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Salad for breakfast.

Saturday mornings I take myself out for breakfast, a trip to the gym, and then run errands (of the "easier without kids" variety).  The earlier the better.

Most of the restaurants around here open between 7 and 8 on Saturdays, but there's one place that I recently discovered opens at 6:30, and I've been going there a lot.  It's a lovely bakery cafe that touts its local cheeses and produce (in season!) and many varieties of house baked breads (and pastries -- I can see the case from here -- strawberry rhubarb muffins and spinach-swiss scones and chocolate croissants -- not that I would ever eat these things for breakfast). 

Its menu was a revelation to me for one big reason:  They have salad for breakfast.

The first time I came in (still in weight loss mode) I ordered the scrambled eggs and smoked salmon.  It was a big plate and I had to limit myself to eating only half of it, and only a half piece of the "healthy hemp toast," too.  Instead of hash browns, this particular meal came with a side of "organic mixed greens."  Which was a beautiful tender green salad with just the right amount of a classic French-style vinaigrette.  Even at 6:30 a.m., the salad felt good all the way down to my toes -- I gobbled it up before I even touched my coffee, let alone the eggs. 

I came back a few more times and discovered that they would substitute the salad for hash browns, at no extra charge, on any of the breakfasts.  Well, that was a no-brainer!  I have found myself coming back here more and more often, not just because they're the only place open at 6:30 a.m., but also because I wake up and think... poached eggs, a piece of toast, and a salad.  That's what I want for breakfast.  The remains of such a plate is at my right elbow as I type this.

I mean, most breakfast places, if you want a serving of veggies, you're stuck with tomato juice.  I like tomato juice, it's a great solution, but a little more variety is nice.

Isn't it strange that with all my effort to pack more vegetables into my day, it would take me so long to realize that salad can be a fine breakfast food?  Tomato juice, that makes sense.  An occasional omelette stuffed with last night's leftover greens.  But salad -- if the greens are already washed and ready, and the vinaigrette in a jar in the fridge, what could be easier? 

One can, of course, buy the lettuce and wash it oneself.  I struggle with time constraints especially when trying to establish a new habit, so we decided we could fit the cost of a pound of prewashed organic mixed greens into our weekly grocery bill, at least for the time being. There they are now, enough salad for me to have salad for breakfast daily if I like.  A bottle of dressing is easy (and it's what Mark and the kids prefer) but I always mix my own dressing in a jelly jar:

Erin's Idiot-proof Mustard Vinaigrette:

One part Grey Poupon Dijon mustard, one part red wine vinegar, two parts olive oil, salt and pepper to taste in a jelly jar.  Cover and shake.  Toss one tablespoon with a portion of greens.

Erin's Nearly-idiot-proof Cream Dressing:

Half a jelly jar of heavy cream, plenty of salt and pepper, cover and shake to mix (only about fifteen seconds -- you don't want to make butter).  Add vinegar to taste --- 1 tsp to start, then more if you like it more sour.  Shake very gently just to mix.  Toss a bit more than 1 tablespoon with a portion of greens.

One of those salads, a soft-boiled egg, and a half piece of toast is just perfect. 

UPDATE:  I think I must have the only blog in St. Blog's Parish with a full time staff epidemiologist.  In the comments, Christy P reminds us all that for maximum food safety one must still rinse prewashed greens.  

Careful now... the bite back from recommendations like that is that people will say "Wash the pre-washed greens?  Hang it all, I'm just picking up an Egg McMuffin on the way to work."  So *I* remind you all not to let Christy P and her ilk stop you from enjoying your salad.    

Leftovers with attitude.

Mark has been bugging me to put the leftovers on the table more often, because they find their way to the back of the fridge and stay there until they spoil.

We already have "leftover night" now and again to try to use up all the odds 'n' ends, but I enjoyed the not-at-all stale tips in this post at A Place of Quiet Rest:  The Luscious Leftover Buffet.  

