Cauliflower Pizza Crust is Surprisingly Delicious

Day 1 of cycle 2 started with sleeping in, eating oatmeal for the first time in 17 days, and watching Law & Order: SVU while I ate it. Once that was over, KJ and I went to the grocery store to buy ingredients for pizza, and then the gym and worked ourselves into puddles, in preparation for pizza-eating later.

Mmm...pizza...

Since my friend Kris was interested in this next part of my day, this one's for her. Our twist on making pizza tonight involved using a head of minced cauliflower, grated Swiss cheese, 2 eggs and seasonings (garlic, basil, oregano, salt & pepper) to make the crust. It smelled delicious, and it looked awesome. For anyone who who is trying to cut down on bread/carbs, I highly recommend using this recipe for your own home made pizza crust or garlic fingers. We doubled up the recipe and made a pizza the size of a cookie sheet because we were both famished and hadn't had lunch. Plus, it's cauliflower!

Food processor: 1
Cauliflower: 0

For our toppings, I used 1/2 a cup of standard store-bought pizza sauce, taco-seasoned ground turkey (leftover from our lettuce tacos), sliced white mushrooms, lean ham, 1 cup of mozzarella, Butterball turkey pepperoni, sweet orange pepper and red onion.

Sooooon...

At this point, the crust had been in the oven on 450F for 20 minutes to crisp up and solidify, and then was taken out to cool before being dressed up for round 2 of baking. I reset the oven to 350F and baked the pizza for 20 more minutes, then finished it off under the broiler for a couple minutes, and voila!

Who would have thought that cauliflower would make a crust that tastes so delicious? And with a food processor doing all the mincing, it was easy! Much simpler, faster and cleaner than making a flour crust. No waiting for it to rise, etc. Just bake, cool, top with pizza stuff, bake, eat.

Of course, eating goes straight to my ass...

Tomorrow's plan is to paint our bedroom with paint we've had so long, we had to take it back to the paint store to be re-shaken. Fingers crossed that today's weight training doesn't make me so sore or weak tomorrow that my arms fall off after doing all the edge work. Either way, it's getting painted. I crave change!

And chicken nuggets...but I'll settle for change.

Day 17: The Chronicles of an IBS Dieter

**Warning: Incoming toilet humour. You may experience uncontrollable laughter & shitting.**

It's not too late to turn back. I promise you, the recount of today's events are all things that have happened to all of you, but not all of you would be willing to talk about it, and that's perfectly acceptable. I'll judge you for your silence, and you judge me for not giving even half a fuck.

For anyone unfamiliar with IBS, feel free to go here (no gross pictures, I promise). I was blessed with an irate bowel from an early age, and while I have tried many things with varying success rates for normality, they're fleeting and things flare up dramatically for no apparent reason. One day, cheese is great. The next day, cheese is a razor blade cutting my inside to shreds (or so it feels). And it's not just dairy that does it, for those of you who are thinking "Maybe she's just lactose intolerant." like I never thought of that, either. After removing and re-adding pretty much everything from bread to red meat in my diet over the last few years, I have decided that the mere fact of being alive causes my guts to lose their shit. Pun intended.

So it comes as little surprise to me that The 17 Day Diet's "Activate" cycle (aka: Cycle 1) has caused wild mood swings in my schizophrenic digestive tract. The low fat/high fiber concentration makes for a hell of a time. Today is Wednesday, and before today I hadn't done a goddamned thing since Saturday. SATURDAY, people. Now, for those people who have no idea what that's like, go swallow rocks and glue, then wash it down with Quikrete, and see how that feels meandering through the hallways of your guts for a couple days. By day 3, you'd drink used french fry oil if you thought it would get the job done.

So, today being day 4 in the nightmare that is my life with this stupidly unpredictable affliction, I ate things that were as good as a grenade. I ate what I affectionately call a "Poo Salad" (a small Cobb salad from Dominion which inexplicably melts my insides...kind of scary when you think about it. What the fuck is in that salad?!). I ate prunes. I had coffee. I drank a gallon of water.

