Tag Archives: Food

Las Vegas Has More Raw Food Options Than Salt Lake City

As most of you know, I am a hard-core Salt Laker. I am not personally “hard-core.” What I mean is, I LOVE SALT LAKE CITY! So it is with a fair amount of dismay that I have to admit that Vegas has more raw food options than Salt Lake.

My brother-in-law, Travis, and his wife, Lynette (family of mine I got from a first marriage, [thanks, Shaun!]) took me to their neighborhood Whole Foods in Henderson, NV yesterday. I was like a crazy person running from isle to isle. Maybe I was more like a pinball. I don’t know, but one thing is for sure, I am super jealous of their Whole Foods. The bulk sections had more than a dozen bins full of sprouted nuts and legumes as well as assorted raw trail mixes. I found raw almonds for almost HALF as much money as in SLC. They also had the coveted KELP NOODLES in stock. I can’t find those anywhere at home. And, of course, as any Salt Laker will tell you, it always seems like Disney World to round the corner out of the produce isle and find an entire section of a grocery store filled with wine. Although wine isn’t really a part of this 101 day project, the novelty of being able to buy it in a regular store never gets old. For those of you who care, I managed to restrain myself.

Go Raw Cafe in Las VegasTravis made good use of his smart phone and found a raw cafe for us to check out. We went to the Go Raw Cafe located at 2381 East Windmill Lane #18 in Las Vegas. When we first walked in I was nonplussed. It’s not what you would call “cozy.” It’s sort of a mix between a small bookstore, a select health food store, a salad bar and a restaurant.

We sat down at a table and started to peruse the menu. This was the point where I started warming up to the joint. The menu was extensive, to say the least. There weren’t any sprouted rice curry dishes offered, like the one Omar makes at Rawtopia, but I saw just about everything else there. Something interesting I had never seen before was their “tortillas.” They were really good. They tasted a little like flax crackers, but they were soft and pliable, like a tortilla. They were thinner than a tortilla, though, but not as thin as, say, rice paper.

We tried the “Veggie-Cotti,” the “Enchiladas,” and the traditional “Pizza.” I was stoked about the gigantic portions (leftovers!) and Travis and Lynette, both raw food newbies, loved their lunch. I was enamored with the side of “pasta primavera” that came with my dish, but I did feel like the chefs used anise with a little too much abandon.

A quick google search revealed there are many more restaurants that Vegans and Raw Foodies alike would enjoy in Vegas. Yet another reason to spend a winter weekend in the desert, eh?

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Filed under 101 Day Project, Freeing the Fat, Going Raw

I Have Had [Food] Issues

When I was 5-years-old I was acutely aware that my stomach “went straight down,” (translation: that I was thin) and that if I wanted it to stay that way, I couldn’t eat too much. I have one memory, in particular, where I can almost hear my voice say to my sister, “My stomach goes straight down.” I didn’t have a grasp of the proper nomenclature, yet, but looking back, that was the beginning of a very painful journey for me.

Growing up, I was aware that some of us were “skinny” and some of us weren’t. I am number 7 out of 10 kids. There are 8 girls and 2 boys. I have always thought I was “lucky number 7,” because I have not had to deal with many of the health-related issues my siblings have. I have perfect eyesight. I do not have diabetes. I have very low blood pressure. I do not have celiac disease. I have a healthy gall bladder. I am not allergic to anything but black mold and sometimes pollen. Until a few years ago, I had never broken a bone. Nor had I ever gotten stitches. I am not afraid of people or social situations. I do not have asthma. And I have almost always been within a normal weight range.

(That doesn’t mean I’m not a hot mess in many other ways.)

I still believe I simply lucked out when they were doling out alleles. Because I grew up in a family that struggles with weight, I know, for sure, that there is something biologically different about me. I was spared the battle with obesity, but I had my own dragons to slay.

