I hardly have time to write this, as I am now incredibly famous with several pilots in the works. I am thin, so by society's standards I am perfect, and I am hounded for my secret constantly. I'll just type this out since I have the energy to stay up for 36 hours at a time. Thanks, Whole30!
Or, I'm struggling getting writing work done while my child (who melted down for an entire hour in order to stay home) paints everything except the paper and calls my name every three seconds at top volume. I'm right next to her. She's currently narrating her own YouTube Kids video, slapping paint onto various surfaces and saying, "It's ok to be messy. We do crafts here. If you want more crafts, click the link to suss-crive. If you want to see us, text my mom and dad." It's kind of adorable, and she's got this thing DOWN. It's a shame I'm going to have to sell her in order get work done.
I sent my husband off with his lunch and shoved his breakfast at him as he rushed around. That whole "chew your food thoughtfully and slowly" thing ain't happening in this house. Plus, the portions are HUGE. If we chew any slower, it will have a chance to take root and grow back. So I basically threw a million-egg fritatta down his gullet as he was leaving. Love you byeeeeee!
I have containers of Spirit Stock...I mean Life Juice...er...Bone Broth in the refrigerator. This almost had the opposite effect on my family. I let it simmer for 24 hours, but we have a gas stove. "Simmer" is just above "leaking noxious gas out of your kitchen" and the flame blows out if you so much as walk by. I had to keep checking it to make sure I wasn't making a giant pot of "Kill Your Family While They Sleep."
The first day wasn't going to be too hard, since we've eaten this way before. Just...not for prolonged periods of time, and not without a big bread chaser to wash down all those veggies. Look. Jean Valejean didn't go to jail for stealing spaghetti squash. So we'll be ok for a bit, but check back with me in a couple of days when we've built a barricade.
I'm falling asleep a little bit while I write this. It's only day one, but I'm gonna go ahead and blame the whole plan.
The difficulty in the first week is that I am following someone else's idea of planning, someone else's idea of portions, and someone else's idea of "stretching the grocery budget." If this is the Whole30's idea of stretching, then what I do is definitely pulling something and tearing it to shreds. I will plan our menus for the coming weeks, but right now I'm contending with a pair of authors who think that butternut squash soup and salmon is totally not weird for breakfast. SORRY, FAM. IT IS.
The lunch for tomorrow was another salad, but this time stuffed into a pepper. Here's the thing: they call this a protein salad, and I didn't have a ton of stuff cooked. So...I had to...godamnit...order more groceries. It wasn't a lot, but on principle, I'm full of resentment. Also, canned chicken is weird.
I was told to dress the salad, and then stuff it. Rude.
The puzzling thing about this meal was the side of ranch dressing. Yes, it's already on the salad, but I was supposed to pack "the rest" for dipping with carrots and celery. Um...there was a LOT left. Dipping isn't chugging, as much as I love ranch. I used a rinsed out baby food jar to store some of the ranch. What's that? I don't have a baby? YOU'RE RIGHT. The plan suggested buying baby food as a quick side or as a replacement when you can't find canned sweet potato. Apparently, I have no pride so I went ahead and bought that.
I used the rest of the ranch to add to a red pepper sauce I made for a red pepper mayo. Because I need to eat more mayo? I guess? I didn't have enough, so I used the ranch I made with the mayo and EVERYTHING IS THE SAME AND IT'S ALL MAYO. I blended the red pepper sauce in my Ninja because it's already on the counter and I didn't want to get my food processor down.
Finally, there was one last bit of prep to do for the next day.
I can't believe I survived.
I had to make coleslaw.
If you know me at all, you know that I despise coleslaw. I don't care if it's your grandmother's recipe, I don't care if it's vinegar or creamy or made of unicorn tits. I don't like it. I have discovered, at least, that it belongs on a barbecue sandwich. There it may stay, and come nowhere else near me. Coleslaw and cilantro are the only things I say NO to when it comes to food. Oh, and Miracle Whip, but that shit isn't food. FIGHT ME.
So here I am, facing my own mortality and preparing my own doom.
I'd say I'll let you know how it is (the food is tasty so far, all jokes aside), but I cannot make that promise. If there are half-assed food blogs on the other side, then maybe I will. But otherwise, know that I will seek revenge on coleslaw and the Whole30 authors from the beyond. Avenge me.