Hashtag Eat Gluten

I once took the opportunity to make some extra scrilla as a banquet server at the hotel I work at so that I could see if I would want to do it on the regular. I never want to again. Fuck that shit.  Here is the deets. It is customary at these banquets to preset the dessert on the table with the salad and servers bring out the hot food.  My partner and I were assigned five tables and had started to work well together bringing out six plates at a time for rounds of eight. So what is the problem? People suck and even worse, their last minute  special request suck. As I served a woman her chicken, she said the words I hate the most, "I would like to have chicken with no gravy, I'm gluten sensitive. " Looking at the fully devoured cake in front of her I wanted to scream at the top of my lungs " Fucking lying asshole! Do you even know what gluten is?" Joining the bandwagon of non-celiac disease  having, Oprah loving, Web MD obsessed, self diagnosing hypochondriacs seems to be the best option  so I'm diagnosing myself as gluten free sensitive. Thats right, my health is affected by both people and things that are declared gluten free.

What the fuck is gluten? Gluten is a protien  found in the kernel of wheat berry. Comprised of two parts, glutenen(in my burly man voice) and gliadin(in my Mary Poppins voice). Think of glutenen as the strong part and gliadin as the flexible part. Together they create structure for your baked good. So why the fuck do I care? Because self proclamations are not a good reason for you to muddle my professional pride with sand disguised as food. Even if you use that fancy new cup4cup shit, the taste is reminiscent of slightly sour bread-like product and there is hardly enough structure to use without a mold.

How do I know gluten isn't your problem?
Because you dont have celiac disease first. I have met a person with actual celiac disease and they knew very well wether foods had gluten or not. They were also not so fucking demanding. They let you know well in advance so that proper accommodations can be easily made.
Also, the same team who claimed to prove gluten sensitivity released a second study saying gluten wasn't the problem at all but rather FODMAPs that occur in a wider range of foods other than wheat (ifl science article).

For the most part, people will look for any trend or crash diet that they think might benefit their health except for not  fucking huge balanced meals and excercise. I can only implore you to lay off the pig troft of shitty gluten free but otherwise unhealthy meals and please for fucking sake...... Eat Gluten!

Like a Swede

So after watching a video produced by tcofilm I have been thinking about how boss it really would be to live like a Swede..... minus the cold and shit. Not only would we get longer and more frequent vacations, we would also benefit from a plethora of social programs and and food culture that  promotes better physical and mental health as a whole and sweet as fashion. I'm talking over-sized outerwear and super fucking chic street style. What is my favorite things about the Swedes you may ask.

Comprehensive healthcare is, in my opinion, the most important component to a healthy society( and most importantly, a healthy vagina). In Sweden, citizen have access to low cost(based on cost of living in the municipality you reside in) comprehensive healthcare.

Dental care is available to every citizen with children up to the age of twenty recieving free care and adults receiving a yearly subsidy

480 days paid parental leave with a bonus for parents who split this time evenly(approx. 6 months to each parent.)

Child allowance paid to parents up to the age of 16 and study allowance paid to full time students over the age of 16.

you can look at other aspects of Swedish social benefits at Work in Sweden.

For a look at amazing locally inspired Swedish food, Check out "Faviken." This in one of my favorite books by Swedish chef Magnus Nilsson and from my absolute favorite  book publisher Phaidon

So instead of being a lame ass dude trying to live like a boss, try getting involved in policy advocacy work so we can all live like a Swede.

Mimosa Sundays

Sundays hold different meanings to all of us and most of us hold it as a sacred day of rest. For me Sundays are a day to remind myself of the things that I enjoy in life, Fucking Mimosas! Brunch with mimosas and a perfect way to spend the afternoon after a night of face down passed out drunk and a morning of kicking some dude ot of your room so you can pass the fuck back out. When ten to eleven o'clock comes around all you want is food and relaxation (in the form of alcoholic beverage because you are really punishing your body for failing you the night before) preferably with friends. As a pastry cook, I rarely have a Sunday off of work. When I do, I like to make it count.

Ritual:

A lot people have a ritual for when they wake up on a day off. First thing I love to take my time dressing to remind myself that I am not just an employee, I am an awesome chick. I would recommend that anyone who wears a uniform of any variety to do the same. Afterwards I hit the town for munchies and shit.

Off to Brunch:

One of my favorite Sunday activities is grabbing or making brunch with my friends. I categorize my brunch haunts by what I am in the mood for.