My Mother is the most intelligent, sophisticated, creative and pure soul I have ever met. There is not a single ounce of meanness inside her. But that doesn’t mean she wasn’t afraid. She was afraid. She gave birth to, and raised, more kids than her body probably wanted to. I think she started to gain weight after I was born, but by the time I was of cognitive thought, I knew my mother thought she was fat. And she hated it. She hoped to help all her kids escape the same fate. But fear has a way of seeping through the cracks, and it rubbed off on me.

Mormon Culture is largely centered around food. I suppose one might argue that American Culture is centered around food, but Mormons take it to new levels. Mormons don’t go to coffee shops. They generally don’t meet for tea and nosh on cucumber sandwiches. They don’t sip aperitifs and they don’t skimp on the fat. They even have their own cuisine! “Funeral Potatoes” are very popular as well as assorted jellos and mayonnaise-themed salads. When Mormons get together there is ALWAYS food. It is customary, in every situation, to prepare and bring large amounts of food with you to most events to share. Family gatherings center around food. Church meetings almost always have refreshments afterward.

They are also obsessed with sex. I promise I am not picking on Mormons! I love Mormons. I had an idyllic childhood, full of adventure and unconditional love from my family. But I am also determined to speak what is the truth for me. Growing up in Mormon Idaho was a little like growing up at a special camp where every day you are reminded of sex and not ever to have it. I didn’t have any idea what it was, and I felt guilty about it at 8 years old. On Sundays, we were regaled by stories of girls who had, or had not, remained morally “clean.” My young mind heard that my worth was completely tied to how chaste I was. I was told repeatedly that my worth was only valid in relation to a man. In fact, I didn’t have to make any decisions at all! My husband would be held accountable for our actions and be wholly responsible for my passage to heaven.

An onslaught of lessons were delivered on: not having sex; not dressing in a way that might “turn on” a boy; using disgusting associative imagery to discourage masturbation; terrible consequences of small indiscretions; and (it bears repeating) our worth, as women, being tied directly to our chastity. Psychologists have known for many years that the BEST way to encourage someone to think about something, is to tell them not to think about it. By CONSTANTLY telling us not to think about sex, we all thought about it constantly. I was a spectacularly good kid, and I felt more shame and guilt, on a daily basis, than any kid should have to bear.

(Again, this is only my experience. I am positive there are many women out there who had very different experiences.) For me, growing up in that context, a repressive and anti-feminist community, and within a family who was gripped by the fear of food and gaining weight was… tricky.

I know my sweet mother felt shame about her weight, which transferred to feeling shame every time she ate anything. And I could see it in some of my sister’s eyes as well. This shame felt like the same shame I felt when I had any thoughts of a sexual nature. This tied food, sex, weight and shame all together in a neat little bow for me.

Most of my life I didn’t really have to worry too much about weight. Besides the luck of the draw, there is one other reason for this, and that reason is named, Nan. My sister, Nanette was 7 years my senior, and without a doubt, my hero. I remember vividly that day in 1978 when she brought me in to the parlor to teach me how to do a cartwheel. I was 5-years-old. By then I had already decided that Nan pretty much ruled. She was only ever nice to me. I can not remember one single incident where she brushed me off, or made me feel sad. One time, she decided she was running away. I think she was 11-years old, so I would’ve been 2 or almost 3. She packed a suitcase for herself and one for me, and we set off to make our way.

I remember that day so clearly. I was a little confused as to why we didn’t have sticks with bandanas tied to them carrying our loot (like the hobos in cartoons) but I knew she had probably thought that through. We walked to the end of the lane that stretched from our house, past the big oak tree, the corral and the horses and sat down on some hay bales lying near the main haystack. I wasn’t even tired. I felt like we should keep walking. Imagine my bewilderment when it started to get dark and we returned home. In my mind, it seemed like a perfectly reasonable idea to run away. Nan and I, off to see the world.

