Macaroni and Cheese from Langermann's on Light

First off, before I forget, I want to give Langermann's on Light (on Light Street in Baltimore, in case you were wondering about the weird name) props for making their regular menu available in addition to their fixed-price Restaurant Week selection. Because there's no pleasure in being forced to pay more for food that you enjoy less, which is usually the case with a fixed menu.

Unsurprisingly, I did not select the Restaurant Week menu, but went instead for every vegetarian's meat-and-potatoes: the platter of side dishes. More props to Langermann's (can I just call them LOL?) for providing this option at a discount over the a la carte prices!

I ordered asparagus, cabbage, and – of course – macaroni and cheese.

The macaroni was nothing to jump up on the table and scream with joy about – which is probably a good thing – but it was nothing to complain about either. It had enough salt and enough cheese, and it was not overcooked. It was probably not worth paying as much as I did for it, but when I was finished, I felt quite satisfied.

All in all, I rate it two Happy Noodles: One for the macaroni itself, and one for the restaurant being such a pleasant surprise for a picky vegetarian.

Slice of Life

My dad's wife Jackie invited me to participate in a special blogging event through the month of March. Basically, you write a blog post every day, share it with other bloggers who are doing the same, and comment on a few of their blogs.

It's called the Slice of Life Story Challenge, but to me, it doesn't sound so much like a challenge as an excuse to use words! Thousands of words! Every day!

It's no secret—I love words. Finding something to write about daily won't be difficult; I've got Giant Cookie Reviews and MacaroniQuests and torrential thoughts about anything and everything aplenty. What will be a challenge is remembering to share my links with the Slice of Life community every day before midnight. Prattling incessantly is one of my strengths...participating in communities is less so.

But I will do it! I have done it, by writing this introduction! One day down, 30 to go!

This is goodbye: A eulogy for my black and white striped shirt

My wardrobe has a high turnover rate. I buy new things cheaply, keep them around for a year or two, get bored with them, and sell them.

With the exception of purely practical staples, like the black pants I've had since I worked at Bob Evans, and an ever-expanding but never-shrinking collection of layering tanks, nothing sticks around too long. Mainly because I have hardly anything in my closet that I'm truly in love with .

OK, I do admit I am sentimentally attached to a few gifted items that I won't give up even when they don't quite fit and I can't ever find anything to match them. And I'm keeping my high school senior T-shirt and the orange top I got in 8th grade until they fall to pieces, simply because they've lasted this long and it would be a shame to give up on them now. But for the most part, I don't have any compunctions about saying goodbye to clothes that are past their prime.

Yet yesterday was a sad day, when I was forced to do just that, to a shirt that I might even go so far as to call my favorite. The first time I wore it (not even two years ago!), I claimed I would "looooooooove" it "until the day it finally bites the dust." That day came too soon.

After I pulled it out of the dryer yesterday, I had to admit to myself that the holes were no longer "small enough to ignore." The neckline was coming apart from the body of the shirt in spots, and the waistband was doing the same. I could probably sew up some of it and get a few more wears out of it, but it would never look good, and it would just postpone the inevitable.

So I steeled myself and relegated my beloved shirt to the pajama drawer.

"What?" you're probably saying. "The pajama drawer? You'll still see it every day! That's not saying goodbye! That is not worthy of a eulogy!"

And, well, maybe you're right. It's more like a breakup. Where me and my ex (ex shirt) are still "just friends." Sure, we see each other, and we get along, but we can't go out together any more. When we do see each other, we're both (OK, let's be honest, it's just me) painfully reminded of a time when our relationship meant more. When we didn't have to hide it. When we could, oh, proudly flaunt our couple-selfies all over the Internet.

Pictures of some of our happier times together

Gosh, it's only been a day, and I miss my Black-and-White-Striped-Shirt already. I wonder if it's thinking of me...

Whitetail Resort Cookies

I don't think ski resort cafeterias are known for their delicious and affordable food, but when I found Giant Cookies at Whitetail Resort, I had to try anyway. I was not much impressed.

The chocolate chip cookie reminded me of cookies made from refrigerated Tollhouse dough (delicious to eat raw, absolutely average once baked). It was too airy and crunchy, especially around the edges. It had no distinctive flavor, but at least it wasn't stingy with the chocolate chips.

Would I pay $3.49 for one of these again? I think not.

