Ok, this morning's protein powder experiment was much better than yesterday's. Still a greenish-gray color, even without the blueberries. Still slightly medicinal, despite the fact that it's organic. This one was even a little bit sand-y. (Tons of fiber!) But the flavor was much, much better than that nasty stuff yesterday. Wish me luck tomorrow. Last one. After that, I think I'm going to go back to my 1/2 cup of non-fat yogurt. I contemplated blending up chunks of tofu, but that doesn't sound remotely tasty.
Why am I doing this? I suppose I'm sort of flailing for a miracle diet. I know I'm not going to go to sleep a frogette and wake up a princess-- unless someone kidnaps me for surprise anniversary liposuction (do they have that??!). But I still feel like I've got to give it one last try.
And then, when I get back, I'm going to take a good hard look at why my recipe journal for the last three years is full of little squares that say "yogurt, nf milk, flax berries, 250 calories," "1 egg, 1 toast, 1 coffee, 225 calories," and yet I weigh exactly the same. Instead of complaining about it, I'm going to do something, and if I'm going to lean back and just enjoy life, I'm going to quit complaining about it. I don't want to be one of those people who is always on one diet or another and always seems to stay the same weight anyway. I don't think anyone currently in my life thinks of me as a chronic dieter. That said, I'm on my way to the gym.
Thursday, April 24, 2008
Wednesday, April 23, 2008
Rain, Rain...
It's raining today. This is pretty typical for us, a long stretch of almost-summer temperatures that reminds us just how hot it's going to get soon, and then a weeks-long dip right down to the frost level just as the tender new leaves and baby grape flowers are reaching out from the vines. Just cold enough to require the use of vineyard fans and heaters. And then we get the obligatory sprinkling of spring rain.
Thank goodness for a well-insulated house, both from the cold, and from the pre-dawn helicopter sounds of the fans. Mike is especially grateful, as he was the one who had to crawl from his warm bed in the frozen darkness to start up those fans at the other property.
I mind the rain just a little bit because I don't like to swim as much in the rain as the sun, but there are plenty of other things to do at home and at the gym. I've got some strawberry-almond-coconut granola baking in the oven right now. Smells fantastic.
I picked up a few different types of protein powder packets at Whole Foods yesterday to try to get a little more protein in the morning. This morning I tried this whey-based protein powder to add to my regular morning smoothie. The color, combined with the blueberries and strawberries that I usually add, was an unappealing greenish-gray. And oh my gosh, the flavor was VILE. The sweetener (stevia?) that they used was sweet at first taste, but the aftertaste made me grimace for minutes afterwards. Medicinal. Gross. Surprisingly, the selection of organic protein powders was very limited there. I'll try one of the two hemp-based packets (reluctantly) tomorrow. I used to pick up an organic pure soybean powder at Trader Joe's that I felt ok about since it was organic and soybeans were the only ingredient. I'll try that when I'm done with these.
In spite of the rain, and the bad taste in my mouth, today is a great day. Because today I am getting my computer back. I have been working on the "craptop"-- an old Dell Latitude (isn't that French for "the attitude"?) still running Windows 2000, while the G5 was in for upgrades and a superdrive replacement. I've remained platform bilingual throughout my career, so it's no trouble for me to pick up a pc or a Mac and just start working. But this screen is so tiny. And it doesn't really offer the portability of a laptop at this point, because the battery won't charge fully, so it just sits here on the desk. I do like the snap of the keyboard keys. The craptop is good for one thing, and that is testing PowerPoint presentations that I create on the Mac. I use it to troubleshoot so that I can deliver problem-free presentations.
On Sunday, I went with my mom and 11-year-old nephew to Berkeley, to celebrate his birthday and visit the Lawrence Hall of Science, a childhood favorite of mine. I've been wanting to go back forever. LHS has hardly changed in 30 years. This is not necessarily a good thing. It is frozen in time, and apparently in budget. A popular destination for local schoolchildren, who are led through demonstrations and math games, it was fairly deserted and spare on a Sunday afternoon. I don't want to dissuade people from going, because they clearly need the funds, but I wouldn't say that it's the most exciting place to be on a Sunday. It is a place to go with little people, where they can touch things and climb on things. If you live nearby, and need something to do, it is something to do.
