The Tragically Unhip

a blog with three fingers on the pulse of uncoolness.

Reader, I Digest January 20, 2009

Filed under: Body,Food,Health — Kimberly Senf @ 12:15 am

With the New Year come the resolutions that are quickly tossed to the side amidst the vices of life (chocolate and anything else involving the wonders of white sugar, to name my favourites). As I’m normally one of those who needs no excuse to dig into my second slice of lemon cake, I thought I’d take a different angle this year. Rather than simply depriving myself of all edible delights for mere days before I my willpower dissolves due to lack of resolve, I decided to start 2009 off with a firm and healthy handshake – otherwise known as a detox.

 

To be specific, it’s Joshi’s Holistic Detox that leaves me without: red meat, dairy, fruit (except the trusty banana), wheat, gluten & yeast, alcohol (oh, how I long for my Moskovskaya), sugar, sugar, sugar, coffee and artificial anything. I read the book cover to cover and couldn’t wait to get started with deprivation. But like any sane person, I waited until the 1st of January to get my detox on.

 

To be frank, I’m a bacon, chicken and fish almost-vegetarian for the most part anyways, so kicking Babe off my diet was not hard in the least. I also haven’t had a glass of icy cold cow’s milk in years and since I’m addicted to the wonders of soy and rice milk, I was able to tick this box off easier than it probably should have been (Joshi does let me have my plain bio yogurt though – oh the joy!).

 

Bananas are allowed because of their slow-releasing sugars, which is pretty much the only sugar I’m getting anyways – unless you count the minute amount of cane juice in my soy milk—which frankly, I don’t count for anything besides keeping me just a little bit saner throughout the detox. Just imagine a life without sugar (wait, don’t cry yet), and now imagine it without sugar and bread. Now you can shed a tear.

 

Overnight, I’ve turned into a spelt bread type of girl who checks ingredient lists for the unwanted gluten, wheat, and forbidden crystals of sugar that crop up just about everywhere. Once you start to pay attention to what you eat, it’s all too easy for it to become an obsession. The people that serve me at restaurants have been rather lackluster and unimpressed with my newfound attitude towards everything I ingest. They take issue with the fact that I need to know exactly what’s in the vinaigrette and that I ask for carrot juice with a little beet thrown in. A girl’s got to get her vegetable sweetness somewhere!

 

Now you might say that sugar, alcohol and coffee are what make the world go round and get about 45% of the world out of bed in the morning. I would have to agree with you there because I used to be a tried and true member of the java club. But somehow I’ve found the will to insert a green tea bag where there was once a beautiful shot of espresso. At least I’m still allowed to smell the coffee beans, which makes up for about 2% of the pain.

 

So far it’s been 19 days and I’ve only got three more to go (one make-up day for the numerous vodka sodas I’ve consumed while pining away for the chocolate that’s in my freezer). I think I’ve lost a few pounds—but that might only be from all the dishes I’ve been doing and all the calories I’ve been burning up in the kitchen as I hand-blend my chick peas into a state of hummus and make more soup than your grandmother can shake a spoon at.

 

The best part of putting myself through the nutritional ringer is that I actually feel pretty decent. Better than I have in months: no cold, no flu, and no problems besides figuring out exactly how many Tupperware containers I can fit into my purse without looking like I’m trying to sell them door-to-door. These days I drink my hot water with lemon and face the day head-on without the blur of a caffeine fix fogging up the glass. The view’s pretty much the same, but maybe it’s just that my vantage point is a little bit to the left of where I started from, somewhere between the kale and the rice milk.

 

That’ll Teach You to Throw a Pickle on a Windshield January 13, 2009

Filed under: Etiquette,Food — Laurin McNiff @ 3:42 am

During the time my family’s first house was being built, we lived in a hotel beside a Burger King. Back then, I was still young and uninfluenced by No Logo enough to be able to appreciate the generous good fortune of having a fast food joint straddle the limits of our hotel property. Every morning, my mother would take my older sister and I—both clad in Catholic school cardigans and skirts—to school in my father’s pride and joy: a 1980′s Cadillac Sedan DeVille he’d bought while stationed in Guam. It was big, gray, and embarassing, but he loved it, and by proxy so did we. We were lovingly chauffered to school every day by my still sleepy, always colorful mother. That is, until one morning, when our routine was greatly disrupted. With the morning sun breaking in the distance and my sister and I ambling behind her, eyes clouded with the residual of sleep, my mother stopped in her tracks and asked, “Is that a pickle on the windshield?” 