1. Spread it out! If you have an empty counter, clean it off and spread out the offerings, like a buffet. Everyone likes to make choices, and buffets are super popular with kids.
2. Divide it up! A single small mug of chili, soup or baked beans is fun to pick up and that way everyone who wants a taste can get one. No one needs to see that messy casserole dish, so dish it up in paper cupcake cups or little custard cups and make it something special.
3. Swap the cheese! Sometimes the cheese on the top of a casserole gets overbrowned in the process of reheating. I don't feel badly in scraping off a bit of the ugly cheese and putting on fresh. Fresh cheese also dresses up a cup of chili, reheated quiche, a bit of salad or a creamy soup. The same thing goes for leftover pizza - a fresh layer really does something good for reheated pizza.

  

There are several more tips, and a couple of nice photos, at the link -- along with a brief musing on thankfulness for the abundance in our lives.

(Hat tip:  Meredith from Like Merchant Ships, a blog new to me.)

When's the best night for Leftover Night?  The conventional wisdom is that it should be the evening before grocery day, since it gives you a chance to clean out the refrigerator to make room for new stuff.  I rather think it should be the evening after you go grocery shopping.  

(More on my meal planning algorithm.)

You'll have to look through the fridge to get ready to make your grocery list anyway, and while you're in there you can figure out about how much of what kinds of leftovers you've got.  You can also add to the list any items that'll help round out the buffet -- maybe some fresh sliced bell pepper would be great in that leftover hummus, for example.

Then, you clean out the fridge onto the counter when you get the groceries home, and set up your buffet right after.

As a bonus, you won't have to shop and cook on the same day.

Breakfast experiment.

It's getting easier to keep my weight within range, I think, but it's still a little tricky to decide how to cut calories when I get a bit heavy and (a bit more difficult) to add calories when I get a bit too light.

This morning I was thinking back over my meals and how I feel about them and I realized a few things:

  - Breakfast is the meal I am most likely to eat at home, and thus have total control over.

  - Furthermore, restaurant breakfast choices include most of my at-home breakfast choices:  of all the 

      breakfasts I might eat at home, I can probably replicate 90 percent of them if I find myself eating

      breakfast away from home.

  - I wake up in the morning quite hungry and able to eat a lot of food if I want to; but the whole time I was losing weight, I was consistently satisfied with a particular small breakfast.  

It's been a while since I performed an experiment on myself, and this one is perhaps going to be a longer one, but here's what I'm going to try:

 - If my weight's in range, I'm going to eat pretty much what I want "in moderation," moderation being defined as watching the composition of my plate (half veg, quarter meat, quarter starchy veg or grains), treating carbohydrates with caution, and paying attention to hunger signals.

 - If my weight's too low, I will behave normally except at breakfast.  At breakfast I'm going to have, in addition to whatever I feel like having, a slice of whole-wheat toast with butter or peanut butter.

 - If my weight's too high, I will behave normally except at breakfast.  Instead of "whatever I want," I'll eat the Small Diet Breakfast.  That is, one egg, boiled or poached, and 4 oz. tomato juice.

The Small Diet Breakfast is, incidentally, about 100 calories, in the apparently-magic-for-me ratio of 50% fat, 25% carb, 25% protein.  I find that when I eat whatever I wish to eat for breakfast, I usually hit about 300 calories -- so breakfast will be smaller by approximately 200 calories when I do this.

Adding an ounce of whole wheat bread plus a tablespoon of butter or peanut butter adds around 190 calories, heavier on the carbs than my normal diet.  

Of course, it's possible that if I eat "normally" the rest of the day, I'll unconsciously adjust my intake to make up for the change in calories.  But it seems like a good hypothesis to try, because I can't think of an easier place to adjust my calories than at breakfast.

Roast vegetables, four ideas.

OK, first of all, one thing to do is Google "roast vegetables recipe,"  plus any ingredient you particularly want to include, e.g., "roast vegetables broccoli recipe."  There are plenty of hits, and you'll get plenty of ideas.