The Bottom Line:
Taste: 3 stars
Texture: 2 stars
Price: 1 star (3¢ per gram)

The peanut butter cookie was softer, but still rather dry. Its flavor was, again, nothing to write home about. Its best feature was the presence of peanut butter chips, which are somewhat uncommon in peanut butter cookies. They added some textural variety and a burst of sweetness in each bite, but that still wasn't enough to make me want to buy them at 3¢ a gram.

The Bottom Line:
Taste: 3 stars
Texture: 3 stars
Price: 1 star

What does my sleepwear say about me?

My preferred sleepwear is shorts and a tank top—or, in winter, their warmer counterparts: lounge pants and thermal tees. According to this Who What Wear quiz (which is really not so much a quiz as a subtle nudge to consumerism), that means I put a premium on comfort.

Well, I guess that's more true than not—bed is one place where I think being comfortable is way more important than looking good. But probably my number-one reason for wearing loungewear to bed is because it's so sensible. Nothing does double-duty quite as well as my chosen sleepwear—which is, incidentally, the same as my weekend wear.

That means, on a glorious Saturday, I can roll out of bed and not bother to change for hours...and get away with it! If I were to, hypothetically, answer the door at 3pm in matched flannel PJ's, I'd give off the appearance of someone who is either sick or supremely lazy. But dressed in a pair of yoga pants and a T-shirt, I simply look like someone who's having a cozy day at home! Or maybe even is athletic! I can wear those same yoga pants to the grocery store, with little risk of the sidelong glances I would surely incur if I showed up in a cotton nightgown. With minor modifications, my sleep clothes can take me straight from bed to the gym without any social repercussions.

Money is, of course, a huge deciding factor. I could, and once did, consistently look all put-together in matched sets, but those tend to cost money, and why wear those when you can just repurpose your old clothes and not spend a penny?






And then, of course, we must be realistic. Much as I love them in theory, I've given up on silky numbers before even giving them a try, considering how my dry skin and flaking fingernails snag everything that isn't built for lumberjacks. So sensible, durable fabrics are my one and only.

I may have a slight obsession with dressing to impress (or at least make a statement), but when it comes to sleep and its associated garb, I will sacrifice all sorts of fashion in the name of practicality.

What does your sleepwear say about you?

Weekend Whining

Two weeks and a weekend into this illness, I've had enough with a capital nough. The thought of never recovering is filling me with dread. Sometimes panic. And I think panic, in general, is not conducive to recovery.

I am already annoyed at how boring I've become. I've withdrawn from my skating lessons. I skipped a hockey game and two parties this weekend (narrowly escaping the Super Bowl for another year) and reluctantly attended a third, at which I sat nervously and refused all desserts and generally made myself out to be a loser. I was also doped up on meclizine, which delivered its promised drowsiness nearly 6 hours after ingestion, inconveniently right after I arrived at the party.

My hobbies have dwindled down to one—listening to Cloud Atlas on my cell phone, which is probably for the better because I borrowed this particular audiobook from the library (digitally) and I only have a few more days until I have to "return" it. Oh, and also blogging blind—thankfully this is not too difficult since my touch typing skills are prodigious, if I do say so myself (and heck, I might as well let myself feel good about something, cause otherwise I would be a negative Nancy indeed).

I have attempted numerous times to get  some sort of screen reader software so I can listen to web pages, rather than look at them, which makes my eyes go all wonky. I have learned the utmost empathy for people with visual disabilities, as what I've found thus far has been disappointing bordering on maddening. Stop reading the HTML markup! Stop telling me no text is selected when it is! Stop insisting on reading the quotation marks aloud but not the ampersands! Stop talking like a robot! Et cetera, et cetera.

All the craft projects I've been wanting to do are just sitting in a pile waiting for me to have the fortitude to attempt them. My usually impeccable (though often unfashionable) sense of style has taken a hit, as staring into my closet and trying on endless combinations of clothes is too wearing (get it?) for my brain. I turned down one freelance gig already, and I look ahead with complete unenthusiasm to the one I'm already obligated to do. I paid my bills late, because I couldn't seem to find the time for them in between sprees of sitting in the darkness, thus labyrinthitis  is already costing me pennies upon pennies in overdue fees.

Not to mention the doctor visits, of which there have already been 2, going on  a third, and the prescription, which I probably won't bother to refill.

