peskypippi.comBecause I have a lot to say…

Yep. I did the Dr. Oz 3-Day Detox Cleanse. You can too. Check it out here:

Basically, you fuel your body with four complete meals a day in the form of smoothies/juices, which contain mostly vegetables and fruits and some fats and some protein. Dr. Oz suggests that by doing this cleanse, you will eliminate harmful toxins, restore your system, and reset your body. Was he right?

I eliminated. I reset. I restored.

This detox cleanse reminded me that I can do ANYTHING for three days. Here are the pros and cons from my experience:

1. I consumed A LOT of vegetables and fruits. Probably 4x of what I normally consume daily. This was a good reminder to eat more vegetables and fruits daily.
2. More fiber in, more fiber out. It’s really that simple.
3. I was hydrated. I peed so much that my pee was clear. (Maybe it was all the green tea and celery acting as a diuretic to flush everything out?)
4. I learned new ways of making smoothies…such as combining avocado and frozen berries and coconut milk make a pretty damn good faux ice cream.
5. I was OK for breakfast, lunch, and snack, but by dinner time, I was ready for dinner dinner. Not another smoothie.
6. I missed chewing my food and I missed hot food.
7. My sugar cravings were gone. Instead, I was craving a salad or a piece of fish. (I guess that’s the resetting part.)
8. I lost 5 lbs.
9. I didn’t feel like I was getting enough protein. Aerobic exercise and cleansing don’t mix that well, at least for me. I tried running one day, elliptical one day, and weights one day. I think that was too much exertion with so little protein. I felt sorta shaky.
10. I realized I really do hate raw kale. I had to swap the kale for spinach.
11. Pooping once a day is nice. But pooping twice a day, is twice as nice. And when you consume spinach and berries and flax by the truckload, your poop is quite, uh, colorful.

Yeah, yeah. We’re trying to eat healthier as a family. Blah, blah.

I’ve been buying whole wheat hamburger buns for years. The kids don’t like them. They end up eating the burger but leaving the bun. Another bun bites the dust.

Then, I tried the not-so-wheaty buns. Alas, they were also neglected. My attempts at healthier eating weren’t going so well.

Next, we tried the super thin (tortilla-thin), multi-grain buns. Gag. The kids hated them. Damn. I bought a ginormous bag of them at Costco.

So tonight, we went back to the old school, fluffy, white buns with sesame seeds. I don’t think they have an ounce of wheat in them. And tonight, the hamburgers–and their accompanying buns–were eaten. Every last seed.

Nice buns.

After a fun day of snow tubing, I took my kids to dinner at one of the restaurants in the tiny mountain town. Local flavor. Tucked into a corner, in the lodge restaurant, it was cozy. Our waiter sported a long, bushy, dangly moustache. The kind that made you do a double take.

Burgers, fries, salad. Normal fare. But we were starving, so it hit the spot.

Until. We. Discovered. A. Hair. In. My. Daughter’s. Burger.

Gasp!

Where was our hairy waiter? Nowhere. I searched out the cashier and told her, “Excuse me, there was a hair in my daughter’s hamburger.”

She looked at me and questioned, “Oh really? How long was it?” She directed the question to my daughter. As if. We were lying.

WTH? How long? Twelve inches. Nine inches. Four inches. One inch. Half an inch. Does it matter? When it comes to hair in food, size doesn’t matter. A hair is a hair is a hair.

My daughter held out her hands about four inches apart, “It was like this,” she described.

Net net. We weren’t charged for her burger. And oh by the way, how about a hair net for that ‘stache?

This made me think of a little hair on a little can of Coke in the not-so-little Anita Hill vs. Clarence Thomas sexual harassment case. Says Anita Hill: “Who has put pubic hair on my Coke?”

Do you want fries hairs with that burger?

Dear Crock Pot,

People may make fun of you. You have a history steeped in Americana cooking. Stew. Sauces made with cream of mushroom soup.

You are on sale this time of year to keep mashed potatoes and gravy warm for Thanksgiving.

But today at my house, my friend, you are simmering chicken in Indian korma sauce.

Congratulations…you have gone global!
XO,
Pippi

You know Bubba, from Forrest Gump, and his fascination with all-things shrimp?

Shrimp-kabobs, shrimp Creole, shrimp gumbo, pan fried, deep fried, stir-fried. Pineapple shrimp, lemon shrimp, coconut shrimp, pepper shrimp, shrimp soup, shrimp stew, shrimp salad, shrimp and potatoes, shrimp burger, shrimp sandwich.

Etc.

Well that was me on vacation, but with potatoes.

I’m not sure what came over me.

Oh, maybe because potatoes are delicious? Especially when topped with butter and sour cream or when deep fried?

Yeah that.

It was hashbrown potatoes at breakfast, French fries at lunch, a baked potato at dinner. Tater Tots stolen off my child’s plate.