 

It didn’t take a forensic genius to spot the parked Mustang 5.0 a few feet away from us, with two girls and two guys sitting in it, munching away on what were clearly—by color association—Burger King entrees. I could also easily discern that these kids were not the virgin, Catholic school-going variety.

 

My sister and I got into the car and watched as my mother prepared for battle. With ears and windows opened we watched her, half in fear and half with overwhelming excitement. She walked to our car’s windshield and gingerly picked up what indeed turned to be a sliced pickle. She then went over to the dark Mustang filled with smoke and fast food air and asked, “Excuse me, did you throw this pickle on my car?” In response, the boy in the driver’s seat glowered, “That’s not our pickle. Why don’t you get into your tin can and get out of here, you old bitch?”

 

As we sat, transfixed by the scene unravelling before our eyes, my mother took the pickle between two fingers and began using it to paint grand brush strokes, marked curlicues, on the Mustang’s windshield. When she was done, she said in a cold, stoney voice, “Well, I say this is your pickle.”

 

If it had been anybody else, my story would have ended right here. It wouldn’t have gone on to become the side-splitting holiday or family reunion favorite it is today. See, this is my mother, and no story stops at boring with her. As she walked away, the driver decided to get back at her by throwing a previously undetected burger it at her, with all the precision of a major league pitcher.

 

When we’re young, we all believe our parents have some degree of superpowers. How they catch us awake too late at night doing what we’re not supposed to be doing; how they know what we’ll do before we do it; how they can almost laugh when teaching us right from wrong when they themselves did it; it’s all beyond me, but still truth. My mother, mid-step and with sheer peripheral luck, turned in a single movement and caught the burger before it had the chance to taint her sharp ensemble, and with less than a thought she turned and threw the burger back.

 

In just a few seconds, a simple hamburger exploded onto the middle of the two sets of doors, with the top half of the burger flying into the open front windows and spraying ketchup, lettuce, mustard, mayo, and beef all over the two boys in the front seat, while the bottom half of the burger, in an act of glorious gravity, equally exploded onto the two girls sitting in the back. Ignoring their cries of shock and disgust my mom went in for the kill: “That’ll teach you to throw a pickle on a windshield.”

 

How Not to Throw a Pancake Party December 16, 2008

Filed under: Food,How-To — Brooke D. @ 9:41 am

1. Hypothetically suggest at some point in a crowded room that it would be “awesome” to make pancakes for all your friends and lovers the following Sunday.

 

2. Talk it up all week, reminding everyone and inviting strangers off the street.

 

3. Sleep in really late on said Sunday. Begin watching the Britney Spears documentary in bed, half-asleep.

 

4. Be jolted back to reality by roommate calling your cell phone from the next room to announce, “Dude. We have to go to the store …”

 

5. Stumble to dépanneur in pajamas to debate the difference between “baking powder” and “baking soda.” Throw caution to the wind and do paper-rock-scissors to decide.

 

6. Peel an old recipe off the refrigerator, then realize you have absolutely no means of measuring what may or may not be the correct ingredients.

 

7. Disregard all prescribed proportions, declaring a penchant for improvisation.

 

8. Experiment with one half-burned, half raw pancake. Delegate all cooking duties to roommate’s best friend’s girlfriend.

 

9. Attempt to redeem yourself by proudly serving store-bought cookies straight from the box at the end of a delicious brunch lovingly prepared by everyone but you.

 

10. Sit back and enjoy the company of friends, regardless of your complete failure.

 

How Not To Eat Persimmons November 19, 2008

Filed under: Food,Health,How-To — MP*erron @ 11:30 pm

 

Courtesy of Wikipedia

Courtesy of Wikipedia

 

 

 

 

I was delighted when I found the funky orange fruit for 99 cents down at the neighborhood PA. It seemed so novel and exotic, even to my jaded eyes. So I picked one up, brought it home, and left it atop the microwave to ripen.

 

When at last the fruit was soft, I realized I had no idea how to eat it. So I Wikied it. Peel and eat like an apple. Seemed easy enough. Persimmons are yummy. They don’t have much flavor, but they’re a juicy plump consistency, and super sweet.