This weekend was something of a tease, as there were huge swathes of Saturday in which I felt disconcertingly normal, only to have the dizziness come back in several annoying swoops. This morning, I am definitely back to square one. The only difference between the way I felt at the onset of this condition and the way I feel now is that now I'm additionally enjoying occasional motion sickness and headaches. Oh, and originally I would feel better if I closed my eyes; now, sometimes, that makes it feel worse! My consolation is that sometimes I feel like it is easing up, or even occasionally going away completely, so maybe I'm not doomed to a life of dizziness.

Labyrinthitis

Here's a funny story about hypochondria: while I was busy barking up the whooping cough tree, I completely missed a legitimate illness that was right under my nose. Here are the clues, extracted directly from my recent blog posts:

"I was too tired to focus my eyes."
"My eyes wouldn't work properly, and I couldn't concentrate worth a hoot."
"in what could now be called full-on zombie mode."
"I am in a constant stupor."

I've saved you the suspense of guessing what was wrong with me by conveniently titling this post with its name, but if you want to play along, here's the story of how I finally clued in to the fact that something was amiss.

By last Wednesday morning (that's 4 days after the onset of symptoms), I had finally gotten a full night of sleep. Yet still, I had this weird disconcerting feeling of being in a dream. It was hard to put my finger on what was wrong, but things just didn't look right to me, like there was a discrepancy between what my eyes were seeing and what my brain was registering. The best way I could describe it was feeling "spacey."

The symptoms were really vague and very subtle, but after days of scrutinizing them, I concluded:

• Feeling spacey is the primary symptom.
• At times, when it gets bad, I notice things look like they're subtly rocking, vibrating, or bouncing, and I can feel a faint sensation of the same if I close my eyes.
• It gets worse in the evenings and after being active.
• Bright light seems to make it worse—staring at a computer monitor is no fun whatsoever, but oddly, if I get really close to the monitor while reading, I almost feel normal.
• I have had little to no appetite and on bad days I'm downright nauseated.

Like any good hypochondriac, I turned to the Internet for a diagnosis. What I found was a disturbing number of people who developed the same symptoms mysteriously and never lost them, spending years in a state of unreality. Some people got this way after a neck injury that somehow affected blood flow to their brain. Others just woke up that way one morning. I discovered some migraine sufferers experience similar symptoms, and I spent a day believing I had some incredibly long-lasting migraine.

By Thursday afternoon, I had changed my self-diagnosis to labyrinthitis, based on the fact that it's a fairly common condition that often arises after an upper respiratory infection, which I had just had. On the next Tuesday morning (yesterday, and, if you're counting, 11 days after the first appearance of symptoms), I went to the doctor, who also diagnosed labyrinthitis without any prompting from me.

He said some things that were reassuring and some things that were not: For example, people usually get better on their own, but it was a little unusual that I wasn't getting better yet. He also noted that usually labyrinthitis causes a spinning sensation, so my spaciness and occasional rocking feeling are not exactly par for the course.

To me, this says we're either wrong and there's something else going on entirely, or I'm just a weird bird who can never do anything the normal way. He says if it doesn't improve, he recommends I see an ENT in DC who specializes in vertigo.

Insert witty conclusion here while I go to bed. My eyes are tired.

Confessions of a Hypochondriac: The Whooping Cough Episode

Worrying about my health is something I'm good at, having had a whole lifetime of experience. I've believed I had everything from a heart attack (at the ripe old age of 10) to pancreatic cancer to kidney failure to bowel obstruction.

I never go to the doctor and just say, "Help, I have a cough." No, I go to the doctor and say, "Help, I'm afraid I have whooping cough."

That's the most recent case of hypochondria. I blame my own self. Jestingly using the phrase "whooping it up" in my last blog post as a humorous substitute for "coughing," I unwittingly started an avalanche. Before long, I was thinking of the article I read a few weeks ago, by a sufferer of the ailment, bitterly blaming the parents who chose not to vaccinate their children. Whooping cough (aka pertussis) is becoming more widespread in recent years, and the vaccine I received as a child would have worn off by now. I wonder, as I wheeze in my bed by the light of the moon, what whooping cough feels like. Ah, the Internet can tell me!

By the next day, I am convinced I have whooping cough. At least, there's nothing I've read to indicate I don't. In its early stages, pertussis is just like a cold, developing into an "unremarkable," "occasional," "dry" cough, which is just like mine! After five nights predominated by coughing, I am in a constant stupor from the sleep deprivation (or maybe that's another symptom of my illness). I have to see the doctor!

