how to eat like a bird

too much of a good thing

Marcella Hazan’s simple but rich tomato sauce is one of the most blogged about recipes on the Web. You need only a can of tomatoes, about half a stick of butter, and half an onion. Add a little salt and cook everything in a pot, first over medium heat to get it going, then at a low simmer for under an hour. (Leave the onion intact, as it’s only there for flavor and meant to be discarded at the end).

I made this recently with a small can of tomatoes (15 oz.) and what butter I had leftover—probably 4 tablespoons, and it was tremendously satisfying, turning a dry goods staple—year-old spaghetti noodles—into something of a velvety treat, while remaining on all fronts a model of economy. You need only a dollop of sauce to dress your noodles, and in terms of effort, you barely have to move for this one.

So then I wanted more. I got a bigger can of tomatoes (28 oz.), and misremembering the original directive of 5 tablespoons of butter per large can of tomatoes, dumped in a whole stick, thinking I was doubling the proportions of my previous success. More or less, I was, but I overlooked the fact that I would be eating a lot more of it, and repetitively, for more than a day. It was buttery and luscious and all too much. I longed for salmon and greens and nutty brown rice, all things I usually don’t long for.

The lesson here, I believe, is that if you’re going to eat something amazingly rich, either eat a reasonably small portion to enjoy the taste without feeling guilty, or eat quite a bit of it, so much so that you become sick of it and actually want its antithesis—in this case, lean protein, and yes, even exercise. The latter is in theory, of course. But I did have grilled salmon the next night, and it was good.

exceeding expectations

This article was the most emailed article on the NY Times Web site for a while, even amidst all the Sturm und Drang of the neverending campaign and oh, prostitutes. It proposes that the number of push-ups you can do is an easy way to evaluate your overall fitness.

A 40-year-old woman should be able to do 16, and a man of same age, 27 push-ups. I am 33, and it turns out I can do three, which was a great and unexpected boon for me. I was for sure thinking I could do no more than one, shaky arms and all. But I pulled off three full-length ones. So, yeah for me! Don't judge me complacent though. I'll try working on it, as it's good to catch yourself when you fall at age 85--or really, at any age.

spring awakening

It’s the first day of spring. I wouldn’t know these things, were it not for Google. But even I cannot ignore the absurd amount of beautiful light when I take leave of work. It’s time to stop hibernating. And as a matter of practical course, I cannot stand my clothes any tighter. What have I been doing, you say, to warrant said apparel to be so restrictive?

Well, to keep it pithy, I partake of a daily diet consisting frequently of nachos. I’ve also fallen back into the habit of drinking Coke at work (alas!), and I’ve been assiduously trying to get a tenth sandwich free at Cosi, based on my mainstay order of a Buffalo Blue sandwich with extra blue cheese spread. That’s right, extra. I like it slathered on both sides of the bread, please, and I could actually do with less chicken. I choose the free kettle chips over baby carrots, of course. 

My excuses for the poor diet (and full-on inertia) are many. But I shan’t bore you. I’ll only say that I feel like a bear. Not like the emaciated kind that comes out of its cave, famished and lean, but more like the kind with access to take-out and cable TV--the kind that snacks to political podcasts and frankly, doesn’t sleep very well at all. So it’s time to turn over a new leaf. Even I get tired of nachos (although there are so many kinds with many different variations). Tomorrow, we’ll see how many push-ups I can do. And if anyone is still out there, what have you been eating that you probably shouldn’t be (every other day)?

confession: mac and cheese pancakes

If one sees macaroni and cheese pancakes on a menu, is it not incumbent upon one to order said pancakes if only for novelty's sake? These pancakes are the work of Shopsin's, and not nearly as indulgent as they look or sound because even I could have no more than two. About six come to an order, and everyone at your table will want one, making it easy to disperse the calories.

These are not so much rich as they are regressive. The cheddar was mild and the elbow noodles, soft. I felt like a toddler using surprisingly grown-up silverware. A plastic spork would have done the job just as well. But the batter was light, lacy, yielding, and it's easy to see why they offer over 20 different kinds of pancakes on their menu.

Located at the southern end of the Essex Street Market (120 Essex Street, between Delancey and Rivington), Shopsin's is open from 9-3, Tuesdays through Saturdays.

Related: a lunch at Shopsin's on Essex.

confession: Chipotle

A few years ago, I walked into a spanking new Chipotle's and tried a carnitas (pork) burrito that was so salty, I took a few bites and never went back. That is, until two weeks ago. A friend of mine mentioned that her sister liked the chain. Now, her sister is a marathon-running, edamame-loving skinny girl who doesn't own a TV set on principle, so this took me by surprise. Perhaps the oversalted pork was a relic of the past.

I figured I'd try it again sometime, but chocked it up to a hypothetical in the far future. But lo and behold, two days after that conversation, there it was, beckoning to me across Broadway on 110th Street, just as I'd been scanning the landscape for something to eat and just as the principles of The Secret decreed. If you envision it, it will come. For some people, it's a parking space; for me, it's an oversized burrito.

There was a buzz to the place. It was prime lunch time, and people there looked like content squirrels, holding onto their rather large portions blanketed in foil. I wanted to join them. The line moved quickly, the lady in front of me ordered a barbacoa burrito--the braised beef--and all thoughts of a grilled chicken bowl, sans flour tortilla, left my head as I found myself parroting back after her. I knew it wasn't necessarily what a skinny person would order, but I wanted to experience Chipotle in all its injudicious glory.

I sat down with my burrito loaded with rice, black beans, the shredded braised beef, hot salsa, and sour cream. The tortilla was warm and the rice buttery and speckled with cilantro. It was tasty. But salty once the beef and maybe the beans entered the equation. Not so salty that I wasn't able to finish the whole thing this time, but enough that I wondered why no one else seemed to be frowning in bewilderment at the amount of salt in their food. The next day my face felt swollen and tight at the same time from all the sodium.

Chipotle doesn't publish nutritional information on their site, maybe because while they tout the integrity of their ingredients, it doesn't mean that calorie, fat, and sodium counts aren't sky high. According to this calculation, the burrito I had contained over 1,100 calories, 44 grams of fat, and a whopping 3,551 mg of sodium. It's recommended that an adult not exceed 2,400 mg of sodium daily. Even if you skip the beef, that only brings it down to about 800 calories--1,000 if you add the guacamole which is included as an option for a vegetarian burrito and which contains nearly the same amount of fat and sodium.

Perversely all this research only made me want to try another burrito. While it had been way too salty for my taste, I had enjoyed the mouthfeel of all the different ingredients. Even the rice tasted velvety. Basically, Chipotle is designed to make you crave their particular brand of fat and salt, and there are plenty of testimonies from people who claim they are addicted. But I also wanted to create my own concoction that would play down the salt factor. Perhaps I could even get away with ordering the barbacoa if they heaped a ton of guacamole on it? Sure, my face would still balloon up but I wouldn't taste the salt as much. Or a veggie with just the rice and beans and ALL the salsas? I think this is how these "do it your way" places get you hooked. Eventually, if you go enough, you'll tweak until something is to your liking. I never appreciated Subway until I had the Italian BMT with 35 pickles. 

Thankfully, any branch of Chipotle is out of my way for now, so maybe I'll forget about it. It seems a shame to be addicted to some giant burrito that's been slapped with salt when one can get a nicely chargrilled carne al pastor taco with fresh cilantro, lime, and radish with a made-on-the-premises salsa at any one of a number of places in East Harlem, one being Taco Mix. These tacos are whisper light as they hit the plate and they won't show up on your face the next day.