Just Another Meatless Monday...

Whoa-oh-oh. (Sorry, Bangles, but that's probably the most cultural referencing you've had in a while.)

 When I started this blog, I was a vegetarian living with an omni husband and a pescatarian son. Now I am vegan, although still evolving, and sometimes realize that something I thought was vegan all along isn't (like my favorite cereal and bagels--damn you, whey!) and my son still eats fish, but has given up eggs and my husband has given up beef and pork. Phew. It makes for an interesting dinner-planning journey.

 One thing we ALL love is this totally vegan potato & chickpea meal, served over fluffy brown rice, with a nice green salad, avocado and guilty pleasure roll (no nutrition in that sucker, I'm afraid!) I don't know why I was afraid to make things like this for so long--I mean, it's easy, it's quick, and whenever I don't have an ingredient (I'm looking at you, coriander) it never seems to suffer from the exclusion. Double the recipe: TRUST. Keep some in the freezer, take some to work for lunch, eat it right out of the pot with a spoon. It's so good, simple and flavorful. Even my dog licked the pan with so much enthusiasm, it spun around and down the hall, his tongue insistently licking the whole time.

http://localfoods.about.com/od/winter/r/PotatoChickpea.htm

Doomie's Home Cookin': Los Angeles

 Tucked away in an unassuming strip mall in Hollywood is Doomie's Home Cookin'. I had become obsessed with trying Doomie's since reading about it on the awesome Quarrygirl blog and from discovering their menu on Facebook.

 Doomie's is all vegan & vegetarian and duuude, it is GOOD. This is not the kind of place you go when you want some floofy quinoa salad--you go when you want a hearty stick-to-your-ribs (and other body parts) meal: burgers, chicken sandwiches, country fried steak and fries. This is the food you wish you could find on every corner when you have a craving for a Big Mac or when you are terribly hung over. This isn't everyday food, but man oh man, when the mood strikes and you just need some buffalo legs with ranch? Doomie's answers the call. GO, you will not be disappointed!

Doomie's Home Cookin' Address...1253 Vine St Hollywood, CA 90038
Browse their menu & food photos here!  http://www.facebook.com/doomieshomecookin

Veggie Grill: Los Angeles

I can't even begin to describe the love I have for Veggie Grill. I hadn't heard of it until I received a PETA notice several months ago, saying they were having a fundraiser there on an upcoming Saturday. My ever-indulgent husband, who was going to take me to L.A. that weekend anyway, said, "Sure! Let's try it!" You have no idea how rare that is for a Cuban American male who was raised on ropa vieja and chicken fried steak....vegan food in his family would probably be considered bean stew simmered with pork. "But there's no MEAT! You can't even see it!" Oy.
Veggie Grill is like a nice, clean fast food joint--all plant based. All the sauces, mayo, even desserts are nondairy. They serve wheat and seitan-based meat substitutes, salads, chili and what my teenage son describes as the best sweet potato fries ever. They are pretty epic. They have a few new items, including the Buffalo Bomber (pictured above), which my meat-loving hubby devoured instantly and loved. My standby, the Santa Fe Chicken (below), never disappoints. It's the best chicken substitute I've ever had, slathered in spicy sauce and avocado, sitting alongside those sweet potato fries and a dollop of spicy vegan mayonaise. Now, I'm not one of those long-time vegans who sniff and say they only eat kale and hemp for dinner and that "meat analogs" are disgusting. The first time I read a blog that mentioned "meat analogs", I had to look it up to see what the hell they were talking about.

 I might also add that my first visit to Veggie Grill (propelled by that PETA fundraiser) was certainly not my last. That first visit was also met with the slightest disappointment that PETA wasn't actually there, dressed in meat suits and squirting ketchup on people. I really wanted a photo with the PETA End-Circus-Cruelty elephant! Oh well. Go to Veggie Grill and enjoy.
http://veggiegrill.com/

Ch-ch-ch-changes

  
  I totally skipped November.

  The leaves changed, the weather changed, my life changed.

  My father, bless his heart, passed away. The last thing he ever said to me was, "Where are you living now?" because he couldn't remember and quite possibly, couldn't remember me. It's a very strange thing, losing a parent. You think about it occasionally but until it becomes a reality, you never really know how you will react.

  Some days you will be fine--other days you will be a wreck. Some days I can think of my dad and smile, others I will think about him in his garden, picking string beans with my son, and I will fall apart. I was Christmas shopping the other day and thought, "What am I going to get Dad?" It was always my yearly dilemma, what to buy my father, an Archie Bunker-ish sort who was never overly excited about gifts unless you really got lucky and hit the nail on the head. One year I bought him a large, hardbound copy of a World War II book and he was truly touched, more so than I'd ever seen him Christmas morning. I felt pangs of guilt, as I had seen the book marked down, knew my dad liked war movies, and thought, "I can't think of anything else. Maybe he'll like this."

  As I looked at the racks of merchandise in the stores the other day, decorations and holiday music all around me, I thought how lucky I was to even have a dad, much less a dad for 44 years. Some people don't get to have a dad for even 1 day. Some people live their lives thinking their dads are out there but don't care about them and they never see them. This Christmas will be the first Christmas of my life that I don't have my big, strong dad out there in the world, sitting in his favorite recliner, watching college football and complaining about how commercial and expensive Christmas is.

  The world--and my life--is emptier without him.