Never mind that almost everyone in my office got sick at the same time, and they've all mostly recovered. Never mind that everyone around me is coughing like it's Beijing or something. Surely my cough is different, worse, and whooping.

I tell the doctor, half ashamed because I know she's going to think I'm a crackpot and probably post cartoons about me on Facebook, but at the same time I'm not ashamed enough to sweep my fears under the rug. She says, "I don't think you have whooping cough. I haven't heard you cough once since you've been here, and usually whooping cough is continuous." Well, actually, the things I read on the Internet say that most adults with whooping cough only have spells once in a while, but I just nod that she's right. "And," she continues, "Usually whooping cough is not just a tickle in the throat. It's usually a deep chest cough."

I say, sheepishly, "Well, they say it takes about two weeks to get to that stage. I'm worried I just haven't gotten there yet."

She humors me by giving me a prescription for azithromycin, but tells me to first take my nasal steroids for a few days, because she thinks I probably just have irritation from post-nasal drip. I thank her from my heart. She doesn't believe my suspicions, but she's given me what I need to stop worrying.

And it turns out, she was right. I did not have whooping cough. That day, I went to the drugstore and picked up a longer-lasting cough suppressant, took it that night, and my cough pretty much had disappeared by the next day. But what she didn't know was that I had something much more insidious to worry about! Stay tuned for the next installment in this thrilling medical drama.

Can't Get No Sleep

I've always had trouble falling asleep, but I've been taking it to a whole new level this week. I got a cold last Sunday, and about 2 days into it (when the respiratory symptoms caught up with the general malaise) I started having trouble sleeping. Wednesday and Thursday nights were mildly restless, but not enough to make me tired at work. Friday I went out with some friends and got home late.  I slept great that night, but I still missed out on a couple hours of sleep and probably reactivated my cold a little. I was kind of in low-grade zombie mode all Saturday, which was fine because all I had to do was run a few errands in the morning and chug cough syrup the rest of the day.

Cough syrup is an experiment for me. I've never really used it before, mainly because the thought of swilling some sugary concoction of chemicals makes me want to gag, and I prefer doing things the natural way (for the record, slippery elm doesn't help). But after whooping it up for the past couple of days, I decided to bite the bullet and bought some sugar-free Robitussin. It was still nasty. Wish I could have just found it in pill form. But anyway, I think it helped. At least, there were a few hours between doses where I didn't feel the need to cough. But right after each dose was usually, for some reason, a coughing frenzy. Probably the gag reflex kicking in.

Anyway, round about 10:00, I realized I was too tired to focus my eyes, so I got myself into bed and prepared for a nice heavy sleep. The kind I usually get when I've been sleep deprived.

But this time as soon as my head hit the pillow, the tickle in my throat came back with a vengeance! I had brought the cough syrup into bed with me, so I just poured a dose, convulsed for a few minutes, and finally calmed down. Then I tossed and turned for a while and realized that I was feeling restless. I blamed it on the Sudafed. It wasn't supposed to wear off until around 4am, so I prepared for a few uncomfortable hours. It might have been the cough syrup, though. Or the combination.

But then, despite the long-lasting effects of the Sudafed on my sleep, it hadn't worked so well on my congestion. Part of my nose was stuffy, and it was extremely distracting! I had also brought my decongestant spray into bed with me (it works better than Sudafed), so took a few hits of that and lay back down.

Then, at 11, I got a text message! My Airbnb houseguests wanted to know if they could extend their stay another night! I had to rouse myself, check to make sure no one else had booked for the following night, and then let them know they were free to book. Later (too much later), while I was still semi-conscious, they finally made the booking, resulting in another text message at 12:40 and me having to get up again, visit Airbnb and approve their request.

At this point, I realized I was going to need some help, so I opened my old sleep hypnosis app. I don't know why I bother with it, because it never works. I have a very low susceptibility to hypnosis. So then I went on to progressive muscle relaxation.

After that, I might have even dozed a bit, but I know I checked my phone at 2:24 am, because I was getting that throat tickle again and wanted to know if it was time for another dose. Close enough! I swallowed it down, rinsed my mouth assiduously with water, then started worrying that maybe cough syrups only come in syrup form because they have to adhere to your throat to work, and by rinsing it out with water, I was undoing its effects. So then I had to swallow the water and hope I wasn't just throwing my cough syrup down a figurative drain. [later I found out I wasn't, so all of that worrying was for no reason, and all of that vile medicine could be delivered much less disgustingly].

