it’s greek to me curried chicken nachos / weeknight favorite

its greek to me nachos

its greek to me nachos

We eat a lot at our house. Which I’m sure most people will say about themselves, who have been blessed with access to bountiful funds and modern grocery stores. But for two people who have passed the adolescent growth spurt years, the amount of food consumed on our property is intense. My husband (bless him) has to consume around 3,200 calories a day just to maintain his weight and energy levels. (that’s a lot of calories: generally 3,000 calories = 1 pound of weight on the average person)  Feeding him is like a sport. You cook enough for 4 average, reasonably hungry adults, possibly 6 that have restraint. You serve yourself a moderate amount. Then Aaron bats cleanup and the meal that would feed most couples for two, possibly three really skinny days, becomes one. It’s a constant source of amazement for those unaccustomed to his food-vacuum ways.

Which means I cook a lot. Because I’m morally offended (dramatic, I know, chill out already) by fillling the vast calorie expanse with calorically dense/nutritionally void processed and fast food, it means a lot of home cooking. Maybe 4-5 nights of meals where some type of heated food assembly is involved, with 1 night of cobbled together leftovers and 1 night for takeout. And we usually eat the same thing, over and over again. In the fall/winter months, it’s lots of soups and stews with grilled chicken and roasted root vegetables. In the summer, lots of salads, summer veggies and summer fruits like blueberries and peaches and cherries and whatever cheap protein or grain fillers are around.

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i-woke-up-like-this cake / flourless chocolate torte

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You know how in movies, and maybe sometimes in real life, a lady will show up dressed in something cute, looking Veela status amazing, get complimented on it, then she’ll giggle-laugh and say “oh this old thing!” ? Maybe she’ll even throw in a casual hair flip or hand wave. And she’s being all nonchalant and Beyoncé like “I woke up like this” and you KNOW she didn’t wake up like that and just throw something on. You know she spent hours in the bathroom grooming, buffing, scrubbing, tweezing, shaving and exfoliating. You know she spent hundreds of dollars at the gym, running and cycling and ab-crunching. You also know that she went to about 18 different boutiques to find “this old thing” that she “just threw on”. You just know. Unless you’re a dude, and then you probably don’t know. Believe me, this kind of charade is a thing.

Unless. Maybe she really did just wake up like that and throw on something old and still look amazing. Perhaps she’s distantly descended from the same ancestors as Gisele or Taylor and she was born with model thin legs, perfect skin and Michelle Obama arms. And she makes you question all that time and money you spent in the bathroom, at the gym and in all those boutiques.

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This cake is like that. It feels fancy. It easily impresses others. You taste it, and you think WhoaThis took hours to make. Its dark and smooth. The chocolate melts in your mouth like fudge, but without being overpoweringly sweet. It’s decadent. It’s fancy enough for a wedding, but it’s not so fancy that you can’t serve it for a birthday or a book club.

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