COOKED: Sauteed Zucchini With Poached Egg Or No Worries, That Crunching Sound You Hear, It's Only Coming From That There Pile Of Books

Sometimes I think so much about myself that I forget that other people like to eat. Or, more specifically, other things like to eat. As in my homework. As in me... alive. My homework likes to eat me alive, chewing the fatty pieces extra hard, just for the fun of it. I knew there was a reason why this semester has been so hard. It's because the damned homework fights back, it rebels just as much as I do. And it's no case of "opposites attract". And, well, so far the only thing feverish about this spring is the damn cold that's been circulating since the fall... so even that's nothing new. Here's something new. And spicy. And So Damn Fine You May Blow... Up. Or A Haystack, If That's How You Swing. Want to know what I ingested yesterday? Start with super hot oil in a skillet, toss in either the a) pinch, b) thumbful, c) fistful of hot pepper flakes that ye old tongue desires. I chose option "c" and while my pain receptors regretted it MY TASTE-BUDS REJOICED IN THE MERRY LAND THAT IS HEAT. They were decked out in bikinis (at first, I've been sworn to secrecy about the later whereabouts of my... taste-buds'... clothing... Oh, intrigue!) But, I digress. So, let the hot oil work its magic on said peppers flakes, and have ready to toss in whatever vegetables you want. I only wanted zucchini (and scallions...and ginger). Let them do their thang, getting some color on one side, shaking them to the other, do it again, do it again! Meanwhile, you've got a lovely egg poaching away on a companion burner. I must admit, I've never been a fan of poached eggs until recently. I'm not quite sure what changed, but thank god it did, because a poached egg, no matter how funny its boiling water may get, is just good. Wholesome. She bang, she bang, I go crazy! wholesome, the good for the family type. Hey, so you've got this whole dish put together, yeah? Don't forget a squeeze of lime juice. I mean, if you don't do it... your sad, sad tears that will begin a'dripping will not suffice as a condiment. I speak from experience.

Chow, Lucia

REVIEWED: Little Taj Mahal Or Chewing To The Beat Of Some Rad Head Bobbing

Really. I wish I had a picture or something. Maybe I'll get an artistic, beautiful shot of the receipt, because um... no one in their right mind would want to see where the food is right now (I could... try... if you, uh, wanted me to...). Hey, you know what? I must be a recluse, or something. I'm in a library, writing this entry right now, and I feel so vulnerable. Like a turtle flipped on its back, my soft underbelly and all its toughts for the whole world to see. Wha! My posts don't even make sense! Poor reader. Maybe I'll write more about Little Taj Mahal now. So anyway for the low, low price of 5.99, one can get an all you can eat styled buffet. Typical dishes include curried chickpeas, chicken marsala, palak paneer (spinich with cheese), naan, and...well, I don't know their name, but deep-fried potatoes. Someone died a heavenly death in the Dinkydome when...she... bit into one of those poofy, child-of-god potato slices. You know, that girl, in the corner, with the goofy smile on her face? Yeah, she died from over-indulgence of the soulful power that is the potato. I think this post is basically a plug for the chaps at Little Taj Mahal. They need all the lovin' they can get. In fact, go love them double time if you're a Minneapolinite, because they'll be opening a restaurant soon (NO I WON'T GIVE YOU DIRECTIONS, DON'T PRESSURE ME). They'll give you poofy potato slices. That's really the only thing my cheese-like brain can throw at you today. Here's a picture of the real thing, to inspire you:Chow, Lucia

COOKED: Carrot Soup Or The Gift That Keeps On Giving

(Perhaps that title would be better suited for my "Beans Beans, the Magical Fruit" post) What is it with taking pictures of soup? Why does the suckage always seem to happen? I could have this fantastic, warm and filling soup and the photos would do it no justice. Either the top collects the soup's oil (which is a very, very scrumptious predicament indeed), the color doesn't translate to the digital symphony that is created by my superior point and shoot taking skills (Dear Photoshop: I Am Your Slave), or the fact that it's this body of liquid messes with my ability to "capture its texture". WOE IS ME. TO A POINT. Because I just made soup, you know? It's one of the best things to drown my sorrows in. But don't take that literally. Not yet, at least. Just you wait! No, don't! Turn around! Made you look! Touch your finger to your nose! I don't have one! Where's the ballerina? Quick, to the islands! I'm afraid this will be a recurring theme. My insanity uncovers its slimey self once the semester begins to come to an end. And you're stuck reading about it! In order to aid me in my quest for non-insanity, I ask you to answer the following question:

Chow, Lucia

PS IF THIS POST DIDN'T MAKE SENSE, YOU WON THE QUESTION.

COOKED: Gluten-Free Bread Or Sweet, Sweet Clenchy Fists Is All Angry

How many times have I bought a special, gluten free product hoping it'll taste good? I don't know, but I obviously don't get sick of it because I keep doing it. I think, in total, maybe four slices of this bread were digested. The rest was thrown away. Bad, bad Lucia. From what I can tell, it's the garbanzo bean flour, which, no matter how intensely it's baked, just doesn't seem to lose its raw, bitter bite. And bread, I address thee; thou shalt not carry thy acrid...twang... without expecting little girl tears, sad wasted energy and money. Le sigh. I didn't really cry. But the sentiment was there. Broken hearts, they heal, right? They must, because I found myself weeping salty tears of happiness over some other form of carb-y goodness later. Oh, food. T'is'alight.

PS The title had nothing to do with this post.

Chow, Lucia