More time passed. I tossed, I turned, I had annoying half-dreams while still being conscious of being awake. I felt like the whole night was that—my mind just drifting from thought to thought and plot to plot until, finally, it was 8 am and I crawled out of bed with great relief, just happy to not have to try to sleep any more. I felt even more tired than I had been when I went to bed. My eyes wouldn't work properly, and I couldn't concentrate worth a hoot!

Normally when I get up after a night of inadequate sleep, I can work for a while, take a nap a few hours later, and then face the day feeling mostly all right. Today, however, I got in bed  around 11, set my alarm for 2 hours, and waited. I got the same old half-dreams I got before. It didn't help that it was right around the time I expected my boyfriend to come online halfway around the world. So I had to leave the computer on and facing my bed just in case. Of course, he didn't come online, but the computer did try to go to sleep, prompting me to get out of bed half an hour into my nap and change the power settings, and then it turned its screen off another 15 minutes later, prompting me to debate whether I should get up again, or just leave it off. I decided to just leave it off, but it was too late; the sleep was already lost. An hour and a half into my sleepless "nap," I decided it just wasn't happening, so I got back up to cook some food in what could now be called full-on zombie mode.

I hope I can sleep again soon, preferably tonight! The last thing I want to do is add insomnia to my list of chronic ailments.

Souvenir of America

Half of our office has been sick over the past two weeks. One coworker was out almost all last week, came in on Friday just to infect two more of us, and then has stayed home again every day this week. I got sick on Sunday and took off the next two days. Another coworker stayed home Monday, and a different one has been taken down today.

For me, it was only a minor cold, but I have learned by now that if I don't singlemindedly hurl myself into bed at the first sign of illness and devote all my resources to recovery, my cold will just get worse over the next three days and I'll end up recuperating for weeks. I could have probably gone in to work yesterday, but I didn't want to wear myself out before my big evening.

You see, yesterday evening was the night I was scheduled to accompany my boyfriend to the airport for his two-week trip to Indonesia.

My presence was entirely unnecessary. I could have just said goodbye at my house. Yesterday morning, I told him I wasn't sure if I should go because I didn't want to get his mom sick. She was supposed to come as well and then drop me off at home while she took his car for maintenance in his absence. He convinced me it would be OK because she had already been sick last week (I was going to argue the "different strains" case, but my throat was too wheezy). So I went. But by the time we actually left his home, the party had expanded by a dad and a nephew. Three of us were crammed into the back seat, and I was feeling regretful and trying hard not to cough too often.

Then we got to the airport. It was packed with people waiting to check in to their flights to destinations all over Asia and possibly Africa, and as I stood with my boyfriend in an interminable line, I told him again how guilty I felt for coming and potentially spreading my cold all around the planet. He then started recounting the entire plot of Contagion, which didn't make me feel a whole lot better.

I tried not to breathe in anyone's direction, and avoided touching my face. I coughed into my coat lapels and tried to do it inconspicuously. He then tried to reassure me by saying that I was just giving everyone a souvenir from the USA.

Happy travels, world! Next time I'm sick, I think I'll stay away from airports.

"Pasta Macaroni" from Eurasian HotPot

When I went to Eurasian HotPot for my boyfriend's family birthday dinner, I was not expecting much. Not a fan of Asian food, am I (why ever did I choose to get involved with an Asian man!?) But no one else in the party was particularly delighted, either. Especially with the prices.

Whatever. The "Eur" part in the name ensured, at least, that there were some dishes more to my liking, and of course I took the opportunity to try their macaroni. But then it was so underwhelming, I forgot to review it for weeks after eating it.

OK, to be honest, it was very well prepared and had some interesting weird flavor that I now can't remember. All in all, I liked it, except that it was rather short on cheese. Why do you think I eat macaroni—for the noodles?

So I give it one happy noodle for being interesting, and one sad noodle for not having enough cheese.

BGR Chocolate Chunk Cookie

 
My boyfriend was sweet enough to pick up a Giant Cookie for me one rare day last week when we were not together. He got it at BGR: the Burger Joint. Because it's never polite to ask how much someone paid for a gift, I didn't ask. So I will be unable to assess its value, but read on for a review of its edibility.

Weirdly, but appropriately I guess, it tasted like a burger. Although each bite was good in itself, I detected a note of char in the back of my throat once I had finished swallowing. This may have been a fluke, because (fortunately) I only noticed this during the first few bites. After that, it became your average chocolate chip cookie, complete with at least 2 different varieties of chocolate! Yay!

