Many vegetarians start out the way I did: as 14-year-old girls. Quite a few also end the way I did: with fried chicken. In my case, vegetarianism was a brief fling, weighed down by the earnest food of the post-commune early ’70s. When I tried to share sprouted-wheat-soy-lentil loaves and the like, my friends and family always felt there was something (flavor, meat) missing.
I’m always baffled when people tell me that they never cook. Eating is a necessity, so cooking something at least once in a while shouldn’t be too far behind, right?
Maybe it’s not fair to judge, since I cook for a living. Even after a day in the EatingWell Test Kitchen developing recipes, I’ll often go home and cook dinner.
I guess because I’m a food editor at EatingWell, I shouldn’t be surprised that my friends were shocked when I told them I stopped for dinner at McDonalds on my last road trip. I know, I know, don’t I eat better than that? Well, quite honestly, I was in a rush to get out of town and beat the traffic, and there weren’t any quick and healthy options on the stretch of road I was on!
As a kid, I met the end of August with mixed emotions. I was bummed that summer vacation was ending. But I was psyched about my preseason gymnastics “clinics”—two weeks when I got to spend full days tumbling, mastering new tricks (and—ugh!—doing push-ups, pull-ups and other exercises included in our “conditioning” routine).