm water

3 cups flour, divided

3 cups sugar, divided

3 cups milk

Directions

1. 1.      In a small bowl, dissolve yeast in water. Let stand 10 minutes. In a 2 quart container glass, plastic or ceramic container, combine 1 cup flour and 1 cup sugar. Mix thoroughly or flour will lump when milk is added. Slowly stir in 1 cup milk and dissolved yeast mixture. Cover loosely and let stand until bubbly. Consider this day 1 of the 10 day cycle. Leave loosely covered at room temperature.
2. 2.      On days 2 thru 4; stir starter with a spoon. Day 5; stir in 1 cup flour, 1 cup sugar and 1 cup milk. Days 6 thru 9; stir only.
3. 3.      Day 10; stir in 1 cup flour, 1 cup sugar and 1 cup milk. Remove 1 cup to make your first bread, give 2 cups to friends along with this recipe, and your favorite Amish Bread recipe. Store the remaining 1 cup starter in a container in the refrigerator, or begin the 10 day process over again (beginning with step 2).

4.      Friendship bread recipe to follow!

Vegetable Lasagna with Cashew Cheese

After two weeks of Spring Break, a lot of traveling, a week of newspaper deadline and more than a little emotional and physical stress, I'm finally starting to feel normal again. I've slowly made my way back in to my routine, to a certain extent, and my body is remembering what it is like to have to eat and pee on a bell schedule.

And while the break from work was much needed, as was the lapse from reality, my body is still reeling from the effects of too much alcohol, not enough sleep and not nearly enough exercise. As someone who has battled weight issues since I was a kid, I think I will always feel fat. I will always see myself as a fat kid. It's become clear to me that where other people see curves, I see rolls. Where other people see muscles, I see unsightly bulges. I've gotten better at dealing and coping with my body dysmorphia, when I break my routine and am lax in my exercise and food choices, I start to beat up on myself more than the average individual.

Beyond dealing with the mental image I have of myself, I also find myself fighting an emotional struggle that revolves around my appearance. I've been the Amazing Shrinking Jess for almost six years now. People who have met me in the last two of three years have no idea that I used to look much differently. Even when I started working at my current job, I was heavier than I am now, but no where near where I was back in college. My weight loss isn't something that I readily share with other people. It wasn't until this year that I openly talked about it with some of my coworkers. My friends, on the other hand, have been along for the crazy ride. And now that I've started dating again? Yeah, that's a can of worms I haven't opened with many of the people I've gone out with.

Reason tells me that it is silly to think that people will judge me because of person I used to be. That it is ridiculous to assume that someone will like or care about me less because I have had challenges with my body image. I mean, what girl, today, hasn't ever felt fat, right? But there is something about dropping that, "Oh, hey, justsoyouknowaboutfiveorsixyearsagoiusedtoweighahundredandtwentypoundsmorethanidonow," bomb and not expecting some sort of reaction. I've experienced both--people who are congratulatory, want to know how I did it, and people who give me a look of disgust and want to know what was wrong with me.  I've simply gotten to a point where I avoid the subject. I don't talk about it and I don't bring it up... Because I don't want to deal with the reaction, the judgement or the conversation. I know how far I've come and when I feel safe, sometimes I share. But usually? I feel like I have a big, fat secret.

And so every now and then, when my routine gets disrupted, when life happens, or when cookies happen, I find myself retreating to something of an ugly place. I catch glimpses in the mirror, and rather than being proud of what I see, my eyes zero in on the imperfections that I perceive. I often find myself in a rut when, despite pushing my limits and trying to make smart choices, I can't seem to get to where I want to be. And while I've gotten better at coping with the ruts, the ups and the downs, there are times when I feel smothered by my own self doubt.

There isn't anything that really fixes those feelings, other than dragging my butt back to the gym, running harder or longer, and focusing on making better choices. I think I have effectively sweat, digested and processed all of the alcohol out of my system. I don't feel like I smell like a PB bar when I'm working out. I don't feel like I've been fueling my body with total trash. Part of what helped clean things up was a partial detox that I implemented for myself. And I decided that perhaps my meals should consisted of green things, other than the mint in my mojito. I may have shocked my body, but I'm back on the veggie bandwagon!

Vegetable Lasagna With Cashew Cheese (Vegan)

Adapted from Clean Living

Noodles
2 medium sized summer squash OR zucchini, cut into wide strips that are roughly ¼ inch thick
sea salt, a few sprinkles
freshly ground black pepper

Vegetables
2 portobello mushrooms, gills scooped out with a spoon, sliced into ½ inch thick strips
2 cups crimini (or white) mushrooms, sliced
1 medium zucchini, cut into ¼ inch thick rounds
1 leek, the bottom white part only, sliced into ¼ inch rounds

1 yellow bell pepper, sliced

2 garlic cloves, peeled and minced
1 bunch of swiss chard, de-stemmed and roughly chopped

Sauce
1 cup cashews
juice of 1 lemon
1 heaping tablespoon miso paste
1 teaspoon garlic granules
1-2 teaspoons sea salt

For the lasagna:

1. Preheat oven to 350.
2. To make the noodles, slice the squash since these are being steamed, and need to be slightly thicker than if you were to use a vegetable peeler. A mandolin will make the slices too thin and they will pretty much just fall apart.
3. Place the long summer squash slices into a bowl and toss with a fair amount of sea salt and black pepper, enough to coat.
4. Transfer to a saute pan with a ¼ cup of water.
5. Cover the pan and gently steam until just tender (when you can lightly pierce with a fork). Remove from heat and allow to cool to room temperature, uncovered.
6. In another saute pan, melt a tablespoon of coconut oil over medium high heat.
7. Add the leeks and cook for 2-3 minutes before adding the sliced mushrooms and zucchini.
8. Cook for an additional 3-4 minutes then add the garlic and chard.
9. Use tongs to gently swirl in the pan so the chard wilts without browning.
10. Season with sea salt (to taste) and set aside.

For the sauce:

1. Place the cashews in a high speed blender with the other sauce ingredients (lemon juice, miso, garlic powder, and sea salt).
2. Slowly drizzle in up to ½ cup of water as needed to create a smooth, creamy, cheese-like sauce. It’s best to keep it on the thicker side so it stays put between the layers when baking.

To Assemble:

1. Use a medium (a square 8×8 works well) sized pan (anything you’d normally make lasagna in).
2. Now create your layers.

• Spread a small amount of sauce on the bottom of the pan.
• Lay out a layer of long steamed squash pieces, side by side.
• Spread some cashew cheese sauce over those pieces as consistent as you can and thick as you like.
• Sprinkle the vegetable mixture over the cheese layer.
• Add another layer of cashew cheese.
• Repeat until all the ingredients are used up. There’s really no wrong way, some people layer the long squash “noodles” first, it’s up to you really; any way you do it will turn out delicious!
• To finish: bake in the oven for 30 minutes, check for cashew cheese browning on the top, and all layers softening and melting together. Let it cool a tiny bit, until you can slice it with a sharp knife (serrated steak knives often work best for this) into squares and then lift onto plates with a spatula. It may fall apart... But guess what? It will still taste the same!