Vin de Set in midtown has the most legit breakfast sausage that I have ever had the opportunity to taste. I’m talking about the shit your sausage dreams are made of. Just the right amount of heavenly fat, mouth pleasing texture, and taste that can rival that of chocolate and good sex in the best place you can think of with the hottest guy you could dream up (including all the emotional tidbits).  As if the sausage wasn’t enough in the meat department, they also feature Prime Rib and lamb carving stations along with a waffle station and dessert bar just  in case you haven't had the opportunity to check in with god yet to say thank you.. All you can drink Mimosas can be added for a mere $12.00, which is a great value if you have more than one.

One Place I visited recently was Brasserie by Niche. To describe Brasserie as crowded would be a dramatic understatement and don’t expect much in the way of service. Those dicks don't give a fuck. They will straight up ignore the shit out of you. For real, make a reservation. So why is it worth mentioning? The food was amazing and affordable. For $10.00 I experienced succulent ham and perfectly poached eggs blanketed with a smooth and creamy hollandaise all on brioche toast (aka Eggs Benedict). My food experience was so satisfying that my lexicon doesn't do it justice so I will just say bangin. For a cocktail, I opted out of the Mimosa and instead ordered the Violet 75 which is comprised of gin, crème de violette, lemon, and champagne. From the first sip, I was overcome with a winning feeling. From my prospective, the cocktail did its job.

Occasionally, I am called upon in my role as a best friend. My bestie often has touring bands as guest and we like to cook brunch for them together. This seemingly selfless activity actually gives us a chance to bond and talk while working together to make the task more recreational. The last time I had the chance to cook brunch we made Bananas Foster Belgian waffles, locally sourced bacon, and a cayenne Parmesan potato hash. For the Waffles, I would suggest you favorite waffle recipe but if you don’t have one try http://www.thekitchn.com/the-best-waffle-youll-ever-eat-90629. For the Bananas Foster topping, start melting a half stick of butter in your saucepan. Add one cup of brown sugar and let it cook, stirring occasionally, till the mixture is homogeneous. Then add four bananas sliced on a bias about an inch thick and cook for about a minute. Then add a ¼ c alcohol of your choice and cook down for another minute. I prefer using bourbon but other use spiced rum, banana liquor, or a mixture of the two. Potato hash is more versatile and can include much of the ingredients you may have around the house. I small diced and cooked the potatoes in a small amount of cooking oil for a bit first. Then I added onions, red peppers, and a little stock and cooked a bit longer. Next, when the potatoes are almost tender enough to eat, I added kosher salt, pepper, a light covering of shredded Parmesan, and a dusting of cayenne pepper over the top the covered the pan till the Parmesan was melted. For Beverages we served organic orange juice, coffee, and tea on a beverage station. Needless to say, our efforts where much appreciated.

Whether you spend your Sundays eating, drinking, or spending quality time with friends and family, the most important thing to remember is to leave the stress at work and give in to the St. Louis lifestyle. This can be attained in a variety of ways but my favorite by far is Mimosa Sunday.

Romanian Hulk and The out of Business Vagina

I have always been a hypersexual being and have rarely given as many fucks as others as to how that was perceived by the masses. Being a person of such a nature, the thought of abstinence never crossed my mind as a me thing. I mean really? Why the fuck would I want to try that? I have never really had a lack of confidence so the emotional implications of sex were of small consequence and I have no lack of willing, safe, and available partners.  Hooking up or in a relationship, sex was part of my relaxation ritual. Today, hell has frozen over, the penny has floated back up from the floor to be fixed firmly between my knees, and yes, I have decided to practice abstinence.   Thank you! Thank you very much ladies and gentlemen! For the first time since I lost it to my best friend on a bunk bed who was supposed to be babysitting his little brother, my vagina is closed for business.

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I bet you really don’t care why I would make such a life altering and drastic decision but I’m going to tell you anyway (because that’s how I do!) I was happy once. Had a loser boyfriend that I waited on hand and foot with delusions of wedding bells in my sights. I was going for the brass ring and it was a magnificent run for the finish line. I figured out how to find a new adventure each week scaling massively strenuous hikes or trying to eat more than I could eat with my pitiful beau to keep the excitement going.  My approach to cleaning the house was more streamlined that that of a man with a pay by the hour high priced hooker. When it came to the bedroom, I garnered the strength of The Hulk to stay on top in various elevations for at least thirty minutes before having to change positions and the flexibility of Olympic Gymnast Nadia Comaneci to deal with what came after (so I guess I was a Romanian Hulk in the sheets.) I also had a happy and healthy work life and felt, like many before they fall from great heights, I had made it. Then one day something was different.  The center of my universe started to move askew and blame shifted out of balance and always onto me.  I was usurped.

