We are sick, we are sick, we are sick, sick, sick.

If you are among the handful of people who've read this little serial of mine since its humble beginnings, you'll know this already, but here it is. When I get sick, this blog becomes devoted to sketchy recipes and obsessive documentation of classic (and not so classic) television. I've been holed up for the last 2 days and find it vaguely comforting that I still resort to the same old tricks to make myself feel well again. I'm also incredibly thankful to have a real couch now, because taking sickroom naps on my dilapidated old love seat was really angst-provoking. Adulthood ain't so bad.

Anyway, here's what I made tonight.

Quinoa Pudding

(Inspired in part by the Joy of Cooking's rice pudding recipe--Volume II, page 458--and in part by this)

3/4 cup quinoa
1 cup water
1/2 cup milk (skim or soy or almond, whatever. I used skim dairy milk because it was all I had.)
2-3 eggs
another 1/2 cup milk
1/4 cup agave nectar (or brown sugar, if you are feeling less self righteous than I am)
1-2 tbsp. honey
1 tbsp. grated orange rind
1 tbsp. vanilla (if we're gonna get honest here, I actually used brandy. Brandy's my oregano--it works in everything.)
1 tbsp. butter
1/2 cup mixed berries (I used frozen raspberries and mango, which turned the pudding a delightful pink)
1/4 cup chopped dried apricots

Bring water and 1/2 cup of milk to a boil. Add quinoa and simmer on medium heat for 15 minutes or so.

In the meantime, combine eggs, second half cup of milk, agave, honey, orange peel, and vanilla in a bowl. Whisk it up.

Once the quinoa is cooked stir in butter. Lower the heat to medium low. Slowly stir in the egg mixture and fruit. Cook, stirring constantly, for 10 minutes. It should thicken up at this point. WHen it's the consistency of warm pudding, remove from the stove, and pour into a shallow baking dish. Bake for half an hour at 325.

Let it cool for a bit, or eat it piping hot from the oven with a little cream and/or maple syrup drizzled on top. Thank your lucky stars your appetite is back.

Best enjoyed while trying to wrap one's head around Lost. I'm only on the first season guys, but I'm already feeling a little overwhelmed.

Let's get cookin'.

Getting older makes you philosophical. You start to realize that the things that used to really piss you off don't really amount to a hill of beans, or maybe you just move on to being pissed off about more important things, like the fact that you live in a country governed by a bunch of wangs who would rather you shut the fuck up about abortion rights than actually advocate for women's issues. All of which is to say, I used to get really upset about anything that had the word "Family" on it, especially cookbooks. I don't know why. Maybe it's the fact that I have lived alone for a long time, and I am PERSONALLY AFFRONTED by the notion that only families deserve good food. Just because I occasionally/frequently eat my dinner from a bowl propped on my lap while watching reruns of 30 Rock, doesn't mean I don't merit a delicious and healthy meal, jerks.

Anyway, I'm pretty much over that. As I slouch toward my thirtieth birthday in about a month, I'm trying to let the little things go and focus on the big things, and getting angry at the mothers and fathers on the covers of cookbooks is not a productive use of my energy. That's why I even went so far as to check out my library's copy of Rose Reisman's Family Favourites and choked my way past the lame photos of the author and her well-dressed grown children to enjoy some really wicked recipes. Even if the sight of a bunch of rich upper class people cooking in an insanely tricked out kitchen while also enjoying each other's company makes you want to throw up in your mouth a little, you cannot deny that the woman can craft a killer vegetarian main. I recommend this comprehensive and pretty book to anyone looking for some new variations on old standbys like soups, salads, and grain-laden side dishes. Reisman even inspired me to make about a million variations on one of my summer favourites, lentil salad. Here's the best version I've come up with.

Salad:

Throw all this stuff into a bowl.

1 can lentils
1 avocado, chopped
1/2 red pepper, chopped
a couple green onions, chopped
1/4 cup or so feta cheese
1/4 cup basil
1/4 cup parsley
1/4 cup black olives (or sundried tomatoes. it's your world.)

Dressing:

equal parts lemon juice and olive oil, and maybe some garlic (or whatever you have on hand, really. If we're going to get honest, I'll tell you that I actually dressed this with some very elderly Newman's Own oil and vinegar that had been sitting in my fridge for a really really long time.)

Eat it. Just eat it.

Guys, I really and truly don't read anymore. Or rather, I read about 5 sentences of everything (I'm looking at you, Anne Tyler, Chris Bohjalian, guy who wrote The Lightning Thief, et al) and then I watch another episode of the American Office. And I realize that no one really thinks of that show as the American version anymore since it's about six seasons longer than its inspiration, but my commitment to Tim and Dawn is pretty intense.

Anyway,the other reason I haven't been writing is that I've spent most of the last month in a state of complete and utter malaise, physically and spiritually (but mostly physically). I've been lying on the loveseat a lot, and doing a lot of serious thinking, mostly about the fact that I am nearly thirty years old and don't have an actual couch and everytime I fall asleep on mine I lose feeling in my legs. In the course of these heady existential days, the one book I did actually read in toto was What We Eat When We Eat Alone by Deborah Madison, and it just about made me cry with joy. In case you don't know of her, Deborah Madison is the woman who stole my life. She lives in New Mexico and studied Zen living in San Francisco and she patronizes farmers' markets and writes the best vegetarian cookbooks you will ever read and lives with an artist. She's also a little smug, which I quite enjoy. In this book, she interviews everyone she knows about the weird and disgusting but ultimately probably delicious things they eat when they're on their own, and also delves into the different ways we find ourselves on our own at the end of the day: a man without his wife, a single gal whose roommate is out, a student with a cabinet full of Kraft dinner. And then she makes actual recipes out of the stories her friends tell. They are delightful and full of random things like tinned oysters and polenta and ramen noodles and fresh veggies and loads of cheese. This really is such a sweet, cute little book (and it's illustrated in a New Yorkerish style by her live-in lovah whose name I cannot remember) and if you have any inclination toward foodieism you really must read it.

I, for one, love nothing better than cooking for one. I do it almost every weeknight, and I really really look forward to it. There's something really freeing about making dinner for your own self and not giving a fuck about anyone else's good taste spoiling the experience. I highly recommend you try it sometime.

And in that spirit, here's a recipe for y'all. I am a bit of a gazpacho nut, and yesterday the return of my appetite after a week of nausea coupled with hot house tomatoes from the Kingston Farmers' Market inspired this new twist on my old standby.

Mayday Gazpacho

a few cups worth of tomatoes, chopped
1 cucumber, chopped
1 avocado, chopped
juice of one lemon
1/2 cup of parsley, chopped (or more) (gazpacho is usually made with basil but I didn't have any, and found this to be a delicious and detoxifying substitute)
1 can Herdez green chile sauce (a secret ingredient that will BLOW YOUR MIND)
1-2 cloves garlic, chopped (amount depends on whether you will be spending time with other people or not)
hot sauce, to taste
salt and pepper, to taste

Throw 'er all in a bowl and puree the hell out of it. Eat, then send me a thank you note.