The Life Extenders from Hell’s Kitchen

Inner Babe

A Fate Worse Than Death

I’ve taken my grains more often by shot glass than breakfast bowl. But a boot needs powering up and a trail needs hiking. So it turns out the time had come to cook barley and rye, whole grains, into a porridge.

All this virtuous behavior rattles my self-destructive nature. As I stand here I’m not so much aiming for immortality as merely extending some honest to goodness mortality.

They’ve already rescinded my soap box privileges. Nobody that knows nothing about the sanctity of life would even allow me a shot at a church pew or petri dish.

Happily married and duty bound to uphold my part of the bargain has provided an opportunity to seek out affairs of another kind. Oatmeal has been my baseline morning mistress since I saw my first day without French toast. After a spell putting oats on the stove was a heartless dreary unsatisfactory form of foreplay with a new day.

Homework was required to extract myself from this gustatory dead end affair. First, the new fling had to be organic. Second, the new girl had to be the real thing,  she could not be a genetically modified organism. Rice drink would replace bovine produced milk. Agave sweetener would substitute for refined sugar. Chopped fresh fruit was approved by my quorum-posse-tyranny of life extension advisers.

All that barley, rye and agave put me within spitting distance of an altogether more adult activity than turning me into some sad transsexual version of Little Bo Peep. If this was still a democracy you can bet the election would have come out in favor of the other guy. The voting machines are rigged in this household. Why in hell do Kellogg’s cornflakes keep winning every morning of the week?

The main thing to know is that eventually we’ll all be forced to find an appetite for something other than Pigs in a Blanket, deep-fried-Snicker’s Bars, or Jimmy Dean’s pure-pork-sausages. You’ll be thinner, walk faster and feel like you are starving half to death after having engorged yourself like a tick on a leafy green kale salad.

new hat

All Hat Nearly No Cholesterol

Before death nearly everything held dear including our favorite hunting dog will turn and bite us in the ass. I’m going for a hike with the vipers, this diet is venomous enough. From here on out and back its nothing but bug spray, sunscreen and a handful of fruits and nuts. Save me from the lettuce and lemon juice, how about giving me a sip of that filtered water before death by desire comes show me exit door.

 

Highway to the Belly of the Feast

Self Portrait

Starvation in the Arts District

Miracle of miracles we hop over to the Magical Castle last night to hang with the dexterously gifted slight of hand bright of mind Shawn Eric. Much feared Highway 101 wasn’t all parking lot impressions, stalling for time, hindering our progress living up to its much deserved reputation. From the Arts District to the Castle and back was mercifully quick.

We were sure to finish our supper before 7 and wouldn’t eat another thing until at the earliest 8 today. We’re allowing for the long gaps as a means to shock our regenerative cellular system. Virtuous hunger game’s is basically all you need or want to know.

Experimental from scratch batter has been the project. Equal parts brown rice and coconut flour, a minuscule dollop of buckwheat flour, equal parts baking soda and creme of tartar to make non-aluminum based baking powder, teaspoon of olive oil, almond milk added until batter is thinner and not thick. Topped with blueberries and least amount of maple syrup.

The idea here creating a breakfast cake that will not maim or kill. Oatmeal had been my only alternative and going steady with oatmeal as you well know is no cakewalk. Yogurt and the bovinian clan had to be excised from list of approved eatable substances.

A bowl of fruit, a cake or two with the least amount of preserves, cup of coffee is now the second arrow in my breakfast quiver.

Stuck in traffic, starvation by tyranny of impending blood panel testing, exercise bike sessions exceeding all previous levels of effort have combined to make existence look like a Launchpad with escape velocity from the terror of the modern American food chain the goal.

No more genetically modified organisms and that includes everything ringing our nations capital. We are playing old records on a turntable, using incandescent light bulbs, and if it goes in our mouth it’s made of fresh-whole-plant based- and is commonly referred to as food. This is what happens to a life not stuck on a LA freeway. I know what your thinking- what’s for lunch?