All posts filed under: lunchbox

hack tomato soup LIKE A BOSS with A Raisin & A Porpoise

if this were a real emergency

I have lots of plans to tell you about delightful little treats you can make in the kitchen and be pleased about.  Yes I do. The list is long.  The items are tasty.  The spirit is willing.  But the flesh! Oy, the flesh.  The flesh must go here and there, fetch this, mail that, find its desk under a mountain of backlogged CRAPIOLA that seems to pile up faster than the snow, which is in and of itself a tingly, sparkly, festive reminder that you need snow tires and 2/3 of everyone outgrew their snow boots or their snow pants or lost the right gloves of three of the four pair you bought as the last flakes flew last winter, and left the fourth pair, soaking wet, in the car overnight. So, for the moment, in place of creatively flavored and ironically wrapped and winsomely tied holiday treats, here is some juicy behind the scenes news.  I am a big hater of packaged food (that’s not the news), but that doesn’t mean I don’t use …

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cookie or good for you? caramelized puffed millet go-bars from A Raisin & A Porpoise

nut job

I set out to make the weekly snacking bar, my usual Sunday activity, but my mind wandered as I both eyeballed the proportions and switched up the ingredients.  They looked really mushy even after they were baked, so I taught them a lesson or two by baking them some more, until they really quit squealing–almost burned them, in fact, like the chef in the restaurant when you say your meat is a little underdone.  I was reasonably sure I had an epic fail on my hands. My daughter ate three, pretty comfortably. What is this? asked her friend, when I handed her two of them. I’m not sure, I said. What were those? asked the friend’s mom a few minutes later. They’re gone? I asked.  I think they are sort of like those lunchbox bars I make, I said.  I am going to make more, and I’ll give you some. This is not a bar, said my friend Julie.  This is a cookie. What’s in it? Oats, millet, nuts, coconut sugar…I said. Sweet!  See?  Ha! …

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prepared food

There is a voracious, fanged creature that haunts my dreams.  It is insatiable and cannot be delayed or deterred in the relentless pursuit of its hapless victim: me.   Here is a little artist’s rendering of the perpetrator:   by Mark. A. Hicks The lunchbox is particularly fearsome because it does not work alone.  Its cronies include dueling soccer games and violin lessons, meal-time dance classes and after-hours meetings.  Anyone who stares down a week of three meals a day for as many people as live under their roof (let me do a rough calculation: ok, looks like every person lucky enough to have food to eat) faces a few moments in that week when What is Needed is not exactly What’s On Hand.   I like to shore up my defenses on Sunday.  I don’t always make good on this intention, but when I do, the week seems to unfurl with a little less twitching and gasping at calorie time.   A monstrous pot of beans or black bean soup, a batch of fruit …

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