I remembered being dazzled by all of the animals in the Biology Lab at nine, as our class peered into tank after tank, led by the perky lab staff, learning about and petting each and every creature. I loved reptiles and amphibians. And crustaceans. And mammals- especially the rats. They used to have a three-level ratquarium with at least a dozen rats in it that you were allowed to take out and hold. The ratquarium is still there, but the extended rat family has moved to the suburbs. Mama and Papa rat watch TV by themselves in the evening and have hobbies to keep them busy when they're not napping. The dwelling sits in a quiet corner downstairs across from the math puzzles and around the corner from the cockroach tank, inexplicably cordoned off like a precious museum bust. The crayfish tank was another highlight. I remember it as a sparkling man-made creek with glass sides, running the entire length of one wall. The crayfish lived in a naturalistic environment, pumped water creating a burbling current across shiny multicolored river rocks from one end of the tank to the other. This time, it took us a while to locate the tiny crawdads, hiding under (intentionally) broken flowerpots in a plexiglass tank full of large goldfish.
I think everything seemed so big and so cool because I was so small. Maybe everything seemed so big and so cool because there was more of it then. Or because the volunteers were a little less... bland back then than they were on Sunday. We did see a cool Bearded Dragon (I'll post a picture later when my computer is back online), an Axotl named Goldilocks, and we petted a chinchilla that was so soft you almost couldn't tell you were touching him. My nephew and I worked on a wooden puzzle together that we thought was really fun, and played a game of tossing colored sticks. He made a paper helicopter. I think we enjoyed spending the time together as much as anything else. He's a nice boy, very easy going. Next time maybe I'll take him to the comic book shop.
Thank goodness for a well-insulated house, both from the cold, and from the pre-dawn helicopter sounds of the fans. Mike is especially grateful, as he was the one who had to crawl from his warm bed in the frozen darkness to start up those fans at the other property.
I mind the rain just a little bit because I don't like to swim as much in the rain as the sun, but there are plenty of other things to do at home and at the gym. I've got some strawberry-almond-coconut granola baking in the oven right now. Smells fantastic.
I picked up a few different types of protein powder packets at Whole Foods yesterday to try to get a little more protein in the morning. This morning I tried this whey-based protein powder to add to my regular morning smoothie. The color, combined with the blueberries and strawberries that I usually add, was an unappealing greenish-gray. And oh my gosh, the flavor was VILE. The sweetener (stevia?) that they used was sweet at first taste, but the aftertaste made me grimace for minutes afterwards. Medicinal. Gross. Surprisingly, the selection of organic protein powders was very limited there. I'll try one of the two hemp-based packets (reluctantly) tomorrow. I used to pick up an organic pure soybean powder at Trader Joe's that I felt ok about since it was organic and soybeans were the only ingredient. I'll try that when I'm done with these.
In spite of the rain, and the bad taste in my mouth, today is a great day. Because today I am getting my computer back. I have been working on the "craptop"-- an old Dell Latitude (isn't that French for "the attitude"?) still running Windows 2000, while the G5 was in for upgrades and a superdrive replacement. I've remained platform bilingual throughout my career, so it's no trouble for me to pick up a pc or a Mac and just start working. But this screen is so tiny. And it doesn't really offer the portability of a laptop at this point, because the battery won't charge fully, so it just sits here on the desk. I do like the snap of the keyboard keys. The craptop is good for one thing, and that is testing PowerPoint presentations that I create on the Mac. I use it to troubleshoot so that I can deliver problem-free presentations.
On Sunday, I went with my mom and 11-year-old nephew to Berkeley, to celebrate his birthday and visit the Lawrence Hall of Science, a childhood favorite of mine. I've been wanting to go back forever. LHS has hardly changed in 30 years. This is not necessarily a good thing. It is frozen in time, and apparently in budget. A popular destination for local schoolchildren, who are led through demonstrations and math games, it was fairly deserted and spare on a Sunday afternoon. I don't want to dissuade people from going, because they clearly need the funds, but I wouldn't say that it's the most exciting place to be on a Sunday. It is a place to go with little people, where they can touch things and climb on things. If you live nearby, and need something to do, it is something to do.