So when she showed me the magical wonders of a cartwheel, I was hooked. I went directly outside and said to myself, “I am not going back inside until I do this cartwheel perfectly.” It took a long time that night, as I recall, but I did it. Thus began a mutual obsession that, for the next 10 years, would provide 75% of our entertainment. We lived and breathed gymnastics. We played “add-on” constantly. For the uninitiated, add-on is an awesome game that requires its players to remember and perform a growing number of “tricks,” in the order they were introduced. When done so accurately, that player then “adds-on” a “trick” (which could be anything from a handstand to a dance move) and it’s the next player’s job to remember and replicate the series.

We did cartwheels down the hall, tumbling runs in the living room, back handsprings in parades and layouts on the trampoline. Constantly.

By the time I was a sophomore in high school, she was married and we moved away. I basically stopped doing gymnastics. I came back to Idaho to go to finish high school and we hung out all the time, but then during my junior year she moved to Oklahoma City. I was so sad about it that I blocked her from my mind for a time. About that same time, I started to gain weight. I was gaining it fast. I had always weighed around 105 pounds, but suddenly I was 125.

I started throwing up. I had hoped that by getting rid of the food I’d eaten, I’d get rid of the weight and shame I had. The throwing up reinforced the shame, however, and on top of that, I was a TEENAGER and wanted to make-out with boys constantly. More shame.

I starved myself that summer and returned to school back at 105 pounds. I would constantly vacillate between starving and/or binging and purging. I would run for miles and miles. I did EVERYTHING I could to keep from having sex with the boys I went out with. I was SUCH a good girl, but despite my efforts, I was still pretty sure I was going to hell. I knew I wasn’t being good enough. I would confess every tiny transgression to my bishop. He finally told me to quit coming to see him. In hindsight, I can see that he was a smart guy who knew I was a good kid and wanted me to relax. I, of course, just thought I had tricked him into thinking I was a good kid. Ridiculous!

There was a community dust-up at the end of my senior year that knocked us all off balance and by that summer I had decided that trying to be all the things my church leaders said I should be was literally killing me. I moved in with some friends and we proceeded to rabble rouse. We drank beer, dated sailors and swore openly! When ALL of your morals are tied to a religion, and the religion betrays you, the danger is that the proverbial baby gets chucked out with the bathwater. It was a big time of sifting for answers to questions like, why black people couldn’t hold the priesthood before 1979; why the church is so anti-feminist; why the church had lied to us about J. Smith being 14 years old when he went into the sacred grove, etc. etc. etc… these discrepancies fueled our disillusionment and we just tried our best to help each other get through it.

I felt like I was just getting my footing when a friend of ours from Ricks College stopped by. An hour later, my virginity taken from me, all the shame I had been breaking away from came flooding back, triple-fold. I was totally unprepared and felt wholly responsible. I ramped up the throwing up to every time I had a single bit of food and I quit eating altogether about 8 months after that. By Christmas, 1992, I was down to only 87 pounds. I hated food. I was scared of men.

I hated to talk about food, think about food or listen to people eat food. I felt the EXACT SAME WAY about food as I felt about sex. It was dirty, bad, gross and to be avoided at all times. This crossover of disgust and shame about food and sex carried over to my young marriage and was probably, ultimately, it’s demise.

Enter Jenny. My sister Jenny is about 9 or 10 years older than me. She was enough older than me, that I don’t have a lot of memories of her from when I was little. I also think she hid out in her room with her guitar, trying to find some peace! But after Nan moved away (my junior year) Jenny really stepped in to be my surrogate mama. She was putting herself through college, as a single mom, and was poor. It was a trial for her to find the gas money to come up from Pocatello to Rexburg and support me in my plays and concerts. I spent vacation time with her in her tiny one-bedroom apartment and we had a great time. Jenny has such a calming affect on me. I usually fall asleep within an hour of walking into her house. It’s one of the few places in the world I feel completely safe in. My sister, Sarah, also tried her best to include me in on her life as well as my brother, Dave. My sister, Melinda, was there when she could be. She was at BYU being exceptionally brilliant.

