Aioli Grilled Asparagus {Dairy Free}


Summer is almost over in the Pacific Northwest.  The uncharacteristically hot weather has been replaced with overcast skies, cooler temperatures and a sprinkling of rain.  Summer lovers are eeking out every ray of sunshine and late-afternoon warmth in preparation for a rainy autumn and winter ahead.

As for me, I’m eeking out every opportunity to utilize the grill before we are driven indoors.  I like the rain.  I like the cooler temps and deep greens and blues of the rainy season.  But I miss my grill.

I attempted many new recipes this summer, with many new ingredients.  Because cooking with fire is FUN.  Asparagus has been a favorite go-to for a summer veggie, and my new favorite asparagus recipe is simple, impressive, unusual and freaking tasty. All it takes is a bunch of asparagus, a little mayo and dijon mustard, fresh rosemary, cracked pepper, and you guessed it, a hot grill.

Don’t let a fancy words like “asparagus” and “aioli” fool you.  Asparagus is full of important vitamins that naturally boost energy and immunity. And as for aioli? It’s just mayonnaise with something added to alter the flavor profile.  For this recipe, I used mayonnaise in place of oil and it turned out superbly. It adds a complex flavor and richness that oil misses.  I am sure this will work in the oven, as well.  But, you know. Summer.


  • 1 lb of asparagus, trimmed
  • 1/2 cup mayonnaise
  • 2 Tbsp dijon or stone ground mustard
  • 1 Tbsp fresh rosemary, chopped
  • 1 tsp cracked pepper
  • 1 tsp sea salt


  1. Combine all ingredients, except asparagus, in a small mixing bow. Call this “aioli”.
  2. Coat asparagus in aioli mixture.
  3. Place asparagus on hot grill and cook until asparagus is slightly tender, and the outer skin crisps up a bit.
  4. Sprinkle a little sea salt on top, and serve immediately.

If asparagus is your dish, you will fall in love with it and impress your friends and family at your Labor Day gathering this weekend.  Or at the very least, give them stinky pee.

I hope your Labor Day is filled with love,

Working While Toddling {A Parenting Fail}

BestDayEverKinda2:55pm, Tuesday

I’m going to attempt something really ridiculous.  Ready?

I will blog while my toddler is awake.

(I’m trying to get a head start at this while he is asleep, FYI.)

As every Work-From-Home-Parent [WFHM] knows, nap time is GOLDEN.  All of the emails and texts you’ve been half-assedly (totally a word) responding to between buttering toast, playing dress up, unsnapping stuck legos, refilling water, putting toys back together, being a human racetrack and jungle gym? They get finished.  You get to do the real work, too.  Like feed yourself.  Maybe take a shower.  Type an entire sentence without your two year-old turning off your computer in one stealth move.

It’s like two hours of industrious, work-like-a-maniac Heaven.

But what if your kid doesn’t sleep?  What if your kid can only sleep on you? What if your kid decides to boycott nap time when you have a deadline or an important conference call? What then?

You let them watch TV.  Lots and lots of TV.  Except, what if your kid doesn’t like TV?  I know what you’re thinking, “What kid doesn’t like TV?!”.

My kid….just woke up.


Where was I? Nap time is golden. Right.  This whole work from home thing, unless your kid is napping, is HARD. I don’t know how you parents who work as accountants and speak in numbers ever get a complete thought out.  I use words, and words are what everyone else uses. But you use numbers.

(Snack break.  And I had to find his favorite matchbox car.)

(Where did that plastic bag come from? Nope, he definitely can’t have it.)

(Wrong snack.  He wanted a rice cake, not mango. Duh.)

(Needs activity. Giving him his new National Geographic Kids magazine.)


Of course, parenting in general is challenging unless your kid is asleep. That’s the best thing ever.  Do you know how productive I am during his sleep hours?  I feel like I have my brain back.

(Good God, WHERE DID HE FIND A BOTTLE OF WINE? It is still sealed shut with the foil intact. At least he knows to bring it to mommy…?)


(Neighbor just got here.  We are “working” together. Kind of.  After a quick social media update for our websites.)


(Neighbor is now getting sidetracked, taking care of toddler and giving him attention. This is a great plan.  I can get my work done!)

(And now my son has has officially abandoned the neighbor, and piled all of his stuffed animals on me.)


Am I still even writing?  Because I have NO IDEA what the frick I was saying to you.  Clearly it wasn’t that important, otherwise I would be able to pick right back up where I left off.

Words? Numbers? Algebra? What?

(And now I smell poop. Damnit.)

(Diaper check did not reveal poop, but there was too much pee to let it go. Then I had to let him climb me like a playground for a minute.)

(He’s “all done” with the rice cakes.  Now we’re moving on to a super nutritious snack of tortilla chips.)