I remembered being dazzled by all of the animals in the Biology Lab at nine, as our class peered into tank after tank, led by the perky lab staff, learning about and petting each and every creature. I loved reptiles and amphibians. And crustaceans. And mammals- especially the rats. They used to have a three-level ratquarium with at least a dozen rats in it that you were allowed to take out and hold. The ratquarium is still there, but the extended rat family has moved to the suburbs. Mama and Papa rat watch TV by themselves in the evening and have hobbies to keep them busy when they're not napping. The dwelling sits in a quiet corner downstairs across from the math puzzles and around the corner from the cockroach tank, inexplicably cordoned off like a precious museum bust. The crayfish tank was another highlight. I remember it as a sparkling man-made creek with glass sides, running the entire length of one wall. The crayfish lived in a naturalistic environment, pumped water creating a burbling current across shiny multicolored river rocks from one end of the tank to the other. This time, it took us a while to locate the tiny crawdads, hiding under (intentionally) broken flowerpots in a plexiglass tank full of large goldfish.
I think everything seemed so big and so cool because I was so small. Maybe everything seemed so big and so cool because there was more of it then. Or because the volunteers were a little less... bland back then than they were on Sunday. We did see a cool Bearded Dragon (I'll post a picture later when my computer is back online), an Axotl named Goldilocks, and we petted a chinchilla that was so soft you almost couldn't tell you were touching him. My nephew and I worked on a wooden puzzle together that we thought was really fun, and played a game of tossing colored sticks. He made a paper helicopter. I think we enjoyed spending the time together as much as anything else. He's a nice boy, very easy going. Next time maybe I'll take him to the comic book shop.
Thursday, April 17, 2008
The Second Rule of Self-Effacement Spanish
Dialogue from a dream
I'm driving in a car with my niece Kayleigh, after visiting a young friend of ours, Laura, whom I babysat when I was a teenager. Kayleigh is pretty (which she is) and wearing pink lip-gloss.
So how is Laura doing?
Kayleigh laughs.
I know, I'm pouncing on you in the car, where you can't get away, sorry.
It's ok.
It's just, I didn't know things were that bad. If I had known that she wasn't doing well, I would have wanted to be there for her.
Well, it's like The Second Rule of Self-Effacement Spanish.
The what? (I've always meant to learn more Spanish, I think.)
Whatever, it doesn't matter, The Second Rule of Self-Effacement Spanish: "The void creates the chaos."
That makes me feel very sad, I say, and raise my cupped hand to hide the ugly shape of my mouth as I start to cry.
It doesn't matter, she says in a matter-of-fact, slightly joking way, to try to make me feel better. We're all going to die in fifty years anyway, right?
I just wanted... I can't say it through the tears, but I'm thinking, I just wanted to lead a good life, to do the best I could. It didn't occur to me that my conscious absence was part of why things went so badly.
I'm driving in a car with my niece Kayleigh, after visiting a young friend of ours, Laura, whom I babysat when I was a teenager. Kayleigh is pretty (which she is) and wearing pink lip-gloss.
So how is Laura doing?
Kayleigh laughs.
I know, I'm pouncing on you in the car, where you can't get away, sorry.
It's ok.
It's just, I didn't know things were that bad. If I had known that she wasn't doing well, I would have wanted to be there for her.
Well, it's like The Second Rule of Self-Effacement Spanish.
The what? (I've always meant to learn more Spanish, I think.)
Whatever, it doesn't matter, The Second Rule of Self-Effacement Spanish: "The void creates the chaos."
That makes me feel very sad, I say, and raise my cupped hand to hide the ugly shape of my mouth as I start to cry.
It doesn't matter, she says in a matter-of-fact, slightly joking way, to try to make me feel better. We're all going to die in fifty years anyway, right?
I just wanted... I can't say it through the tears, but I'm thinking, I just wanted to lead a good life, to do the best I could. It didn't occur to me that my conscious absence was part of why things went so badly.
Wednesday, April 16, 2008
The Last Swimsuit You'll Ever Own
Ok, it's time to fess up. I haven't been writing much lately because a) I've been working a lot, and b) I've been obsessing about my weight. I didn't want to admit it, because it's such an, oh, I don't know, ordinary thing to write about. It's boring. It's banal. It's so... common. There isn't a magazine on the stands this time of year that doesn't have a bright headline hawking the latest fad diet or product or exercise. And although I feel that the latest fad is as good as dead the minute it hits the stands, I can't help but skim the articles to see if there is some useful and heretofore unknown diet secret that will free me from my angst.
For me, the feeling that I should be just a little bit thinner has followed on my heels, lurking as lightly and as closely as a shadow, my entire life. No matter how thin I have been, I've always felt I could do better. My very thinnest college weight is a number that is seared onto my brain forever. That weight was achieved by swimming 2 hours a day, 5 days a week, and eating very little besides plain popcorn and diet coke. Maybe a little tuna. I have always dreamed of, and from time to fleeting time I have experienced, the feeling of to eating and being joyous at the same time, instead of mentally calculating the calories and where they might land, pushing the guilt back to a dark little corner of my mind, to be exhumed and worried over later in private.