But it was Jenny that first saw signs of an eating disorder. And it was Jenny who lit the fire inside the family that led them to finally getting me some help. My mother drove me twice a week, an hour each way, for individual and group therapy for about two solid years. It helped. A ton. Having Hannah helped me the most. But my war had only just begun.

Over the last 20 years my struggle to rid myself of the crushing shame I have always felt surrounding all things sex has been more successful than my fight to accept food as something other than my enemy and my body, no matter what size, as my ally. I have waffled between 100 lbs and 149 lbs over and over again. My answer to the scale reaching the 140s? Starve. Quit eating. Quick. The initial disgust reaction I have had to food makes it relatively easy for me to do so. But when I feel sad, or lonely, I just want to eat. I haven’t made myself throw up in years, but I do still have periods of binging and over-eating. After my second divorce, I just wanted to numb out and food provided that outlet for me.

The divorce-induced dining and drinking resulted in the aforementioned 149 lbs. I stepped on the scale and saw that number (the same number I saw the day I gave birth!) and knew I had to change. I also knew I had to change in a better way than I used to. I knew I had destroyed my metabolism and that my body couldn’t take another starvation year. So I meditated. I meditated my way into a miracle.

Every day for 4 or 5 months I mediated for hours in a state of gratitude. Specifically gratitude that I had a body with such a spectacular metabolism that I could eat anything and not gain weight. I made myself believe that I always maintained a perfect, healthy weight. And suddenly, I was thin again. You can ask Hannah. Seemingly overnight, I let go of the weight and felt free.

Unfortunately, this liberation coincided with the market crashing and me no longer being able to support myself through the foundation I had started. The fear started to seep in and by the time the end of 2009 came around, I was in a state of terror again about food. I lived off of diet soda and pretzels. I was tired, worn out and week.

The year I spent as an insurance agent harkened in another saga into a less dramatic, but very real, emotional eating period. And then the next year, when I found out my sweet daughter had tried on being a smoker, I thought to myself, “Well. You’ve already fucked it all up.” I started smoking again (after many years of abstaining) and the emotional eating got worse, as well as an obsession with the TV. I was in the business of keeping it together. I studied, spent time with Hannah and put one step in front of the other. (We also managed to fit in a lot of fun.)

And then Hannah and I went to Outlook Development’s Power of Choice Seminar. My friend, Doug, gave a presentation on falling in love with our bodies. I silently groaned. I thought the word, “gross” in my mind and prepared myself for what I was sure to be another icky display of someone telling me to love my body. But he said some things that triggered the dam and somewhere in the middle of his presentation I just started sobbing.

I realized, suddenly, what an ungrateful BRAT I have been for the last 30 years. My body is awesome. It is my greatest ally. It has allowed me to dip my toes into 7 seas, climb through jungles, play the guitar, sing, dance, skydive, play the piano, smell the spices of Morocco, run, do backflips, feel the heat of Costa Rica, sweat my ass off in Indonesia, basque in the sun in Turkey and more. I have climbed tall mountains with this body. I have truly loved a man (or two). I have given BIRTH to my beautiful daughter. I have played roller derby, taken up kick boxing, died my hair a million times and performed in front of hundreds of people. I have over 200,000 road trip miles under my belt and many more to come.

My body has done all this for me, and I have treated it like shit. I walked out of that meeting determined to change my ways and haven’t touched a cigarette since. I never will again.

The next week I watched “Fat, Sick and Nearly Dead.” It was so inspiring. It motivated me to add a 10-day juice fast in to the project I had developed for the ongoing Outlook Development program Hannah and I were planning to do. The “Excess Emancipation” project, at that point, was just to get rid of 50% of my shit. It has become so much more. As I prepared to do the juice fast, I started thinking about other times in my life when I have successfully stuck to a healthier way of eating. The time I went vegan came to mind. I got SO SICK of bean burritos. I was beginning to think the juice fast would be enough of change when I started researching raw food diets.