Texture-wise, it was a little crumblier and messier than I prefer, but in the middle, it was chewy goodness, and the crumbly bits didn't negatively affect my chewing experience, and that's what counts!

The Bottom Line:
Taste: 3 stars
Texture: 4 stars

NoShavember

In case you've been living in a cave and haven't noticed, it's NoShavember, also known as Movember, during which men proudly sport mustaches (Movember) or allow all their facial hair to grow unchecked (NoShavember) (If you've been living in a cave, this is probably every month for you, so I don't blame you for not noticing). Ostensibly, this is done to raise awareness of various forms of cancer*, but in practice, I think it is more of an excuse to gleefully neglect shaving for a month and/or prove one's manliness by sprouting a bush on one's jaw, and the cancer card is just convenient to reach for when someone criticizes it.

My boyfriend is an avid participant in this sport cause, despite his less than stellar ability to grow facial hair. I have to say that in the last week of the month, he still resembles nothing so much as a dog with the mange. When he was just starting to look scruffy in the first week of the contest campaign, I told him, "I'm going to stop shaving for November, too!"

His response was, "NO!" Imagine the most horrified no a person could utter—the kind of no you might say if I offered to cut off your finger—and that's the no that came out of his mouth. If my boyfriend has one fault, it's that he has very parochial views on female beauty...but to his credit, he didn't break up with me when I did it anyway.

My reasons for refusing to shave in November are not so much based on cancer awareness (as I feel that not shaving is a kind of misguided way to support a cause, especially when there's no incentive to learn more about the disease or donate to research efforts or whatever, but since I brought it up, here's the Movember Foundation's donate page), and it's certainly not out of a spirit of competition (the last thing I want is to be known for having copious body hair), but it's pure and simple because of that vehement "NO!"

What do you mean, no? Don't I have a right to choose whether I shave or not? You bet I do, and I'm not going to!

It annoys me that society as a whole is so ardently opposed to body hair on women. It's ridiculous that hair on our legs is considered "gross" (like, on a par with "unsanitary") while the same stuff on men's legs is considered OK. And the same stuff on our heads is considered required (god forbid a woman ever shave her head—the world even freaks out every time a star gets a pixie cut).

This is largely a futile gesture, because ever since I've laid off the razor, I've been careful to keep my legs and armpits covered up. If I end up going to a beachy locale for Thanksgiving (which right now is a possibility), I will shave it all off, even though November won't have ended. Even though I want to be free to make the choice not to shave, the societal pressure is still too much for me. And that kind of sucks.

I hope that some day the rest of the world will realize how stupid their hair phobia is. And I enthusiastically applaud all the women brave enough to give it their own dose of aversion therapy. Maybe my little blog post will help.

Until then, I will proudly stride onto the beach with my unnaturally hairless legs and armpits, and wait in cowardice for the tides of popular opinion to change.


*At some point during the last month, I know I saw a website, no doubt left open by my boyfriend, stating that growing hair is a way to remind us of the hair that people lose when fighting cancer of any form, but I can't find that now. The Movember Foundation was started to raise awareness of testicular cancer.

Cracker Barrel Macaroni and Cheese

I had another bad macaroni yesterday.

It was from Cracker Barrel, a restaurant at which I haven't eaten in a long time, but which I remember for having a fun country store and puzzles on the table, but an absolutely terrible menu—at least for a little mostly-vegetarian selective eater like young me. When I was a child at Cracker Barrel, the only thing on the menu I wanted to eat was macaroni and cheese...I haven't changed much!

Cracker Barrel hasn't changed much either. They still had a puzzle on the table, a store and rocking chairs in front, and a menu full of disgusting meat products. The waitress was even kind enough to tell us (there were two vegetarians in my party) that the biscuits were made with lard, so we couldn't eat them either!

So I ordered a side of macaroni and a side of broccoli and prepared to relive my childhood. When it arrived at the table, I was underwhelmed by its size. I mean, you can't expect much from a side dish, but this was smaller than most.

I was definitely underwhelmed by its taste. The first bite revealed the dreaded Velveeta-texture of Doom! You might not know it, but search my blog for Velveeta, and you will soon discover that anything that reminds me of Velveeta gets an instant downvote.