Every year, about this time, like everyone else in America, I contemplate my big white self in a bathing suit and I'm overcome with guilt and dread. Sure, my clothes from last summer still fit, and I have lost ten pounds from the all-time high I hit for the second time. But I'm still not there. I have never considered myself a yo-yo dieter. I feel like I'm almost there most of the time. And I never do fad diets (ok, I tried the Atkins diet once) or starve myself (anymore). But I'm still not thin. And I still don't know if I should be.
At the beginning of the year, I sought to avoid this state. I checked my BMI online and at the doctor's. The BMI indicated that my college weight would be a better weight for me, basically. But dude, that is a lot of weight to lose! That is half a Back Street Boy, as Mike would say. It didn't seem right, and it didn't seem healthy. Or even remotely possible. So, when I got a new strength training routine from Susan, the trainer at the gym, I also had my body fat measured. That indicated a less drastic recommended weight loss of 15-20 lbs. I counted off the weeks until our upcoming Hawai'ian anniversary trip and decided it was completely do-able. It really was.
Then I panicked. Which is what I do. Every time this happens, it makes me think of Seventeen magazine, a staple for me during high school. Sometime in the spring, they'd always publish a "Countdown to Prom" issue, complete with a detailed diet plan and suggestions for what to do each week and month to look my absolute prettiest (and thinnest) by the time that special day came around. I'd read the diet, maybe start that, or if it seemed too daunting (who whips up custom diet fruit smoothies every morning at eighteen?), I'd embark on my own starvation diet of Diet Coke and fill in the blank. Diet Coke and raisins, Diet Coke and popcorn. Diet Coke and tuna. Diet Coke and Diet Coke. And of course, cafeteria food at lunch, or nothing. My crash diet would quickly crash and burn, and I'd watch the remaining days count down on the calendar, feeling like a failure.
The phrase that always comes to mind is a line from the "Wear Sunscreen" piece that was mistakenly attributed to Kurt Vonnegut years ago (but was actually written by Mary Schmich):
Thin equals pretty, pretty equals happy, therefore fail at thin equals fail at happy. Right? So here I am, less than 30 days from take-off, with a theoretical 10-15 more lbs to go. And worse, I'm struggling with how I can be happy and have fun on my vacation if I'm fat. Because I failed at reaching a goal that I thought about once in January, that got closer and more impossible as each day went by. It's embarrassing to admit.
I find myself in a battle. Wanting to lose weight and not being successful at it means that I believe fat is bad and thin is good, and that I am not good until I am thin. I don't believe that. I fight against it. It seems to me that wanting so desperately to be something different, whatever it is, means that I don't think what I am is good enough. In general, that is not true, but when it comes to weight, how can it not be true?
I have said before that I don't want to be at war with food. I want to be healthy. And I am. Recently, I had an EKG, tests for diabetes and a cardiac "stress test". Because of my family's history of heart disease and diabetes, I wanted to establish a healthy baseline so that I know what's going on with my heart over time. Secretly, I suppose I wanted to be told that I could be healthy without having to go on the dreaded diet. That for once, I could relax.
It was so very gratifying to hear the doctor tell the nurse that my heart slowed down so fast after the exercise because "She's fit. That's why." In the follow up, she said my heart looked great, that I was very healthy. I asked about weight, and told her about my BMI and my body fat percentage. We talked about statistics concerning fit, slightly overweight people and thin people who don't exercise. I'll live longer. I said I have always felt fat and I wanted to know if I really needed to lose weight. What she finally said was that I would probably "feel better" if I lost 10 to 15 lbs.
The same night, I went to a belly-dancing class with my friend Lisa. There were two very thin women, and two very not-so-thin women, and me in the middle. The instructor was telling us at the end that we'd feel the workout if we weren't used to exercise. She looked at the two thin women and said, "I'm sure you exercise, and I'm sure you exercise, and...," she looked at me, "do you exercise regularly?" Of course, I just said, "yes." But what I wanted to say was, "I probably exercise more than anyone in this room. I do six hours of cardio a week, including my daily dog walks, and I lift weights twice a week. How fast can you run a mile? Because I bet I can beat you. I'm fit, dammit." And then I would prove it by kicking her belly-dancing ass.