The accounts from devotees about their entire outlook changing along with their overall health were amazing to me. I decided I’d commit to a 90% all raw-food diet until March 21st.

It was a difficult transition. Really difficult. I went through a listless period with NO energy. But about two weeks after beginning, I was on cloud 9. The benefits of going all raw were already showing. I began to have more energy and mental clarity than I ever have before. I realized at about week 3 that I was enjoying myself in the kitchen. That was astonishing. Then I noticed I was willing to talk about the food I was preparing. And then I realized I was savoring each bite. I have been anti-savoring my whole life, it felt dirty and gross to discuss it, let alone do it. And then last week I had the biggest breakthrough, yet.

I started an all-green smoothies 10-day plan on Dec 27. After that I moved into an all raw foods diet. The day of the great epiphany was January 27. Exactly one month after beginning this 101 day journey. I was at Omar’s Rawtopia in Sugarhouse. I was doing a little writing and musing over all the changes in my life. I was laughing about how earlier that day I caught myself chatting up the dude in the raw food isle of Whole Foods.

My first food picture!

And then. And then the waitress brought me my dessert. It looked so pretty. It was a cashew, lemon and raspberry “cheese”cake. I took a bite and laughed out loud! It was so good! And it was pretty. And suddenly I had the overwhelming urge to take a picture of it! I can not tell you what a crazy move that was for me. I would liken it to me wanting to walk around the house naked… unfathomable. And yet, here it is.

I have a theory that because I now KNOW that the things I am eating are good for me, there is no way for my mind to twist it into something ugly. In my life, I had expected to get over the old “sex is dirty” script. I wasn’t even all that surprised when I realized that I DO love my body (thanks, pal!). But me getting excited about shopping for food, researching recipes, chatting with strangers about flax seeds and getting so excited about a dessert that I take its picture has been, by far, the greatest present of this 101 day journey thus far.

Thank you, Doug Phillips. Thank you Hannah!

And to my sisters in food and body loathing: Get ready, suit up, it’s going to get all foodie up in here!

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My Best Nighttime Comfort Food Creation

I’m going to be in trouble with a couple friends who require exact measurements of ingredients in order to duplicate a raw food creation. I never remember to measure anything. This shake is seriously delicious and cures all cravings!

I had soaked about 2 cups of cashews overnight so I could use them today to make something yummy. I thought about making some cashew flour, and them some brownies, but i don’t have a dehydrator, and cashews take all day to really dry out own their own so I decided to invent a shake.

I filled my blender with about a cup of almond milk; a cup of coconut water; a cup (or cup and a half?) of the cashews; about 3 cups of strawberries; around two tablespoons of raw honey; two or three tablespoons of bee pollen; approximately 1/2 cup of raw cacao powder; and a few ice cubes.

I have a high-powered blender I bought about 3 years ago (the last time I was positive I was going “all raw”). Apparently it’s not a must-have to make these kinds of shakes, but I wonder if regular blenders produce the same whipped and thoroughly blended confection. Someone with more curiosity than me will have to test both types of blenders and let me know.

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When in doubt, eat something.

I am tired.

I let myself get so tired, in fact, that my brain stopped functioning today. I know that in order to have energy, I should eat. But when I’m tired, I often miss the obvious. It has been over a week since I’ve had a decent night’s sleep and until about an hour ago, I’d probably only eaten 300 calories in 48 hours.

I am NOT into torturing myself by starving. I am also not into going without sleep. But I AM determined to become a morning person. For realsies. So I have been greeting each day at dawn in hopes my body will believe me that I’m serious about falling asleep earlier.

But today was a straight-up nightmare. I woke up at 5 AM per usual and meditated for a half an hour before waking up to write for a couple of hours. I was anxious because I knew that at 9 AM I had to be at the school to confront a professor about a grade. I have never had to do that before and was really nervous. I was also angry. Outraged, actually. By my estimation, there is no possible way I deserved a ‘B’ in that class.

