Nothing worse than an underwhelming burrito.
The thing that makes you exceptional—if you even are at all—is inevitably that which must also make you lonely.
GPOY
Damn.
This is my wild rice jambalaya, aka boyfriend fuel. He LOVES this stuff because it’s meaty. I love it because it has all the components of a perfect meal: healthy, easy, one-pot, and super delicious. Try it, you’ll love it too.
Wild Rice Jambalaya
- 2 boneless, skinless chicken breasts, cubed
- 1 package turkey polish sausage (two sausages), sliced
- 1 small red bell pepper and 1 small orange or yellow bell pepper, diced
- 1 large carrot, diced
- 2 celery stalks, diced
- 1/2 large red onion, diced
- 1 large garlic clove, minced
- 1 cup wild rice
- 1 can diced tomatoes
- 2 cups chicken stock
- Tony Chachere’s Creole Seasoning, to taste (or your favorite creole seasoning)
- Salt and pepper
- Coconut oil (or olive oil)
Heat a large dutch oven over high heat and melt a dab of coconut oil (or a tablespoon of olive oil.) Saute the veggies, minus the garlic, until they get a little color. Season with salt, pepper, and creole seasoning. Add the garlic and saute for one more minute (if you add in the garlic at the beginning it will burn and make your life sad.) Remove the veggies and set aside, add a bit more oil to the pot, and toss in the chicken and sausage. Season and brown the meat (it does not need to cook through), then toss in the can of diced tomatoes. Add the chicken stock, veggies, and rice. Cover the pot and lower the heat to simmer. Simmer for about an hour, until the rice has absorbed all the liquid. Adjust seasonings to taste (I usually add in a bit more spice, and sometimes add a dash of hot sauce.) Serve with crusty bread, or cheese bread if you’re feelin’ fancy!
Pretty girl, pretty voice.
(via Brandi Carlile, ‘Hard Way Home’ (Live at Bear Creek) — Video Premiere - Spinner)
@fridaphile
This is the kind of rice I used! It’s delicious, but any kind of rice would be fine- white, brown, wild, or even quinoa probably.
I’m making my wild rice jambalaya tonight.
Everyone get excited!
Man, summer is always a weird time for me.
TW for ED, body issues, etc.
I grew up in Florida and basically lived outside throughout my childhood. Weekends were always spent at the beach or the pool, or some combination of both, endlessly and for as long as I can remember. I had beach birthday parties every year, in January (which never struck me as odd until I moved to a colder climate.) Bathing suits were just a part of life.
I don’t remember the precise moment I started hating my body. I know it was just before or right around the time I went through puberty. I mean, I had always had some issues with food- I would either binge on sweets when I was happy or excited, or I’d totally avoid food when I was nervous. But I don’t think I consciously connected food to body image until right around puberty. Anyway, that was around the time when my ballet friends started talking about not eating dessert because it would make them fat, and when my father began to lecture me about how dancers were supposed to eat, and I guess I just started filing that all away in my brain.
At some point I made the decision that mine was not the sort of body that was meant to be seen in a bathing suit. I guess this was around 6th or 7th grade, but maybe before that. I made up my mind that I wasn’t going to subject the world to the particular horrors of my unclothed body. I started wearing large t-shirts over my bathing suits, or adding board shorts to cover what I believed to be totally unacceptable thighs. I coveted my friends’ summer clothes, the short shorts and tank tops of the girls I believed were allowed to wear such things. I wore jeans and three-quarter length blouses all summer, sweating furiously and telling everyone that this was just what I liked to wear. I still do, actually.
I don’t own a pair of shorts. Well, no, that’s a lie. I own two pairs of cheerleading shorts that I bought in college, thinking I might be brave. I have never worn them outside of my house, and I rarely wear them in my house because even I don’t like to look at myself in them. No matter how hot the day, I will always wear a cardigan over a tank top. I still believe my arms do not have permission to see the light of day. It makes me so sad, so incredibly lonely and sad, to see the summer fashions coming out at the end of spring. Fall and winter feel like a respite from the constant body shaming I do in my head because, after all, everyone’s covered up. In summer it’s harder to hide how much I hate my body, how fiercely and unmercifully I keep it covered.
Recently I’ve been pushing myself- well, forcing is a better word- to wear things I don’t feel comfortable in. I’m taking it slow, but I’m doing it. Last night I wore a little strapless sundress that I have only ever worn with tights. This time I went without tights, but I still wore a light cardigan. I spent the whole night self-conscious about my legs, but I did it anyway. My best friend rolled her eyes when I said I was uncomfortable. She told me I looked cute. She had no idea how I felt inside.
The past two afternoons have seen me at the pool in a bathing suit. Despite discomfort bordering on panic, I didn’t hide myself in a towel when I walked to the bathroom- twice. Baby steps. I guess I feel like recovery for me has to be about more than eating. I’m not an anorexic person anymore but I still have an anorexic brain- relentlessly perfectionistic, abusive, and fearful. I have to train my brain, like I would train some kind of wild animal, and stop letting it decide my life for me. It’s going to take a lot of work, but I’m ready.
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