 

I gobbled mine up in about 30 seconds. Once I was done I paused long enough to notice a strange, tingling sensation in my mouth. I waited for it to subside, but it only increased. Before long my entire mouth was prickly, sandy, and swollen. I could feel my throat starting to tingle as it does when I’m having an allergy.

 

Freaked, I dashed to my roommate (a training nurse) for assistance. Her cure? One Benadryl and lights out for kitty. I mean, goodnight.

 

How To Cure The Common Cold November 10, 2008

Filed under: Food,Health,How-To — Kimberly Senf @ 11:14 pm

Now I’m not even sure if I have the common cold, but I do know that I have something scratching away at the back of my throat—and I would like to evict my uninvited guest. I trust that I’m not alone in my miserable state, so I thought I’d share my bacteria-fighting beverage with everyone.

 

As trusty as Canadian-made NeoCitran is, nothing beats a runny nose and itchy throat like some good old-fashioned kitchen remedies. My personal favourite is a concoction that consists of: half a grapefruit, a clove of garlic, a pinch of cayenne pepper and a teaspoon of olive oil. Give it all a whirl with your trusty hand-blender and chug away. Please don’t sip it daintily like I tried to, or you might not be able to stomach more than a few sips. Not only will the garlic pave the way to better health, but it will also allow you some alone time to get some rest!

 

(Repeat twice daily and don’t be cheap on the garlic for maximized results.)

 

Cheap Thrills – The Price of Milk October 20, 2008

Filed under: Etiquette,Food,Money — Kimberly Senf @ 2:19 am

Maybe I’ve spent too many of my hard-earned pennies feeding my shopping habit lately, but the encounter I had at Nocochi yesterday left me wanting—some of my money back, that is.

 

I ordered my standard fare of an allongé with warm milk on the side, not seeing an extra price indicated on the menu for the milk, nor did my server mention anything when she took my order. When my steaming Illy espresso was placed on the table in front of me, I was too enthralled by the lush crema to notice that the little steamer of hot milk that came along with my coffee was less than a third full. I didn’t mind, seeing as this obviously meant that the milk was complimentary and not going to be added to my bill, which made this poor girl pretty content.

 

Yet when I made my way over to the cash to pay I noticed that I was charged for what I thought was the price of a double espresso. I only had a single espresso, so I immediately corrected the cashier. This is when she informed me that it was in fact that right price, because the warm milk added an extra dollar to the price of my coffee. A full dollar for an inch of warm milk? I do not think so. Like my father always says, it’s highway robbery—and for once I can say that I actually agree with him.

 

MMMMMMMM… September 10, 2008

Filed under: Food — MP*erron @ 3:02 pm

Photo courtesy of JoyKampia.com

 

Watch out Big M, there’s a new burger in town. The classy little joint is called M:brgr, and it’s Moishe’s answer to phonetics. On a Friday night the place is a mecca for the neighbourhood’s budding leisure class: twenty-somethings with designer jeans and Daddy’s-little-princess expense accounts. The staff is blonde and ambitious, the music is dance-club-loud, and the food is absolutely worth it.

 

A delicious and slightly overpriced burger at M’s will set you back $12 – $20*, depending on your choice of toppings. These vary in price and include caramelized onions, goat cheese, and yes, even truffles. The burgers are not enormous, but are healthy, plump, and pink inside. The yam fries, while not original, are yummy all the same, and the chocolate cake is thick, rich, and gooey. With an assortment of beers and fancy drinks at your disposal, M:brgr is a great place to bring a date. The only drawback is having to eat elbow-to-elbow with the Gucci-Gucci set. 

 

 

 

*With a portion of profits promised off to “Montreal’s children’s charities.”

 

Things We Would Do If We Were Cool August 8, 2008

Filed under: Food,Things We Would Do If We Were Cool — Kimberly Senf @ 12:43 am

I would stop indulging in chocolate bars that are bigger in size than my head. Let’s just say that if someone were to whip this baby around like it was piñata time, you’d want to get out of the way. Now that this big old bar of chocolatey good times has been beaten into submission, all I have to show for it is a wrapper that is telling me one hell of a sad story. Where do I sign up for a twelve-step program?