So I forgot to make a smoothie before school. I also forgot to throw a macadamia/cacoa energy ball in my bag. I also neglected to consider that I had only had about 24 ounces of raw juices and soup the day before. I figured I’d pick up an apple and a banana at the school cafeteria, along with some green tea and all would be well. But the “conversation” I had with my professor was very upsetting and before I knew it, I was still choking back tears halfway through my critical theory class (which I love).

I hid my droopy, tired red eyes with my Ray-Bans and somehow made it through music theory and a history lecture. Next, I drove my daughter down to Draper (It may as well have been Mexico) and took a nap in the parking lot of Outlook Development. My back was not pleased with the arrangement (My sister, Nan, jokes that we have “ancient gymnast syndrome!”). So I took some big, deep breaths and drove back toward downtown.

I took the 1300 South exit so I could stop by the health food store to pick up some more Flackers. I was wicked hungry and too tired to make dinner, so I figured I’d polish off the avocado and pine nut hummus I’d made two days prior with an entire box of a few Flackers. I walked in the door and was immediately heart sick. “This is not a health food store,” I grumbled to myself, “this is just a stupid restaurant.”

I turned around to leave, my head hung low, believing I was probably just going to starve to death, when the woman behind the register asked me if I was looking for the market. I said I was, and expressed my confusion. And then she said some glorious words. They were a little jumbled up, but I caught fragments of “All” and “Raw” and I swear I heard the angels singing when I looked back over my shoulder at what I had assumed was a salad bar. But this was no salad bar. This was a buffet of gorgeous, thoughtfully prepared, all raw food dishes.

It was glorious! They had Raw Pizza, Zucchini Noodles, Vegan Sushi, Raw Lasagna, Curried Kale, Smashed Cauliflower, home made Flackers and more! I was like a wild animal. I am laughing out loud, by myself, in my living room right now at how crazy I must have seemed to the nice organic hippy ladies.

After wolfing down the comfort food, I came up for air long enough to appreciate the cute, quaint diner space. I especially liked that they had books laying out on every table ranging from the sensible to the “far out.” The address is 329 W. 1700 S.  I think it was called “Manic Organic” or some such thing. I’ll definitely go back again.

After letting my stomach settle, I had a surge of… energy! I was still tired, but now fully functioning again. I realized I could’ve saved myself a lot of misery today by being just a little more prepared.

Next time I feel like I may actually be starting to die in the middle of a class, I will use my head and go buy a banana (or seven). Divorcing the drama, to me, means more than just staying out of negative conversations and relationships, it means planning ahead so days like today don’t happen.

I can hear Doug’s voice, “Everything happens for you, not to you, Rebecca.”

and mine replying, “Can it, Byron.”

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The Project Illustrated…

This is a “mind map” of the complete Excess Emancipation Project. The daily habits I am integrating; new beliefs I am creating; and the “broad strokes” of my 101 day journey are depicted here.

I committed to this vision on December 11, 2011 and it will be completed on March 21, 2012. This future I am creating is really an integration of habits I once had and/or things I’ve always wanted to do.

So far, it hasn’t been particularly easy. I see a lot of blogs out there about this person’s great new life on a raw food diet or that person’s successful purging of the possessions and I get a little frustrated. It seems like these things came easy to those people. Maybe I’m not reading far enough. Maybe they just didn’t talk about the crying.

One thing is for sure: As I look at my Dad’s desk from when I was a kid, or his galoshes from when he was a kid, I am acutely aware of tough times ahead. I am so habituated to attributing sentimental value to inanimate objects, it feels kinda like I’m getting rid of him, not just some stuff. Granted, I will be hopefully giving any/all family heirlooms to my sisters and brothers, but I know there will be a few things left over that I will have to face selling or giving away.