Second, a plug for two less-fancy-looking roasted vegetables that I make on a regular basis:  roasted asparagus and roasted green beans.  They may not be good enough for Thanksgiving, but they are easy and addictive.   I suppose you could mix them together, though I never have.  Trim and wash them.  Oil a baking pan or jelly roll pan (something with a lip to contain the oil) with as much oil as you like; the minimum is to brush a thin layer on to prevent sticking, the maximum is several tablespoons.  Toss in all your trimmed, washed, patted-dry asparagus or green beans, salt and pepper, and toss with your hands to coat lightly with the oil.  Roast at 400 degrees F until they're done to your liking, tossing occasionally with tongs.  20 minutes is a good amount to start.  You want to get them at least crisp-tender, and the longer they go the browner and wrinklier and more tender they get.  I suppose if you wanted to dress them up for a potluck, you could roast some halved cherry tomatoes alongside and sprinkle them with something else pretty, like slivered almonds or shaved parmesan.  OR BACON!  [ed. Stop that.]

Third, here is a recipe for Garlic-Roasted Vegetables that has more variety but looks easier than what I usually do.  It's from The Volumetrics Eating Plan by Barbara Rolls.

• 1 cup cauliflower flowerets
• 1 cup broccoli flowerets 
• 2 cups 1-in slices of zucchini 
• 1 and 1/2 cups 1-inch carrot sticks 
• 1 1/2 cups thickly sliced onions
• 1 1/2 cups 1-in-diced unpeeled "boiling" potatoes 
•  1 tsp chopped garlic
• 1 tsp dried thyme 
• 1/2 tsp salt 
• 1/4 tsp pepper 
• 1/4 c chopped parsley  

Preheat the oven to 400 degrees.  Coat a 9x13 pan with baking spray [I would rather brush it with olive oil or rub it with coconut oil -- Erin]  Toss everything but the parsley in the baking pan.  Lightly coat with cooking spray.  [yuck -- I repeat, just use olive oil, the fat won't kill you]  Bake for 40-45 min or until the potatoes are tender.  Serve sprinkled with parsley. 

Finally, here is what I do when I make my Plain Roast Vegetable Medley that I like to take to potlucks.  

Be warned:  It really is on the plain side.  It doesn't have any of the characteristics you usually associate with "this would be great for a potluck!"  That honor usually goes to things that are very rich (like fudge) or very comfort-foody (like green bean casserole with the onion topping) or vaguely exotic yet widely appealing ("The secret ingredient is hoisin sauce!")  

No, the thing that makes Plain Roast Vegetable Medley good for potlucks is that nobody else will think to bring a plain roast vegetable medley.  Oh, also, it's vegan and pretty much allergy-free.

Erin's Plain Roast Vegetable Medley For Potlucks

• 2 big bunches broccoli
• 4 big yellow squash 
• Several carrots (at least four, maybe more) 
• Olive oil OR coconut oil
• Minced garlic - between a tsp and a tablespoon 
• Herb of your choice (thyme's good, so's oregano) 

  Cut up the broccoli into 1-inch chunks.  Peel the tough stalk and cut that up into chunks too.  Cut the yellow squash into thick slices, halving them if they're really big.  Cut the carrots into tinier chunks.  Put the vegetables into baking pans that have been lightly greased with olive or (warmed in the preheating oven) coconut oil and toss a little bit to coat with the oil.  Add minced garlic and herb.  Place in the oven.

Turn every ten minutes or so.  

You don't have to do it this way, but:  I typically roast the vegetables in separate pans so I can remove them when each is done exactly how I like them.  Then I toss them together in a big bowl and add salt and pepper while they're still hot.  I usually serve them at room temperature.

Bonus:  The leftovers are excellent tossed with cooked pasta and a little salad dressing.

Fajitas.

We grilled steak for dinner last night, and since I defrosted a 1.4-lb sirloin, I kept a big chunk of it back for the next day.  Part went into Mark's lunch, but the remaining six ounces became skillet fajitas.  This is a great way to stretch a little bit of meat to feed the whole family.  Sliced onions and bell peppers, plus tomatoes either fresh or canned, are required; but the rest of the veggies?  It's clean-out-the-crisper time. Tonight's fajitas included mushrooms, red cabbage, and thinly sliced carrots. 

