I just had the realisation that there are about 47 posts on the tip of my brain, waiting to be spilled into the blogosphere… and that means that by the time I get to the 47th, it won’t be so newsie anymore… but let’s see what we can do.
First of all, for those of you who guessed what this is:
It’s chicken, not turkey. And this pic is actually a variant on what I ate, which was the Jamie Oliver “Parmesan Chicken Breast with Crispy Posh Ham“. “Crispy Posh Ham” is, to a man who names his son “Buddy Bear”, what the rest of us call prosciutto. What’s that kid going to do if he grows up to be a biker, by the by? PS: I’ve been watching Sons of Anarchy, hence the reference. Don’t judge me.
The point is, I ate it. And I ate it because I was invited to stay at my friend house in Mount Maunganui, NZ, while her parents were visiting from Canada (for their first time ever), two days before she moved to Auckland. At a time like that, you hardly stick your neck out and say “um, birds are gross, eh?” So I ate it. And, HEY! I LIKED IT! But you still won’t see me cooking it anytime soon. I also still opted out of the Christmas turkey, probably because I feel like I had already grown enough as an eater in the month of December. 😉
Second of all, I haven’t finished my “detox” post, because it’s becoming a post about goals and New Year’s Resolutions. A relentless self-improver, am I… that’s for tomorrow. And I know I said that yesterday.
And third, I’ve been saying (partly in jest) for years that if I died without a waffle iron, my life would have been for naught. While we can’t have that, I also didn’t want some cheap, disposable waffle iron, like those frail plastic ones that you just *know* will shed their waffle-plates if you looked at ‘em sternly. The good ones have some heft, and there’s a move in my near future, so adding bulk to my fulsome kitchen was a deterrent… PLUS: it seemed like such an important decision that I approached it the same way I always approach major decisions that I don’t want to have remorse about: I avoided it.
I guess after about 7 years of this nonsense, the people around me are tired of hearing my sporadic comments about how a PhD, a people-affecting career, a not-overly-read blog, and whatever else I’ve done lately are all meaningless in the shadow of never having owned a waffle iron, because look what Santa and Mrs Claus left under the tree for me on Christmas morning:
Na na na na NA! LOOK! A WAFFLE IRON! And it stands UP! And looks like it has a FACE! (do you see it?!?) I love it. I love it a lot. I love it even more when it churns out gorgeousness like this:
This is my normal breakfast of pumpkin protein pancakes (though I amped the fibre content significantly)… only I waffle-ised it. And now, I have but two things to say: 1) I can die a good, meaningful death, and 2) there will be waffles.
Pumpkin Protein Pancakes. Or Waffles. Whatever.
1/2 cup egg whites
1/3 cup oats
1/2-1 Tbsp psyllium husks (WARNING: start with 1/2 tsp and build up slowly…)
1/2 Tbsp chia seeds
2 Tbsp flax meal
1/2 tsp each of cinnamon, allspice, ground ginger and nutmeg (or to taste, in which case I’d suggest less nutmeg and allspice…)
1/4 cup pumpkin purée
Method to the Madness:
Put all the ingredients (except the pumpkin) in a small bowl, and stir well.
Then stir in the pumpkin.
Either: spoon out four evenly-sized pancakes and cook on a griddle at medium heat for about 4-5 minutes per side…
OR: spoon out about 1/3 of the batter into three rectangular waffles, spreading the batter evenly. Close the lid and cook for about 6 minutes… and enjoy!
I love this topped with nut butter when it’s a pancake, but I decadently used organic amber Maple Syrup this morning, so I could feel like a real Canadian and because, even though I rotted my stomach lining with sugar this Christmas, I was jonesing for it bad this morning! I think I’m officially in sugar-weening…
But that’s OK, because if sugar takes me to the grave… IT WAS ALL WORTH IT.
A) Have you ever pined for a kitchen appliance? 🙂 B) Are you making New Year’s resolutions? C) what do YOU do when each photo your sexy new camera takes is 3 MB, and you’re running out of disk space?
Happy New Year’s Eve, or New Year’s to the Anitpodeans!