All posts filed under: health food

sweet potato + blood orange salad | a raisin + a porpoise

all the rest have 31

A very long time ago, my sister and I went on a spa vacation. This took place in pre-internet days, to give you a sense of the amount of time that has passed between then and now. Such a thing as a Yelp review had not yet been invented to assist the clueless traveler. Imperfect as that tool may be, a person can increase the accuracy of their expectations at least a little by skimming over the aggregate natterings of many people who have visited a place. We had a paper brochure to go on (remember those?), which very possibly came from a human travel agent (remember those?). The place sounded nice enough, and it suited our budget, and so off we went for a little girly getaway. There was much truth to the marketing: one feature of the palm-tree sprinkled property was in fact a health spa, with scrubs and wraps and rubs and various cosmetic applications and fitness options available all the live long day, and which we quickly surmised catered mainly to …

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chocolate chia pudding

another seedy affair

Here’s a funny thing.  I was just about to write a post about seedy pudding and stress.  I’ve just received an urgent fax from down in the research department, letting me know that I have already done that, with this post right here.  There are no new ideas under my sun.  Everything I said there about stress and the temple of the body: still think that.  But at least this is a new pudding. There was an article a couple of weeks ago in a venerable newspaper about the health benefits of chia seeds.  This is the same venerable newspaper that is so concerned with veracity that it published the following correction: Correction: October 19, 2012 An earlier version of this article described incorrectly a beverage that Ahmed Abu Khattala was drinking at a hotel in Benghazi, Libya. It was a strawberry frappe, not mango juice, which is what he had ordered. It now reads: “But just days after President Obama reasserted his vow to bring those responsible to justice, Mr. Abu Khattala spent two leisurely hours …

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oh, grate

Who da man? Who. Da. MAN? Am I going to let a muffin beat me? No, I am not. The muffin does not drive this bus. I started thinking about this star-crossed muffin because I was thinking about wooden spoons. I have a motley and beloved collection of them, and I could tell you where I got each one and how each received its distinguishing blemish: the crack in the one that was a party favor at my friend’s Maine wedding, from when I used it in my giant Squeezo food mill and got it caught in the works; the chip in the one from the craft fair where I couldn’t find my daughter for five harrowing minutes, from when I whapped that one too hard on the side of the polenta pot. And so on. For years my mother had one with one third of the spoon-end missing and it looked like that because in the winter we would make hot bran mash for the horses, and my sister let the pony lick the …

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