I should have stopped at the salad.

On our way to the recycling depot with bottles, my stomach made this horrible sound (like a 'ffflaaa-rarara-wshhhh'), then it was as if someone had opened a cage in a zoo because I went from feeling nothing to the familiar feeling of a monkey wielding a steak knife in each of his little fists trying to stab his way out of my abdomen in any direction he could stab. KJ knows the signs well, because as he was driving, I am clutching my gut with one hand, making a fist and pounding myself in the thigh with the other, saying, "I shouldn't have come. I should have stayed home...awww fuck fuck fuck, I'm going to fucking die..."

Like a good husband, he says, "Is this just pain, or is this a required stop? Dominion has a public bathroom!" (funny he should suggest it should end at Dominion, home of the Poo Salad)

I would like to go on record as having said, "I hate public bathrooms." I do. I hate them. I would rather white-knuckle drive back to my own house. I was tempted to veer toward Allison's house and pound on her door until she opened it so I could storm past her and apologize later. ANYTHING but a public toilet. So when KJ mentioned a public bathroom to me and I said, "Yes, that is an excellent idea!", he knew I was serious because it was the first time I had ever accepted his sensible public toilet solution in our entire time together.

As we pull into the parking lot, I ramble non-sensical things. Probably things about Jesus and cursing my colon to burn in hell. The car slows as KJ asks, "Do you want me to park the car and come in?" as I undo my seat belt with one hand and open the car door as we're still rolling.

"I don't care what you do!", I say as I run away from the still-moving car. I can't even say if there were other cars nearby, or if I nearly got flattened by them. I was sweating, white faced, white knuckled, holding my breath as I sprinted past the geriatrics loitering in the entrance to the grocery store, and as I get inside I realize... I have no idea where the toilets are. I don't use these fucking toilets! I avoid them like the plague! So what do I do? I put my game face on, wipe the sweat from my brow and politely ask the pretty young deli clerk, "Excuse me, where are the public bathrooms?" Smooth as fuck, right?

"Oh, they're upstairs and down the hallway."

FUCK. MY. LIFE.

Forget the geriatrics in the entrance, the fuckers on the stairs are moving as slowly as evolution as I dodge past them, taking two steps at a time. These stairs lead to a gym! Shouldn't you bastards be a little more spry?! This is a fucking nightmare! If there is anyone in that bathroom, they are going to wish they were ANYWHERE else. Hell, I wish I was anywhere else! And then, as if it were meant to be, the bathroom was empty of people and stocked on toilet paper. Best. Day. Ever. (I kid. In no way was today the best anything.)

IBS is fucking terrible. Sure, it may not kill me, but it certainly makes many aspects of trying to eat healthy very difficult. Low fat is great until it isn't. I am so happy tomorrow is Day 1 of Cycle 2. Maybe the reintroduction of good carbs will balance my insides.

Or maybe I'll actually shit my pants.
Who knows.

Lettuce taco 'bout delicious!

Tonight's dinner was spicy pork tacos but, instead of taco shells, we used Boston lettuce leaves to be our wrappers. I've seen it done, but tonight was the first time I've done it myself. I have to say, it was frigging delicious. For anyone interested in the recipe, it's here, with the notable difference of my having used ground pork because Costco was out of ground turkey today.

They were also out of asparagus, broccoli, and strawberries. Yep, that means I was not only at Costco today, but that I have to go back... fuuuuuck!! My nightmares consist of being stuck in Costco with people parking their carts in my way to chat while their children run around like lunatics.

The silver lining to tomorrow's Costco plan is a breakfast date and a trip to the gym. I wasn't feeling so great today when we went, and I hadn't eaten much. I feel much better tonight, so I hope to have a solid workout tomorrow to make up for the wimpy, sleepy 45 minute/400 calorie burning workout I schlepped through this afternoon.

"Hey, at least I'm at the gym..."