It lacked any kind of crunch or exciting flavors. The only thing that redeemed it was the noodles were slightly less mushy than they could have been.

I give it a sad noodle for feeling like Velveeta and another for tasting like, um, um, did it taste like anything?

Skittles Gone Bad

I opened up a bag of Skittles today, and my world was crushed when I tasted the flavor of...apple?

Granted, it's probably been a couple years since I ate a Skittle, but they used to be one of my favorite candies, and I distinctly remember the green flavor being lime. But I checked the bag, and it said "green apple," just like that's what it had always been. Could I have been mistaken all those years of my youth, just imagining that green Skittles tasted good because I liked the rest of them?

At this point, I should probably mention, if you haven't figured it out already, that I do not enjoy green-apple-flavored candy.

Well, as I discovered on Candy Blog (which is an excellent idea that I wish I'd had myself!) that they did change the flavor from lime to apple earlier this year. I guess I can't fault them for wanting a little less citrus in the mix (after all, lime is only a few notes away from lemon and orange), but I can gripe enthusiastically about them replacing my favorite fruit flavor with one of my least favorite.

If I had to rank fruit flavors (of the sort that are used in candy, not actual fruits, which sometimes taste quite different), here's how they would go:

1. Lime
2. Orange
3. Lemon
4. Raspberry
5. Cherry
6. Strawberry
          Good
   --------------------
           Bad
7. Green Apple
8. Grape
9. Banana

Just thought I'd share, in case you ever need to know this helpful trivia when I'm famous!

My yoga flip

I'd just like to take this moment to admit I was wrong.

Three years ago, I publicly announced my distaste for yoga and ridiculed most of its practitioners as posers (get it, that's a double entendre!), but in the past year, I have become just the person I once despised.

It's been a long journey, from scoffing when a friend suggested I try it in 2006, to learning some respect for the practice in 2007 through a housemate who did it and yet didn't seem like a show-off or a lemming, to being grudgingly willing to try it on vacation (but still feeling relieved when it got canceled) in 2011, to taking my first class earlier this year, and finally to having used up the 10-class pack I bought on Groupon and feeling sad that it was over.

In those years, I have learned something: I like yoga!

Although it is hard to explain exactly why I like yoga more and more while other exercise programs demotivate me over time (I'm still making better and better excuses to avoid the gym), here are a few reasons that come to mind:

• It's usually slow-paced, so I have ample time to get my uncoordinated limbs into the right positions (unlike dance, for example, which I've also tried).
• No pain, no gain, but with other workouts, it is a huge effort to keep moving through the pain. With yoga, when it hurts, all you have to do is stay still. That's so much easier.
• Unlike other types of workouts where you stretch after you're finished (meaning you're not really finished, are you?), in yoga the stretching is built right in, and you get to end by lying flat on your back and resting. It's such a nice way to tell your body you're done.

Yoga is not the perfect workout. I don't think it burns as many calories as a really vigorous weightlifting session, and I'm sure it's not nearly on the same cardiovascular level as a 10-minute run, but yoga has one huge thing going for it: While other workouts make me miserable, I can go into a yoga class grumpy and come out happy.

And that alone makes it worthwhile for me.

Though some purists would like to make me feel guilty for considering it a form of exercise rather than a more spiritual practice, I like yoga in the form it has taken in America in the 20th Century! A way to work out your body and balance your mind.

Although my 10 studio classes have been used up and I am too cheap to pay full price, I will probably keep doing it at home. Fortunately, there are free podcasts and websites for home-based yoga.

And in the meantime, I've started ice skating lessons, which I also love!

Macaroni and Cheese from New York Deli

This could be the worst macaroni and cheese I've ever eaten.

Although I got a hearty portion for my 3 dollars (compared to the skimpy underflowing 8-oz cup I got at Maryland Smokehouse), it was not worth half that.

I don't think it had any flavor, but if it did, it was that of cardboard.

It had none of those things that make macaroni yummy (that is, big gobs of cheese on top, crunchy caramelized bits, or even ground black pepper).

To give it credit, I did eat it on Thursday after it had been sitting in my fridge since Monday lunchtime, but I don't think even being fresh could have saved it from all its shortcomings. This macaroni was so boring, bordering on disgusting, that I couldn't finish it.

After a few bites, I put it away to give it ... dum dum dum!!




3 sad noodles because I've never been so sad eating macaroni! Not even Chick & Ruth's!

And to think I was looking forward to eating this one for the past 3 days!