Country Mouse & City Mouse

 So I have a thing for the city, any city, probably because I don't live there. I used to live in a city and was less than impressed, maybe because I was a young mother with no money, no family nearby, and few friends. I was too busy working a crappy job for $7 an hour, paying for gas with dimes and nickels, and shuttling my baby back and forth to daycare, to enjoy anything about the city. Back then, it was just scary.

 I live in the country now, a move which was probably a knee-jerk reaction to being fed up with the city way back when. I was so sick of the traffic, the endless circling around the parking lot just looking for a spot so I could run in for a gallon of milk, and the lack of human connection. After several years (8 to be exact) of being out here in the middle of nowhere though, I have realized that the whole "lack of connection" isn't a city thing, it's just a ME thing. I suck at making friends and honestly, I just don't like many people. Now dogs...I have plenty of dog friends. I am very popular with the doggie set.

 The pendulum has swung the other way and I miss the city again. I miss delivery and food options, concerts and independent films. I miss the excitement of being somewhere with a collective energy. I escape to the city whenever I can convince my long-suffering husband to take me and then I fantasize about moving there to some fantastic city-view apartment (which never has cockroaches), eating at famous restaurants (with some magical money that spits out of the corner ATM) and commuting to my dream job, where I help thousands of people each day live spectacular lives (never mind that I can't even get an interview with my non-profit of choice.) The realities of living there never really enter the picture.

 Maybe I'm not just bad at making friends, I'm just bad at reality. Huh. There's a theory.

A Day in the Plush Life

7 a.m.: Hubby leaves for work after rattling the dog leashes, rustling his lunch bag I left for him in the fridge and clomping around in the noisiest Sketcher shoes known to mankind. They have rubber soles! How can they be so loud?

8 a.m.: The phone rings and I stumble out of bed, rousing the sleeping dogs. James' tail wags so hard he knocks over my nighttime glass of water, sending a wave onto the floor. In my haze, I think, "Answer the phone? Clean the water off the floor?" and manage to make it to the phone in time to hear the caller slam the phone down in my ear. I grab paper towels and head for the carpet.

8:12 a.m.: The dogs whine at me as I attempt to put my sneakers on the correct feet and follow me around as I pull on a dirty polo shirt and finger comb my hair back into a ponytail. Huge sunglasses are my savior in the morning.

8:45 a.m.: James sees his archenemy, a 12 pound Toto-looking terrier named Mutt, on our walk and attempts to "retrieve" him for me. I neither want nor need a limp, crushed terrier at my feet, so I do my one-arm workout which I call "The James Maneuver"--pull like hell and hope the collar doesn't break.

9 a.m.: Back at home to feed and water all animals (dogs, lizard, and wild critters...presumably birds, but the fattest chipmunks in the county eat everything I put out, leaving the birds to starve and/or point out what fatasses the chipmunks are.)

9:15 a.m.: Coffee and Facebook time, which reminds me how unexciting my life is compared to everyone elses.

10 a.m.: Clean the house. Periodic time outs for email and wallowing in self pity.

Noon: Make lentil soup in pathetic attempt to erase the memory of the 3 doughnuts I ate yesterday and the pile of pizza I scarfed down during "The Walking Dead" premiere.

1 p.m.: Taste soup. Needs something. More doughnuts, maybe.

2 p.m:. James is again whining to go out. His sister, Jessie, gives him the stink eye because she is comfortable on her giant green pillow which resembles a lily pad. She reluctantly gets up and stands by the door.

2:08 p.m.: James sees several chipmunks dart across the road in front of him and contemplates taking them out with one chomp. He sees how fat they are and reconsiders, obviously not wanting to take advantage of the situation. That would just be showing off.

3 p.m.: I make cookies to surprise my boys. I check them at the 8 minute mark--raw. I check them at the 10 minute mark--barely beige. I check them at the 12 minute mark--incinerated. Pinche oven!

4 p.m.: Call Mom. We talk about the family, the weather, and how she only has 1 Oreo left in the package. I convince her to try Halloween Oreos (the best) and then silently wonder, "How can anyone leave just 1 Oreo in the package? Wouldn't you plow through the bag, see there was only 1 left and then just eat it?" Clearly my mother's sense of self control did not get passed down to me.

5 p.m.: James again flips out, whining like I am a negligent mother who has NEVER taken him out before. I can't decide if he has the bladder the size of a nickel or is just a crotchety old dog who enjoys dragging me around the block for sport.

6 p.m.: Dinnertime. God, lentils are boring.

7:30 p.m.:  "Wheel of Fortune"! Time to feel smart again after feeling like the dumbest pile of crap during "Jeopardy".

8 p.m.: The dogs are asleep after jockeying for position on the couch. James claimed shotgun and velcroed himself to my side. After Jessie gave him sad puppy eyes for about 5 minutes and made this weird whining/growl hybrid noise which I took to mean, "You dragged me outside 3 times today when I was comfortable," James moved to the other side of the couch and Jessie stole my blanket and curled up next to my very warm hip.

Tomorrow will surely be more of the same.

My Bar

 I have always thought that a home should have a proper bar.

 I am a gin girl. I love it. A gin and tonic is probably the most perfect drink ever created. Whenever I go out and someone offers me a glass of wine, I always think to myself that wine is for people who don't know how to make a proper cocktail.

 I have everything here that I need, including my beloved vintage bar ware--the crazy tray, my 1930's swizzle sticks, my husband's old embarrassing drunk hound dog lamp....it gives me immense pleasure to open my little bar doors.