Slow news days

These last couple days have been pretty mundane. No funny gym people, no funny friend stories, no movement on the scale. Easter Sunday was rest day, and paired with a turkey dinner at my parents's house, that meant overindulgence and little exercise.

I think I have found balance though. I paid attention to what I ate all day before heading to dinner, and even with a piece of my sister-in-law's chocolate cake, a glass of wine, and 3 pieces of hollow milk chocolate, I was under 1800 calories for the day.

Yesterday, I made Eggplant Rollatini for dinner. Normally, I would have a photo of the meal in question, but yesterday evening I was grappling with a migraine, so KJ plated dinner and I didn't like how it looked (sorry, love!), so I didn't take a picture. The recipe calls for fresh parsley, but I used dry basil instead, and it was really delicious. If you're not a fan of eggplant, I honestly think this recipe would change your mind. It is like pasta-free lasagna. Who doesn't like lasagna?

Thankfully, last night's migraine is all gone. Good thing, too. It's sunny outside, and I would hate to have to block that miracle out of my house to keep my head from bursting. I'm convinced Spring is a lie. April showers come in the form of blinding snow squalls around here, and I am tired of it. I want to go for a walk outside without requiring layers of sweaters and coats. Even today, it's sunny and freezing outside.

Can we go back to Mexico? Please?

Bad Catholic, meet Good Friday

For those of you who didn't know, I was raised a Roman Catholic. For those of you who know me better, it will come as no surprise that I am a terrible Catholic. Yesterday was Good Friday, and I genuinely forgot that fact until I mentioned to KJ that I wanted to look at hiking boots at Mark's Work Wearhouse before going to the gym. Since the store was directly across the street from the gym, we pulled into the parking lot and only then noticed it empty, and there were bars on the doors of the whole shopping plaza. I am such a bad Catholic, I honestly thought "Did they have a fire or something?" before thinking "religious holiday".

All my friends will be there, at least.

After the gym and religious memory lapse, we came home to get ready for dinner. I don't know what I touched, or ate, or looked at, but somehow I managed to get a big, itchy hive under my right eye. Benedryl took care of the itching and swelling, but halfway through dinner I was nearly comatose. Worst dinner companion ever!

For dinner, we went out for Chinese food with a couple of friends, Suki & Amy. Because all of us are whiter than rice in this group of friends (Amy included), and Suki is super tanned despite the fog (or our token brown friend, as it were), he makes jokes about it, and so do we. He's easily one of the funniest people I know, so dinner with he and Amy is always a laugh...even if you're nearly falling asleep on your dumplings. Dinner was great, but the real laughs came at dessert time.

All four of us finished our meals with the traditional stale cookie and ice cream dessert. And when I say stale, I mean these cookies are like flint. Suki and I put our moon-rock cookies in the bottom of our bowls and put the ice cream on top, hoping the melting ice cream would soften the concrete cookies. Amy and KJ had their cookies jammed into their ice cream like the Sword in the Stone. Our hopes of softening the cookies were fruitless and, while Suki was comparing himself to a miner using his spoon like a mining pick, Amy started laughing at me. It was then that I realized I had my 'concentration face' on as I chiseled through the meteor under my ice cream.

"Why am I eating this?"

With that, I started laughing at her laughing at me. We all started laughing uncontrollably because of these abysmal cookies. All of us ate them, all of us hated the tooth-breaking nature of them, and all of us thought it was hysterical that we were getting a workout just trying to eat the damned things. 

We all ended the evening on our couches watching serial killers turn people into hats and fertilizer (Criminal Minds marathons are best watched with a group of friends high on Chinese buffet), groaning like bloated walruses.

Today is a new day, and the salmon we plan to have for supper tonight will hopefully make up for the suffering of yesterday, but I won't hold my breath.

Mug Cakes and Lazy Assholes.

So after the "cake" disaster of a couple nights ago, I decided to try to redeem myself with a mug cake recipe that called for more ingredients. You know, ones that would normally be included in a real cake. The one I used tonight was the 5-Minute Chocolate Mug Cake, and it's true to its name. It took 5 minutes, and it actually tasted like chocolate (unlike its predecessor).