Do you really need me to tell you how?  Stir-fry the peppers, onions, mushrooms if you got 'em, anything you want to get caramelized, and any hard veggies (e.g. carrots) until they're tender.  Stir in a few cloves of minced garlic and some oregano and cumin, and maybe a minced chile if you have one.  Then put the soft veggies in, with water -- maybe a half cup -- and some salsa from a jar -- not much, a couple of tablespoons.  Let it bubble till the liquid is mostly gone and stir in what little meat you've got.  If it doesn't look substantial enough you can always throw in a can of well-drained beans of any sort.  Warm up some corn tortillas and you've got a meal.  If you happen to have sour cream and guacamole and chopped lettuce and cilantro, so much the better, but these things are not at all necessary.

I boiled up some plain turnip greens to have on the side; no reason, it just feels weird by now not to have a plain vegetable.  They're pretty good with salsa, did you know that?   And I also sliced oranges into half-moons.  I don't know why, but sliced citrus fruit always seems like the perfect side dish for salsa-based dishes.

I had two tortillas wrapped around the fajita filling, and two helpings of greens, and two orange slices.  I finished off my day with a quarter-ounce of Dagoba dark chocolate with chiles and cacao nibs, and then a nice hot cup of decaf.

I did not count calories for this meal.  When I choose to count calories, recalibrate my portion sizes and so on, I generally don't do it through dinner unless I have some reason to be exceptionally careful.  Rather, I count everything else, keeping it low enough to have a comfortable margin going into dinner.  Then I just try not to overdo it, relying on my eight-and-a-half-inch plate, and declining second helpings.

Seven almonds.

It took me a while to get used to the idea of a single-digit number of tiny things as a snack.   I do it almost without thinking now. 

Assuming you've already gotten control over the number of snacks you're having daily -- I allow myself exactly two -- a decent rule of thumb for controlling the size of snacks, especially snacks of unknown composition (are those baked or fried tortilla chips?) is to have one ounce.  Even if you were to eat one ounce of pure oil, you'd only be set back about 250 calories.  That's not insignificant, and you'd better not do it every day, but it's not going to break the bank, so to speak.  Think of it as a ceiling.

Almonds are another one of my talismans.  It is hard to believe now, but not long ago I did not like them very much.  I had tried to like them, because they're way up top of the "good for you" nut list.  I tried to switch from peanut butter to almond butter.  It never worked very well.  

But after I started adding nuts, a few at a time, into my snacks, I found myself choosing almonds more and more often.   Now they are the first nut I reach for.  I am beginning to think I should buy stock in Blue Diamond.  I keep these in my car cup holder as my emergency snack.   It has measurements on the side, as if I needed to be told; by now I know that there are about 24 almonds in an ounce.

In-the-mood pasta salad.

I still remember that the very first week I started losing weight, I made myself a giant batch of a particular pasta salad and ate it for lunch every day that week.  I guess it seemed easier than figuring out what to eat, and how many calories in my lunch, five different times.

In honor of that first week -- maybe this will be my last week!  -- I am returning to that same pasta salad.  I figure this to be approximately eight servings at 275-300 calories each; each serving is a "heaping cup" or 180 grams.

• 8 ounces dry whole wheat elbow macaroni
• 4 ounces your favorite expensive salami (I like the herb-coated kind), diced small
• 4 ounces mozzarella or monterey jack cheese, diced small
• 2 large yellow bell peppers, sliced thinly
• About 16 or 20 cherry tomatoes, quartered 
• 5 stalks celery, thinly sliced 
• 1/4 cup olive oil 
• Salt and pepper 
• Oregano, unless you have the herb-coated salami  

Boil the pasta till al dente and drain.  Toss the pasta with the oil, cheese, salami, and vegetables.  Salt and pepper and oregano to taste.  Best at room temperature.

Low-carb version:  Halve the pasta and use Dreamfield's brand low GI pasta; double the salami and cheese.   It's very nice.  

You can certainly stretch it by adding more pasta, up to a pound, but it won't be nearly so vegetabley if you do.  You'll probably also need to add a couple extra tablespoons of oil.

This is my lunch today, along with a few sections of grapefruit.

Whole raw milk.

One eight-ounce glass:  my midmorning snack.  

I drank a lot of milk as a kid and young adult, mostly gulping it down with meals.  It wasn't a pleasure in and of itself, except maybe with certain things:  chocolate brownies, peanut butter sandwiches, lasagna, all things I love to wash down with milk.

