I grew up with gazpacho that was served without pureeing, big mouthfuls of fresh garden vegetables in a red wine vinegar broth studded with droplets of olive oil. It was only a few years ago that I learned that the traditional way to serve gazpacho is well-blended, with small chunks of vegetables but nothing identifiable (I was appalled when I found that out, by the way). I still don’t like regular tomato gazpacho any way but the way I’ve always had it. I fear change.
Jeez. We’ve been eating pretty healthy here on the blog over the past few weeks, huh?
It’s great. I love healthy food and I love how it makes me feel. But sometimes you need dessert.
There is something so immeasurably important about sitting down and just having a freaking cookie sometimes. Everything, even the best of our health kicks, calls for moderation. You need a treat sometimes. I need a treat sometimes. And everyone you know does, too.
I had a long debate in my head about whether I was going to share this “recipe,” such as it is. It went a little something like this:
Julie’s Brain: Dude, seriously? There’s like a hundred variations of this already on the interwebs. You’re really going to clog up the pipes with yet another one?
Another Part of Julie’s Brain: But it’s yummy!
Julie’s Brain: Yeah, and everyone already KNOWS that, genius.
Another Part: It is not physically possible that everyone on the internet knows about this, therefore it’s worth it!
Julie’s Brain: Fine. Post it. Don’t bother to, you know, make a real recipe or anything.
Another Part: I don’t care for your tone.
Julie’s Brain: I don’t care for your slacker soft serve.
Another Part: Zip it. I’m eating.
The team with a mouthful of ice cream always wins.
Yesterday on my way to work, an SUV with the license plate “LIV SLO” blew by me on the right going about 85 mph. In a 50 mph zone.
Memo to Alanis Morrissette: that is ironic. Rain on your wedding day and traffic jams when you’re already late? Those things just suck (and yes, the lack of actual irony in that song has bothered me since I was a teenager).
And another memo to Mister LIV SLO: we’re all busy – always. We have work, and families, and social lives when we can, and daily annoyances that have to be squeezed in around those things. So as nice as it is to direct everyone to LIV SLO via your license plate, if you can’t even do it yourself, you may want to head to the DMV and swap that puppy out for a new plate. I would suggest “LIV FAST.” Or maybe “DIE HARD.”
“A-rooooo-gula. It’s a VEG-E-TA-BLE.”
I can’t so much as think about arugula without hearing Steve Martin explaining to a supermarket full of people he sees as bumpkins what “a-ROOOOO-gula” is. In “My Blue Heaven,” Martin plays a mobster in witness protection in a much smaller town than he’s used to. In the famous supermarket scene, he wreaks havoc on his new grocers – an innocent salesperson with a sample gets a “f*** you,” he steals the pricing gun to re-price expensive meat at $0.39/pound, and when he almost gets caught, instead of counting his blessings, takes the opportunity to point out that the grocer is missing arugula.
Truthfully, I probably would’ve gone my entire life without seeing this movie if it hadn’t been for a customer at the restaurant where I used to wait tables. He and his wife would come in every Friday night, and he would always, without fail, order the arugula salad. And every time, he’d order it like this: “I’ll have the a-ROOOO-gula salad. Have you ever seen that Steve Martin movie? Where he says “a-ROOOO-gula?” I would always laugh and admit that I hadn’t, and he would say, “I’m going to order it like that every week until you see that movie.” Each week he’d ask again, “Have you seen it yet?” and of course, my answer was always no – hey, I was working two jobs! I wasn’t making time for some old Steve Martin movie!
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