Bad Beau(as we will now call him, BB for short) and I decided to finally tackle a hike in one of the  last area parks we had not trekked. I felt the challenge on my misshapen body on the initial accent but was determined not to show it (like a boss.) as we reached the summit of the hike, I inhaled the view of the Meramec in all of it’s polluted splendor and thought that the only thing that would make the day better was a swim.  Pussy ass BB wouldn’t get in his clothes so we put a pin in it and headed to the closest redneck bar. As I walked into the dimly lit shit hole, I spied the posters on the walls which were mainly advertisements for beer, Meat Shoots, or fraternal club golf tournaments.  I walked toward the bar and as if to put ever old white man in the place at ease, the bartender (think fortyish blonde that has seen some things in her day) proclaimed that I was her sister coming into drink. She seemed unaware that I am a black Latina, or maybe just didn’t give a shit because she said I was her sister.  These are the situations I willing walk into with BB. We ordered up a couple of pints of Stag and two whiskeys (our normal order which we still do both order separately now) and hit the pool table. Despite my overwhelming inability to play any sport that requires a lot of hand-eye coordination, I somehow held my own poppin them balls like Pringles. At the end of the game an older gangly looking man walk are way and ask “wanna see a trick shot?” to which we most definitely replied “yeah!” we were all pretty drunk by then but kept at it till we got it. We said our thanks and walked out of the bar and around the corner to a heavenly smelling place that sold ice cream and chicken.  We ordered some chicken to go and stepped out for a smoke and talked about how amazing the day was. Driving home, on highway 40 nearing 270 going west (I remember seeing the rock wall along the highway that I’ve always enjoyed looking at in those parts), BB turned to me with a sick look on his face. I asked what was wrong and he replied “I talked to my ex girlfriend a few days ago. I haven’t talked to her in ten years. We are going to have to break up.” A tsunami sized wave of emotion ran over me as my life came crashing down around me.  I went from Flying close to the sun to sifting through the raw sewage that was the remnants of my heart.

My new apartment is set up for maximum comfort because of a smart decision to  create a space where I could relax, combat loneliness (heated mattress pad on a futon feels like you are sleeping next to someone), and have people over for beer when the bars close at three.  I had to face living alone head on.  Something had changed in e as I started to plan my first hookup. I simply didn't want to. It didn't feel right. Frustrating feelings of confusion started to rise in me as I went through a second set of batteries and then did an emergency run to Patricia’s for a new vibrator. What was this witch craft? Why could I not hook up and what of keeping my on the hook? What happened to the days of happily eliciting jizz? Giving it deep thought was the only thing I could do. Then it dawned on me. I was now older and more mature and looking for a committed relationship sooner rather than later. It made a twisted sort of sense that holding out a bit longer would somehow magically get those results sometime in the not so distant future. Who the fuck would have thought that I could come to this conclusion? Fuck me! Or rather, don’t.

The Lion. The Witch, And the Smartly Built Wardrobe.

Shopping has always been a big part of my life. As a teenager, I spent countless hours browsing racks of clothes everywhere from department stores, boutiques, consignment, and thrift shops. As I started to enter adulthood, I moved more towards online shopping at sample sale sites and really foraging for deals in thrift stores so I could avoid the stench of corporate bullshit. This online shopping format proved especially useful for gift shopping because it eliminated the wrapping and shipping aspect. Today I was reading an article on Business Insider titled Don't FallFor These 5 Pricing Tricks when I came across a shopping ideal that I felt filled an ideological and wardrobe need all at once. Specifically when talking about markup pricing( fucking scam that charges you a fortune and pays the under served community that produces your clothes slave wages), the article referred the reader to an online retail start up that practices what they call "Radical Transparency." Like any curious and savvy shopper would, I promptly abandoned the article to be read at a later time and clicked on the link to Everlane. I immediately saw a purpose for this type of shopping in my life as I find it super hard in this age of trends and frills to find well made and affordable basics to fill the holes in my wardrobe while still shopping responsibly for product made in factories that I had information on. I prefer to spend my money in places that make an effort to not exploit women and children in pursuit of greater profits and I was getting to a point where I felt like the merchant walls were closing in on me and the amount of places I could shop were dwindling to the size of a damn pea. The only things I want made by little hands is maybe a Valentine's Day card or macaroni necklace and one of those cute little hand print turkeys.If the witches of the fashion industry conjured up ridiculous markups in their American Apparel cauldrons, Everlane promises to be the lion in my wardrobe enlightening me of the real cost of the plain tees, camisoles, and button ups I intermediately need to replace.