To be honest, I’m surprised that I complete any one task, work or otherwise, while my toddler is awake.  If he’s not distracting me on purpose, I’m getting distracted on accident because I love to watch him move.  I love to see how he interacts with his toys, so I end up shooting sly glances and smiling to myself because he totally melts me.

(Except he dumped out all of his chips while I was writing that last thought because I refused to eat the chip he offered me.  Heartwarming, right? Is it bedtime yet? Wine time? BRB after I sweep up the mess.)


(Refilling his water bottle because he just dropped his cars into mine to tell me he was thirsty. Obvi.)


This work-from-home thing isn’t for the faint of heart.  All of you parents who figure out how to do this with with limited (if any) childcare or other support are my heroes.  And if you have multiple kids and do this, I will buy you dinner in exchange for your WFHP wizardry tips and tricks.

(Nope.  That is DEFINITELY poop.  Did he eat a rotten goat?  That is gagtastic.)

(How did poop get on my shirt? And my elbow? Quick break for a change of clothes and baby wipe bath.)


My husband is home, and he’s early, which means it’s time to take a shower and then start dinner.  I’ll clean this post up later tonight, during the most productive hours of my day when my son is sound asleep, and we are all fed and bathed and content after a long Tuesday.

I can’t wait to do this all over again tomorrow.


Your Fellow WFHP,


Garden Vegetable Frittata

FrittataQuarterViewI need to intentionally out myself here.

I am burned out with cooking. And a large part of my mission in life is cooking. Changing the conversation around food, around bodies, around babies and single people and periods and sex and family and allergies and wholeness and therapy and kombucha and…ALL OF IT.

I just have one small problem.

I want to flame my tiny pink kitchen down to the ground. Ignight it. Light it up and watch it burn down in a blaze of glory, a la Bon Jovi. (I will gladly let you film this spectacle as I stand in the middle of the flames wearing nothing but my mom jeans and an old leather vest that belonged to my grandma in the 1990s with my son’s pink ukulele strapped to my back in exchange for a lifetime of free Chipotle.)

Then I want to walk away, and never look back. 

This isn’t about food. This isn’t about my outdated micro kitchen. This isn’t even about my mission.

This is about self-care.

Last week, I started doing the thing where I eat trail mix for breakfast with a cup of coffee. Then I eat the same thing for lunch. I might grab a handful of cherry tomatoes or eat some cucumber slices off my son’s plate during lunch and start congratulating myself for making vegetables a “priority”. By the time dinner rolls around, I’m ravenous, have a terrible case of the bitchies and lose my words, so I groan and cry and end up laying on my bed in complete despair when I should be making dinner for my family. That is the moment when I want to douse my kitchen in gasoline, light it up with my Namaste candle and run away.

The trail mix is a bad sign, my friends. It means I’m giving up. I HATE GIVING UP. But sometimes I hate the process of not giving up more. It feels good to pretend I can’t cook. It feels like a whole lotta relief to plan to cook dinner and then say “eff it” at the last minute and orderThai takeout instead. It’s like a shot of heroin or the feeling you get when you cancel plans last minute because you want to stay home and watch Netflix in yoga pants and you have a legit, last-minute reason to do it.

Don’t get me wrong.  These food hacks are totally okay. We all hit our max, and sometimes we live at our max for extended periods of time without much relief.  There are seasons. I get it. I’ve been there.

But this isn’t it.

This is abandoning my commitment to taking care of myself.  So, now that the world knows what that looks like, here’s what maintaining my commitment to taking care of myself looks like.

(Note: It might look differently for you, so no judgment here.  Pound that trail (mix).)

  1. Hot breakfast.
  2. The end.

I don’t eat many grains because, with the exception of rice and sometimes oats, they really tear my stomach up.  Plus, I FEEL better when I eat a protein and veggie heavy breakfast during the rest of the day. I like the feeling of something warm in my belly, too. It reminds me that my body is served best when I care for it in small ways.  Plus, I don’t have to fight the trail mix bitchies.

What prep looks like in my tiny pink kitchen.
What prep looks like in my tiny pink kitchen.

Here is my plan of action: Fritatta. I make one large fritatta, portion it out into individual servings, and heat it up in the toaster oven while I get ready in the mornings.  This is all it takes to make me nice.  Well, this and a cup or seven of coffee.

This simple, humble little egg dish is great.  You can make a million different variations of it, but here is my absolute favorite. The fact that I can go outside and gather many of these ingredients from my garden is a total bonus.