That made me examine the fact that I don't just want to be fit, I want to look fit. I want people to look at me and think that I'm strong. That I must work out. That I'm... I hardly dare to say it... attractive. Pretty. And the desire to be pretty, combined with the fear that I may never get there, is a scary thing. If anyone knows me, you'll probably want to reassure me at this point, telling me that I AM pretty, and I AM desirable. If you're my husband, you'll tell me that I'm sexy, because that's the kind of great person that you are. (Thanks for the "For Doing the Taxes" flowers, too, by the way.) But I'll never see it in any way but that you are trying to be nice to me. Until I'm thin. Or at least, thinner.
Don't worry, I'm going to be ok. I feel better already. In a week or so, things will look rosier. I'll get over this hump, and maybe even shave off 5 more lbs before I go to the islands. Writing has helped me get to the (wide, lumpy) bottom of this, and I know that it's more important to be happy and healthy than thin. I really do seek a healthy state of mind and body on a daily basis. I'm not afraid of, or at war with, food. (As evidenced by the 102 posts on my blog about it!) I am going to continue to slog toward weight loss, and I'll get there eventually, but if I don't get there with my sanity and health intact, weight ain't nothing but a number.
For me, the feeling that I should be just a little bit thinner has followed on my heels, lurking as lightly and as closely as a shadow, my entire life. No matter how thin I have been, I've always felt I could do better. My very thinnest college weight is a number that is seared onto my brain forever. That weight was achieved by swimming 2 hours a day, 5 days a week, and eating very little besides plain popcorn and diet coke. Maybe a little tuna. I have always dreamed of, and from time to fleeting time I have experienced, the feeling of to eating and being joyous at the same time, instead of mentally calculating the calories and where they might land, pushing the guilt back to a dark little corner of my mind, to be exhumed and worried over later in private.
Every year, about this time, like everyone else in America, I contemplate my big white self in a bathing suit and I'm overcome with guilt and dread. Sure, my clothes from last summer still fit, and I have lost ten pounds from the all-time high I hit for the second time. But I'm still not there. I have never considered myself a yo-yo dieter. I feel like I'm almost there most of the time. And I never do fad diets (ok, I tried the Atkins diet once) or starve myself (anymore). But I'm still not thin. And I still don't know if I should be.
At the beginning of the year, I sought to avoid this state. I checked my BMI online and at the doctor's. The BMI indicated that my college weight would be a better weight for me, basically. But dude, that is a lot of weight to lose! That is half a Back Street Boy, as Mike would say. It didn't seem right, and it didn't seem healthy. Or even remotely possible. So, when I got a new strength training routine from Susan, the trainer at the gym, I also had my body fat measured. That indicated a less drastic recommended weight loss of 15-20 lbs. I counted off the weeks until our upcoming Hawai'ian anniversary trip and decided it was completely do-able. It really was.
Then I panicked. Which is what I do. Every time this happens, it makes me think of Seventeen magazine, a staple for me during high school. Sometime in the spring, they'd always publish a "Countdown to Prom" issue, complete with a detailed diet plan and suggestions for what to do each week and month to look my absolute prettiest (and thinnest) by the time that special day came around. I'd read the diet, maybe start that, or if it seemed too daunting (who whips up custom diet fruit smoothies every morning at eighteen?), I'd embark on my own starvation diet of Diet Coke and fill in the blank. Diet Coke and raisins, Diet Coke and popcorn. Diet Coke and tuna. Diet Coke and Diet Coke. And of course, cafeteria food at lunch, or nothing. My crash diet would quickly crash and burn, and I'd watch the remaining days count down on the calendar, feeling like a failure.
The phrase that always comes to mind is a line from the "Wear Sunscreen" piece that was mistakenly attributed to Kurt Vonnegut years ago (but was actually written by Mary Schmich):
"In 20 years you’ll look back at photos of yourself and recall in a way you can’t grasp now how much possibility lay before you and how fabulous you really looked….You’re not as fat as you imagine."I'd contemplate losing a limb to be the weight now that I once agonized over in high school. To have my size in the single digits again. I watch the Discovery Channel-- there are all sorts of remarkable prosthetic limbs now. Knock on wood. Or carbon fiber. Of course, I'd lose the weight, but then I'd be a one-legged fat person, not a thin person who happened also to be missing a leg.
