While the world around us is scrambling to get to their healthiest selfs, I’m over here trying to wean myself off of my holiday sugar levels. Shoutout to my 2016 self when I worked in a high-class bakery and yet still managed to swear off sugar. While my husband is being responsible researching mortgage information, I’m contemplating “lob” lengths. Everybody and their mother’s best friend is posting rainbow colored cray cray smoothie bowls and shit all over instagram these days. #January. It may not snow here (can you hear my joyous hallelujahs?), but cold weather depresses me any way you slice it.
What do you do when life gives you lemons? Life being my sweet and sassy Italian mother-in-Law, Angela. There is no limit to that woman’s generosity, I swear. After she and my father-in-Law spent the new years in Campania visiting family, they were thoughtful enough to bring us a ton of delicious shit. Read- my cookie based breakfasts continue. Also note that the birthplace of the real mozzarella di bufala (mozz from buffalo’s milk) is my husband’s homeland. Which means we have a lot of creamy giant white balls of cheese to eat up and I’m not complaining about it. I may not have married rich, but I married smart.
Back to the lemons. Lemonade is full of sugar and absolutely out of the question. So, I did what I do, and made yet another round of disaster salad. There’s nothing gross about this salad and there’s no recipe. It’s the kind of disaster that’s funky and beautiful. It’s a metaphor and it’s a meal. The only guidelines to success in creating your own disaster salad is to put delicious stuff in a bowl and when you think, man that really doesn’t belong in this salad, say no and put it in the salad anyway. Certain former co-workers know that this term was what I named the food I consumed during my lunch break about 90% of the time. Otherwise, I was probably eating the 20th portion of soup I made and froze during my day off while chopping vegetables and binge watching Netflix series.
While you’re all busy Januarying, don’t be afraid to dare to get a little wild with your cavolo ner0 (black cabbage) which Americans taught me to call lacinato kale. Now that I know in Italian it translates as black cabbage, I will from now on refer to this green by it’s undeniably more badass name. Also, all of the vegetables and fruits featured in this photo grown outside of Italy (gasp!) were totally worth the judgement I got from the nonnine (little Italian grandmothers) at the grocery store. The globalization of produce is what is keeping me sane people. While I’m still distrustful of drinking green things, I’m all about eating the color green. happy disasters!