And it’s not just stuff from Dad and Mom (like her tin dollhouse from the 50s) a lot of my stuff are things I have picked up during my travels to Paris, Morocco, Indonesia, Costa Rica and more. Or they bring back memories of hijinks or lost loves. I suppose this is the inevitable crux of the issue.

I am committed to getting free of having to “tend” all this stuff, though. It’s so much work to dust, house, store, maintain and care for and about this inanimate menagerie. I have always fantasized about being free of it — about living a life more like Thoreau at Walden Pond — and I am determined to get there.

(Dear Universe, Please don’t infer that I want to be put in a position where I have to build my own house with just an axe and old nails from my neighbor’s shanty.)

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Breaking the Fast…

So after 10 days of “eating” nothing but green smoothies I was VERY ready to break the fast. I felt like I was starving. I probably was, because I know I wasn’t drinking enough of the dense smoothies. Not because I don’t love them, but because I’m super lazy. I have historically been reticent to spend time in the kitchen.

I broke the fast eagerly while sorting boxes the other night. I made some cashew-based dip and chowed down on broccoli, cauliflower and carrots. It was glorious! I had to force myself to really chew and I got full super quick, but it tasted like thanksgiving.

Since breaking the fast and starting a broader all raw food diet I have more energy than I have had since I can remember. I am floored by the difference!

I have been on a straight-up American diet for most of my life. Sure, I’ve spent a few months here and there as a Vegan and I have never been a serious carnivore, but diet soda, cheese, Taco Bell and KFC have ruled my life.

Once my mother asked me if I had a drinking problem and all I could say was, “I don’t think so, but I know I have an eating problem! I have never laid in bed and wished for a whiskey, but many a night I’ve laid there wishing for a cheese sandwich!”

And really when I think about it, CHEESE and it’s dairy companions have always been my nemesis. The gals who wrote, “Skinny Bitch” explain why. It’s been awhile since I read it, but they posit that cheese is actually addictive and put forth the science to back that up.

I’m happy to report that it seems my desperate need to eat copious amounts of cheese is starting to subside.

I forced my nephew to go to yoga with me this morning. After which I chose green tea (What?! Not coffee?!) at our favorite coffee shop and then made him go grocery shopping with me.

I totally bought cheese (per my daughter’s wishes) and did NOT rip open the package and eat it all right there in the store. I even cooked bacon and eggs for the gang without the tiniest twinge of jealousy.

I threw raspberries, oranges, a lemon, flax seeds, a half-banana and a bunch of kale in the blender and made one of my favorite smoothies to date. I shared with Hannah and Kaleb (daughter and nephew, respectively) sans kale.

At any rate, this whole raw food adventure appears to be paying off in spades. The week to ten days of malaise and no energy were completely worth it. I’m so excited!

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My Favorite Type of Street Food

My first reaction to this question was, “I don’t like any food that’s been in the street.” But then I realized what the real question was. sigh.

I’ve never been much of a consumer of food vended by street merchants. For many years, Salt Lake didn’t have any. Where I lived in Texas didn’t have any, either. And then I started traveling overseas.

One rule I stick to (whether it’s true at the time or not) is that I always let everyone know I am a vegetarian. That way the chances of eating any “funky” meat goes out the window. I have a wicked black mold allergy which also makes me extra cautious about raw food on the road. So, with those two things in mind, street vendors aren’t really an option in places like Indonesia or Costa Rica.

Because of this, when the street vendors came to Salt Lake I honestly never considered patronizing one. It wasn’t because I consciously thought they were unclean or whatever, it was just that I never thought about them at all. And they’ve been here for years.

All that changed a couple months ago when my friend John (who lives in NYC) took me to his favorite street vendor in Salt Lake. It was the most delicious Mexican food I’d ever had. I ate a burrito that was literally the size of my head. And it was cheap!

Leave it to me to need a New Yorker (originally from Idaho) to show me something about Salt Lake that I’d been missing. The taco cart I’m talking about is on State St. and about 8th South. In the Sears parking lot facing East.

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