Harry Potter and the Half Blood Orange.

I consider myself an Orange Connoisseur.

Yes, I enjoy and analyze citrus, much like one would with wine.

I love them. Oranges, tangerines, tangelos. Blood oranges, clementines, Valencia and Navel alike. Mmmmmm.

so this afternoon, I put together a snack.
200 calories worth of raw almonds, one carrot, and an orange from yesterday's farmer's market.


And the way I eat my food, is exceptionally specific. I eat what I should eat first, not necessarily the least delectable, but certainly not the most. This builds, and leads up to my favorite thing on my plate, which, in this case, is just the most beautiful, fragrant orange.

But then I peeled it.
And oh my God, if a fruit could be a Mudblood, this orange would TOTALLY be a Mudblood.
(That's a tribute to Harry Potter by the way, for those of you who aren't in the know).



Half blood orange. Half regular orange.
Who knew?

Maybe this is common knowledge.
Maybe I am not the Connoisseur I thought I was.
Or maybe, I just scored some Alien Orange.

Either way, I'm digging it.
Yeeeeaaaah... Half Blood Orange! (Though maybe not as good in Potions class).

Whoa.
I went way nerdy there.
Weird.








p.s. Orange you glad I didn't say Cookie?
Ahhaha.

Seriously though, the geek inside me is getting more dominant.

Coming Clean... plus some produce loving Crazys.

So, first of all my nose would grow if I told you I am proud of my dietary endeavors this week.
Not only would it grow, but it would sprout twigs, leaves, and even a nest of finches on the very end.
Seriously, it's that bad.

And in all honesty, I almost had the intention of not even mentioning it.
But. I think by airing out my dirty laundry, I am more apt to change... so, shit.
Here, goes.

Remember the cashews? The abusive cashews that taste so good they hurt?
Yeah, well that was only the tip of the melting iceberg.




As I was in NorCal visiting my family, my mom decided to make cookies for everyone. Yep, COOKIES.

S000, it should have gone down like this,

mom: 'hey do we have any egg replacer left for the cookies'

tess: 'NO WE DO NOT. ONLY EGGS. ONLY RUNNY NON-VEGAN EGGS. CHICKEN PERIOD. THAT'S ALL WE GOT. PLEASE DO NOT MAKE THEM VEGAN'



But, this is how it really went,

mom: 'hey do we have any egg replacer left for the cookies?'

tess: 'yes, in the top drawer. LET ME MIX IT UP FOR YOU'.

And then I did just that. And then I ate the cookies.
Oh, and these weren't JUST cookies. They were uninhibited, shameless peanut butter and chocolate cookie cake. Oh, and by cookie cake, I mean a casserole dish spread with cookie, with a layer of melted vegan chocolate, and another top layer of cookie.

Holy Hell.
Holy, holy Hell.

And BOY DID I TAKE CARE OF THOSE.
To be realistic (and I sooooo don't want to be realistic) I probably had around 6 2-inch square pieces of the damn thing.
After that it was down hill. Lots of nuts, Luna Bars, even a Starbucks soy mocha.

So, this is me-my lament of weighty proportions, desperately climbing to get back on the bandwagon before it speeds away from me- leaving me in a cloud of chocolate dust.

My first effort in getting my shit together, was a visit to the farmer's market today with my roommate. I love Farmer's Markets.
I don't know about where you live, but here in SoCal, Farmer's Markets bring out the Craazays. (Zoom in on 55 year old man, playing air guitar on cardboard guitar and keyboard, singing into mic made with Arizona tea cans with George Harrison's 'I Want You So Bad' playing in the background). Yeah, it's like that.
But also, the streets are so filled with yummy produce and local agriculture, that I can only go in with 15 dollars, or I will spend my rent on the Orange, Honey or Asian vegetable stand.

This time, I went with my roommate, who bless her heart, pretends I'm not a gigantoid next to her. She's skinny. Beautiful, blond, tall and skinny- and get this- a stage actress.
Anyways, we decide to go halfsies on all food, and we came out of there pretty happy.
We scored carrots, sweetpeas, sweet potatoes, Bok Choy, oranges the size of my head, strawberries- you get the idea.
HOWEVER, she did decide to buy bread.
Nope, bread's not the right word.
Try, heaven bread. Yeah, that fits.

White rustic focaccia. COVERED in oil. Baked to a crisp. Oh my God, so delightful.

Anways. I've had too much of it as it is.
And in an effort of climbing back onto that stupid bandwagon headed for Life, I will remember that it is only a dessert. Not for nutrient consumption.


Here's the last thing I'm eating tonight- sweetpeas, one carrot and a V8 (because I should have had a V8- NOT A WHOLE PLATTER OF PEANUT BUTTER COOKIE CAKE).

The Enigmatic Creature.

And by that, I of course mean, a Fat Vegan.

Who knew this could exist? A FAT VEGAN?
I sure didn't.

At least until I became vegan.
But actually it makes sense, because if anyone can taint such a strict eating lifestyle with fatness, I can.

By vegan I mean this, not only do I not eat dairy, eggs, meat, seafood, or gelatin, but I live my life without animal by-products: leather, silk, fur, animal tested toiletries, etc.
It was a decision I made when I was 18, after 4 years of being a vegetarian. I will never pressure you into eating like this, or living like this.
And it is a sacrifice of sorts- eating out for example, can prove difficult.

But, I do it for the animals. And please do not try to convince me to do otherwise. I have given more than 10 public lectures on the matter, and have done enough research to make my eyes bleed. I do eat the right amounts of protein, and I have become an expert at fitting B12 into my day.

However, I am, STILL FAT.

What could it be? The carbs? The portion? The fat?

And there it is.
Do you see it? Hiding there in the middle? Starts with a P, ends with an N? Rhymes with SHPORTION?

Yeah, because you see, I can eat copious amounts of food, in a very small amount of time.
And I mean troll-ish amounts. Sit me down with some whole grain carbs, a heaping of tofu, a small mountain of nutritional yeast, three carrots and two avocados, and I can make some culinary magic that is sure to make thee gain.

Hmmmm, so maybe I am not so enigmatic after all.

Maybe my vision is just skewed by these top heavy eyeballs that are about 16 times bigger than my stomach. Oops.

And so begins my intimate relations with the measuring cups.