I cut seriously back in the last few years when I went low-carb.  Only in the last few months has it returned to my diet, and now it's really good, whole raw milk from grass-fed cows.  Now, it's too good to wash down dinner with.  Now it stands alone, about ten-thirty in the morning.  All by itself, and sipped with some attention to the sensation, it is astonishingly creamy and even a little sweet.  It reminds me (just a bit) of good vanilla ice cream.  There's no vanilla, of course, and only lactose for sweetness, but that richness and some of the body is there.  

It's surprisingly filling, too.  I won't have any trouble waiting till noon.

Boiled egg, tomato juice, and black coffee.

I have always liked this breakfast, but by now it's a kind of talisman.  It puts me in the right state of mind. 

I have three states of mind and being now, so to speak.

1.  where I lived every day before May 13 of this year,  even when I was trying to lose weight:  the place where more food promises to make me feel happier.  I've visited a couple of times since then, enough to know I don't want to stay for long.
2.  where I lived almost every day after May 13 and up to a few weeks ago, powerful and aware, choosing on purpose to feel hunger; hunger, my physical therapy, my cure.  
3. where I'm planning to settle, the place of stability, a place I don't know and don't understand.

The boiled egg first thing in the morning is a signal I send to my self:  This day is for choosing.  Get ready.

There's a ritual to the boiled egg.  I come downstairs, I collect my materials.  The tiny saucepan my mother-in-law gave me.  Two teaspoons.  Egg cup.  Small plate.  Salt and pepper.   The brown egg.  A child's juice glass.  I put the saucepan of water on to boil before I start the coffee.  I wait, warming my hands over the rising steam.  When the water boils I put egg on spoon, slip it into the water carefully (don't crack the shell) and set the timer.  Six minutes later, I turn off the flame, spoon the egg out and drop it point-down into my egg cup.  The egg cup goes in the center of my plate next to the clean spoon.  A cup of hot coffee, tomato juice to the rim of my glass, the salt and pepper grinders to the side.  I tap all around the shell, a quarter of the way down, with the edge of my spoon, then slice it off and lay it aside.  

In the perfect egg (for me) the white is all solid, the yolk a viscous fluid.  I salt and pepper the sliced-off top and eat that first, scraping it out of the cupped fragment of shell; then I turn to the rest of the egg in the cup, alternately salting and spooning till the shell is empty.  I drain my glass and pick up my coffee cup, warming my hands. 

Boiled eggs aren't for everyone, I suppose.  But do you have a magical breakfast, a breakfast that marks the beginning of a sort of day -- a "good day," a "work day," a "busy day," a "calm day" -- some kind of day you're hoping to attain?  Is there a breakfast that says to you, "There, that's one thing -- one thing that went exactly right -- what's next?  Bring it on!"  

If you haven't got such a breakfast, I recommend you come up with one.  It may not be a boiled egg -- maybe it's a big bowl of oatmeal, maybe it's a peanut butter sandwich and a glass of milk (for me that would be the start of a "comfort myself with food" day -- bad idea), maybe it's an omelette aux fines herbes, maybe it's breakfast at the all-night place up the street in the wee hours before the rest of the family wakes up, just you with the Sunrise Special and the early edition, maybe it's a particular brand of granola bar, maybe it's a yogurt smoothie.  

It doesn't matter what it is.  If you haven't got one, then you can design it.  Make it a ritual, make it regular, and make it yours.

Division.

Mark's:

Mine:

Four eggs scrambled in a tablespoon of coconut oil with a splash of half-and-half, a few tablespoons minced onion, one sliced sausage link, salt and pepper.

Life's too short to eat plain scrambled eggs.

I used the scale to divide it; I have one-quarter of the total.  (The comparison isn't perfect; my plate's diameter is smaller)

Scrambled eggs is one of those breakfasts where I marvel at my smaller way of eating.  One boiled egg perched in an egg cup, next to a cup of coffee and a salt shaker, looks like a proper amount.  Scrambled eggs never look right except in a sprawling pile.  Mark's plate, above, still looks like the right-size breakfast for me.

Which is why I use the scale.