Thin equals pretty, pretty equals happy, therefore fail at thin equals fail at happy. Right? So here I am, less than 30 days from take-off, with a theoretical 10-15 more lbs to go. And worse, I'm struggling with how I can be happy and have fun on my vacation if I'm fat. Because I failed at reaching a goal that I thought about once in January, that got closer and more impossible as each day went by. It's embarrassing to admit.
I find myself in a battle. Wanting to lose weight and not being successful at it means that I believe fat is bad and thin is good, and that I am not good until I am thin. I don't believe that. I fight against it. It seems to me that wanting so desperately to be something different, whatever it is, means that I don't think what I am is good enough. In general, that is not true, but when it comes to weight, how can it not be true?
I have said before that I don't want to be at war with food. I want to be healthy. And I am. Recently, I had an EKG, tests for diabetes and a cardiac "stress test". Because of my family's history of heart disease and diabetes, I wanted to establish a healthy baseline so that I know what's going on with my heart over time. Secretly, I suppose I wanted to be told that I could be healthy without having to go on the dreaded diet. That for once, I could relax.
It was so very gratifying to hear the doctor tell the nurse that my heart slowed down so fast after the exercise because "She's fit. That's why." In the follow up, she said my heart looked great, that I was very healthy. I asked about weight, and told her about my BMI and my body fat percentage. We talked about statistics concerning fit, slightly overweight people and thin people who don't exercise. I'll live longer. I said I have always felt fat and I wanted to know if I really needed to lose weight. What she finally said was that I would probably "feel better" if I lost 10 to 15 lbs.
The same night, I went to a belly-dancing class with my friend Lisa. There were two very thin women, and two very not-so-thin women, and me in the middle. The instructor was telling us at the end that we'd feel the workout if we weren't used to exercise. She looked at the two thin women and said, "I'm sure you exercise, and I'm sure you exercise, and...," she looked at me, "do you exercise regularly?" Of course, I just said, "yes." But what I wanted to say was, "I probably exercise more than anyone in this room. I do six hours of cardio a week, including my daily dog walks, and I lift weights twice a week. How fast can you run a mile? Because I bet I can beat you. I'm fit, dammit." And then I would prove it by kicking her belly-dancing ass.
That made me examine the fact that I don't just want to be fit, I want to look fit. I want people to look at me and think that I'm strong. That I must work out. That I'm... I hardly dare to say it... attractive. Pretty. And the desire to be pretty, combined with the fear that I may never get there, is a scary thing. If anyone knows me, you'll probably want to reassure me at this point, telling me that I AM pretty, and I AM desirable. If you're my husband, you'll tell me that I'm sexy, because that's the kind of great person that you are. (Thanks for the "For Doing the Taxes" flowers, too, by the way.) But I'll never see it in any way but that you are trying to be nice to me. Until I'm thin. Or at least, thinner.
Don't worry, I'm going to be ok. I feel better already. In a week or so, things will look rosier. I'll get over this hump, and maybe even shave off 5 more lbs before I go to the islands. Writing has helped me get to the (wide, lumpy) bottom of this, and I know that it's more important to be happy and healthy than thin. I really do seek a healthy state of mind and body on a daily basis. I'm not afraid of, or at war with, food. (As evidenced by the 102 posts on my blog about it!) I am going to continue to slog toward weight loss, and I'll get there eventually, but if I don't get there with my sanity and health intact, weight ain't nothing but a number.
Saturday, April 5, 2008
Haiku High Five
Yet another reason to get over there and check out the Cleaner Plate Club again: Agribusiness Haiku. I hope she doesn't mind me posting it here, it was just so damn good. There are more.
For Monsanto
Your stock grows…in Hell.
GMOs: they’re a sin now!
Sez who? The pope, dude.
By Popular Demand
I took this White Bean Dip to work this week, and it seemed to be pretty popular. It's easy, healthy, and really flavorful. It is reported to be Turkish in origin, and meant to be served in a trio of dips for vegetable kebabs, but it's also great with chips. (I like Trader Joe's Flax Tortilla Chips, but then, I would.) You could also toast some pitas or flatbreads. If you can, make it a day ahead to allow the flavors to meld.
Turkish White Bean Dip
2 cans cooked white beans
1/2 medium onion, chopped
1/4 c olive oil
1/2 bunch parsley, leaves only
1/4 cup lemon juice (I used mostly lemon plus a little lime)
1/2 tsp salt, or to taste
Drain beans, discard liquid. Put beans and other ingredients in a
blender or food processor. Puree until not quite smooth.
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