That’s about it.

And when you eat like that, you kinda turn into a potato. I highly recommend avoiding the scales for awhile afterward. #scary

Oh, Pringles.

You were the first chips housed in a can.

I was a little girl on a road trip.

You traveled well. You didn’t crumble. Your canister packed nicely, no air-filled bag.

You fit perfectly on my tongue.

Your shape, so wavy, so inviting, so stackable.

Your thinness, dissolvable, like a communion wafer.

Sometimes, I would lick the salt off on either side, then crunch the dehydrated potato into bits.

Sometimes, I would stack you three at a time and chomp. Or four or five or six at a time, if I felt daring. Spilling crumbs onto my lap.

Your canister, so tall and narrow, and sharp-edged around the top.

I would cut my hand every time, reaching in, deeper, deeper, grabbing the chips rattling at the bottom.

But you always made it worth the pain.

Then tipping the near-empty chip canister into my mouth, letting the broken chips and salt fall from the bottom.

Another can dusted.

And there you were Mr. Pringles, with your smiling mouthless, moustached face, urging me to “Hydrate quickly with cherry Kool-Aid.”

I know, I know. Kale is the “queen of greens” because it is one one of the most nutritious vegetables in the world–packed with antioxidants and anti-inflammatory qualities–vitamin K, vitamin A, and vitamin C.

Yet, I hate it. Here is what I have to say about kale.

You do not like green kale and ham?

I do not like them, Sam-I-am.

Could you, would you, with a goat?

I would not, could not, with a goat!

Would you, could you, on a boat?

I could not, would not, on a boat.
I will not, will not, with a goat.
I will not eat them in the rain.
I will not eat them on a train.
Not in the dark! Not in a tree!
Not in a car! You let me be!
I do not like them in a box.
I do not like them with a fox.
I will not eat them in a house.
I do not like them with a mouse.
I do not like them here or there.
I do not like them ANYWHERE!

I do not like green kale and ham!

I do not like them, Sam-I-am.

Oh, Cheetos

With your orange wonder-glitter

Your zesty cheese leaves a savory film on my tongue and fingers

Six fingers are tinted neon orange

Forcing me to lick them clean

So that I can grab the Coke can

And take a swig

Creating the perfect snack duo

I am a kid again

Never look a gift horse card in the mouth.

Someone gave my husband a $100 gift card to fancy schmancy restaurant. Not a chain restaurant. And definitely a no-kids-menu restaurant.

It was a teensy tiny place with white table cloths and candles. With a menu written in calligraphy.

Date night! We had big plans of ordering tons of drinks. Tons of apps. Tons of food. Tons of dessert.

I even wore something with a little elastic around the waist to account for expansion.

But whaddya know. After scanning the menu–gulp–prices were so high, our visions of drinks and apps sorta dissipated. Even with the $100 gift card.

“We’re fine with water,” I told the waiter.

I ordered the mushroom ravioli with cream sauce. And my husband ordered the chicken with pesto and pine nuts.

No apps. No extra drinks. Face it. We’re kinda cheap when it comes to restaurants. I mean, we’ll spring on beers and a pile of nachos as big as your Grandfather’s Chevy any day.

What can I say? I like big food. (I also like Sir Mix-a-Lot’s I Like Big Butts song…)

The salads arrived. Nothing special. Just your typical grass-and-weed mix. Crunch. Crunch.

Then the main course. And it looked like this.

I’m not kidding you. I thought I ordered RAVIOLIS. As in a huge pile of them. I felt like the giant in Jack and The Beanstalk eating a pea. What is UP with the ginormous plate and the itty-bitty food that cost as much as my winter parka

Do you take your knife and fork and slice up the one freaking ravioli?

And you won’t catch me offering, “Here honey, try some of mine.”

My husband’s meal was just as comical. He’s a big guy. Like NFL-quarterback big. You can’t fool him with the sauce drizzled in a spirograph pattern, creating an optical illusion.

We finished our dinner snack in about 8 minutes. Taking little bites and drinking lots of water.

The check came. That was that. We shelled out $20 of our OWN money for a tip. And left with our tummies grumbling.

Then we hightailed it Burger King for dinner #2.

giant plants. small portions. kaching.

By now you’ve heard that January Jones of Mad Men fame has been eating her placenta (she gave birth to her baby and the infamous placenta last fall).

I couldn’t resist Googling placenta recipes. I was curious if you add it to stir-fry, bake it, freeze it, or add it to chocolate-chip cookies.

You might be surprised at how many recipes there are. Let’s see, I found roast placenta, placenta cocktail, placenta lasagna, placenta spaghetti Bolognese.

It seems like the most popular way is to dehydrate your placenta (think beef jerky). Turns out that the placenta is packed with vitamins and some believe that the placenta can be used to help in the early stages of postpartum depression.

Placenta. It’s what’s for dinner.