Dean & Deluca Peanut Butter Cookie

When I went to Dean & Deluca last week, the bakery counter was full of tempting treats, including bar cookies and brownies to die for. I bought several of those and found them delicious, but the peanut butter cookie of the Giant variety that I chose will be the topic of this review. I must first mention the price, which came out to 1.61¢ a gram, or right about average. I mention that first, because Dean & Deluca is known for being expensive, but that is not true of its Giant Cookies, at least.

Though Dean & Deluca has a reputation for being where you go if you want to break the bank, in my case, it's where I go if I want a broken cookie. My peanut butter cookie did not fare so well over its walk around Georgetown, looking like a jigsaw puzzle by the time I got it home.

In spite of, or perhaps because of, its fragile nature, the texture was very pleasant to consume—dense and soft, almost doughy once you got past the exterior, providing just the right amount of resistance to my teeth. It could only be improved if the sugar granules on top had been a little bigger, or maybe if it had been studded with chocolate chips.

The peanut butter flavor could have been stronger, but there was enough there to make its presence known.

The Bottom Line:
Taste: 4 stars
Texture: 4 stars
Price: 3 stars

What did you today? Oh, watched a light show in my mind.

I had my yearly migraine today. For the past 4 years, I've had an ocular migraine pretty much exactly once a year. Usually it's in late winter, around February or March, when spring is just hinting at appearing. It was late this year, but last year, I had two, so I think they're somehow averaging out.

If you've never had an ocular migraine before, here's about how it goes. First, I develop what I can only describe as a "hole" in my vision. It's always somewhere on the left side. I'll start to notice that I can't see things I should be seeing, and I have to do a lot of head cocking to get the entire picture. I don't see blackness; I just don't see what's there.  The best movie to describe this phase of the migraine is the Neverending Story, when the Rock Biter describes the Nothing.

Naturally, this is a terrifying experience. By now I recognize it as the first phase of a migraine, but part of me still wonders if this time it's something different, and I'm really going blind. Or having a stroke.

The second phase is the sparkly phase. The Nothing is replaced by a crack, running across the  left side of my field of vision, composed of sparkling lights. The crack transforms into a big sheet of dancing geometric shapes. The phenomenon moves around, usually working its way upward and leftward. It makes it hard to see, but the right side of my field of view is usually relatively clear.

As time passes, the sparkles gets less and less pronounced, until they are more like a grey shimmer that finally fades off to stage left, like some kind of theatrical transition. The entire weirdness usually runs its course in about a half an hour. Today mine started around 1:15 and was done by 1:46, with only a little weird feeling in my left eye and an annoying headache.

Unfortunately, the headache  stays long after the show is over. Some people's migraine headaches are crippling. Mine, fortunately, aren't that bad—or unfortunately, considering they're an extreme nuisance but not extreme enough for me to legitimately take a break from work for them. I usually just turn off the lights and wait for it to be over. The worst time I ever had a migraine was in the middle of a meeting, during which I had to pretend I was fine and that I really could see the people I was talking to.

I haven't figured out anything particular that causes these headaches, except that they usually crop up at the end of winter, and I haven't found anything to relieve them.  A friend told me caffeine is a good remedy for a migraine, so when this one started, I fixed myself a cup of iced tea. Maybe that wasn't enough caffeine, but it certainly didn't do anything to influence the intensity or duration of this particular migraine.

At least one thing is relatively certain. I've got a good few months before I have to go through this again.

Chocolate Chip Cookie by Ted's Bulletin

The second cookie that I purchased from Ted's Bulletin was a classic chocolate chip.

The texture was a little crumbly, but not too crispy. There was plenty of chocolate, whose chewiness mitigated the slight dryness of the cookie itself.

The chocolate was also dark and delicious. I would definitely take this cookie over the key lime cookie of the same brand.

I didn't weigh this cookie, but I'm going to operate under the assumption that it was about the same price per gram as the other Ted's Bulletin cookie I tried, which I rated at 3 stars. Maybe 1.32¢ a gram is 3 stars for a cookie I don't enjoy too much, but it's a much better value for a cookie I really liked. Maybe I'm being too subjective, but I'm going to call it 4 stars this time.

The bottom line:
Taste: 5 stars
Texture: 4 stars
Price: 4 stars

As a bonus, here is a picture of both Ted's Bulletin cookies, in the cute little dessert case that I stood staring at for entirely too long while waiting in line to order them.