I wish I could have gotten a picture of it while it was cooking in the microwave (or of KJ's reaction to it erupting), but the inside of the door started steaming up just as the batter ballooned to an impressive height beyond the lip of the mug. Naturally, as soon as I opened the door it began to deflate like it had a slow air leak. I did have the foresight this time to take a picture of it before we jabbed a spoon into it, though!

Underwhelming at this height.

It isn't much to look at, but I have to say, KJ and I both liked it. I used actual sugar instead of Splenda (only 2 tsp), and white chocolate chips because that was all I had on hand. Aside from the settling of the chocolate chips to the bottom before cooking resulting in spelunking for sweetness, I have no complaints about this recipe. I didn't even have to coerce the truth out of my lovingly gluttonous husband this time. He ate it because he enjoyed it, without the benefit of ice cream! It was surprisingly moist, so it didn't even make me wish for ice cream...unlike the mug cake of sadness past.

Before the cake experiment, though, I decided to make something for dinner that I haven't made in years: Chicken Cordon Bleu. I don't know which of us was more excited by the idea of melted Swiss cheese leaking out of a prosciutto-stuffed chicken breast, but I do know each of us devoured it.

No photo will ever make this meal look good. Ever.

In addition to eating today, we did go to the gym. Apparently Thursday is "Take Your Kid to Gym" day. I remember when I was a kid, we were told to go outside and play, or go downstairs and play. Basically, get the hell out of the way of whatever my mother was doing, and play. Wasn't playing exercise? When the fuck did it become a thing to pay hundreds of dollars for a gym membership for your lazy children? I swear, there was a kid there no older than 13 who had a personal trainer coaching him through exercises he clearly had zero interest in doing. He sat on a recumbent bike for 5 minutes while he was supposed to be 'warming up', picking his cuticles and drinking VitaWater, or whatever that flavoured garbage water is called.

What. The. Fuck? 

I am a fat adult who wants to get healthy and active, and I won't get a trainer for myself! The things parents do boggle my goddamned mind. Is it really that hard to go for a walk with your own chubby kid if you think he's chubby and needs a walk? Walking is free! Quit buying your kid flavoured water and dropping him off with a very expensive stranger he doesn't appreciate, and go do something with him. I bet he'd appreciate that more when he's older (and is not a lazy asshole like his mom/dad).

I really think I should rename this blog "What the Fuck?" or "I Hate People".

Or "My Budding Pill Addiction" (joking, of course. I'm way more into needle drugs).

**Disclaimer: If you are concerned about my mental health or the possibility of a budding drug addiction, please click this link, and realize you don't know me at all.**

Gym People

It's not news to anyone who knows myself and KJ that we enjoy people watching when we go out. We routinely go on coffee dates to Tim Horton's just for the people watching experience. Sometimes it's fantastic in it's awfulness. Other times it's just plain awful.

Watching people at the gym is not much different than at Tim Horton's; the people are sweating, talking too loud, farting and pretending they didn't. The major difference is in the type of clothes people wear in each location. Fewer people at Tim's have their asses hanging out of booty shorts, and fewer people at the gym are wearing their pajamas. Both outfits are hideous, though, so it all evens out.

My personal favourites are the old men who wear things they've clearly owned since 1973. One man I saw yesterday was on a treadmill wearing wool socks, sandals, sweatpants (that came mid-calf and dangled like a tube sock with the elastic cut off), and a red T-shirt that was threadbare in the nipple area. How does that happen?

The people there today were dressed decently enough, but two women in the locker room this afternoon were having an very personal conversation about recently deceased family members as loudly as humanly possible. I know I am not a quiet person, but if I can hear you talking about your mother's heart attack over the music coming through my ear buds, dial it back.

"AND THEN WE HAD TO CALL THE AMBULANCE!"

Aside from that, today was great! Good workout, good food, and good results on the scale. As of this morning, the plateau is over and I am down 12 lbs.

Woot woot!