  • 12 eggs
  • 1 cup cheese (I prefer parmesan or asiago)
  • 1/2 cup half and half
  • 1 lb of browned sausage or cooked bacon, crumbled (I prefer mild Italian sausage, but you can skip meat altogether to make this vegetarian.)
  • 1 medium onion, sauteed
  • 12 oz chopped broccoli
  • 2 medium zucchini, chopped
  • 2 large tomatoes or 1 pint of cherry tomatoes, chopped
  • 1 large bunch of swiss chard or spinach, roughly chopped
  • 3 Tbsp of fresh herbs of your choice, or 1 Tbsp dried herbs. (I use rosemary, basil, and thyme from the garden)
  • 1 tsp black pepper
  • 1 tsp sea salt
  • 1 tsp red pepper flakes (if not using sausage)


  1. Whisk together eggs, milk, herbs, salt, and pepper.  Mix in shredded cheese.
  2. Add protein and veggies, and mix thoroughly.
  3. In a large, greased baking dish, bake at 350 degrees for one hour, or until the middle is cooked all the way through.
  4. Remove from oven and serve immediately.  Cut into individual portions and reheat in the oven or toaster oven for 12 minutes at 350 degrees.


My individual frittata portions are hanging out in my fridge, ready to be heated and eaten all week long. I blasted Bon Jovi’s greatest hits while prepping and cooking and cleaning up the kitchen to make this all a little more tolerable.  But I digress. I WILL TAKE CARE OF MYSELF THIS WEEK.  I hope you can, too.

Call Me Young Gun,







A few weeks ago, we were at the grocery store.  The checker looked at my round belly and said, “When’s your baby due?” I cut her off before she could even get the words out and replied with a dead-inside voice, “I’m not pregnant.”

“You’re not?  REALLY?!”

“Nope.  Not even a little.”

“Wow!  Well, I guess it’s harder for us older moms to lose the baby weight.”

Yep.  Old and fat.  That’s me!

Thanks, lady.

I silently took my groceries and my two-year old son and not-pregnant-but-certainly-looks-it belly and left the store without another word.  I didn’t trust myself to speak to her calmly or kindly.  All of the terrible insults I could hurl back at her were bubbling up and filling my mouth with their unsaid-ness.  Except that’s not entirely true.  My mouth filled up with the unmistakable taste of tears, and a Napoleon Dynamite-esque internal monologue of lame comebacks.

Then I got angry at myself for wanting to cry because crying means I care.  And I really don’t want to care.

This isn’t the first time my squishy belly has been mistaken for a baby belly.  Being frisked at the airport by the TSA agent a few months ago: “You have such a cute bump!” I waited a moment to respond before saying, “Thanks!  Due in September! Super excited” because it was easier than going through all of the embarrassment of denying and the apologies from the offending party, or even worse, the justification.

When I tell you that I have dozens of these not-pregnant-but-people-still-ask-anyway moments, I’m not exaggerating.  I’ve been asked while sipping beer during happy hour on a gorgeous day.  At a baby shower for my BFF from a licensed therapist as I arranged a tray of carrot sticks. Flagged down by a curious neighbor as I walked in from the garden, full of sunshine and good vibes, expecting a hello or request for zucchini and instead getting a “Girl, I had no idea you were pregnant! When are you due?”

I know I’m not alone, Women of the Interwebs.  I know you’ve experienced this, too.  The not-a-baby baby belly mistake also happened before I had my son, so I can’t blame pregnancy.  It’s just my body.  It’s where I carry any extra weight.  I know the babywatching world gets a faux oxytocin high at the mere thought of squishy baby flesh, the newborn head smell and frail Chewbacca cries from miniature, undeveloped lungs.  It’s almost too much for anyone to resist.

But seriously, Babywatchers.  STOP IT.  It’s none of your business.  Commenting on a woman’s body in general without any solicitation from the woman is not only unwanted, it’s inappropriate.  As humans, we’re nosy by nature.  We want to know all the things. I totally understand. However, some things are just none of our business.

So, I put together a little infographic. Here’s how to know when it’s appropriate to ask if a woman is pregnant.  Even if you’re like, 99.9999% certain there’s a baby in that belly, here’s a quick flow chart to help you.


Share this broadly, my friends.

Are you still unclear? No worries!  I went ahead and ate a big Indian food lunch, wore some leggings, a formfitting tank tank top, and skipped showering and make-up to create this little video with my iPhone.  It doesn’t get any more real than this. YOU ARE WELCOME.

Happy to be baby-free,

Garden Tomatoes with Burrata Cheese

TomatoFinalMy garden is flourishing.  In fact, it’s not just flourishing, it’s growing enough food to feed a small army.  We are happy to share everything this mutant garden produces, except the tomatoes.

Have you ever tasted a super-ripe garden tomato that is one day away from turning to mush?

If your answer is no, you have not lived, my friend.
Perfection in a garden-grown tomato. No white, no chewy places, just super ripe goodness bursting with flavor.

After visiting one of my favorite Portland haunts with two of my favorite ladies and our husbands, I was inspired to find the biggest, ripest tomatoes and make a simple salad with quality ingredients.  Because flavorful, satisfying food doesn’t have to be expensive or complicated.  It just has to taste good.

I’ve been a fan of the traditional tomato mozzarella salad for many years.  Who doesn’t love mild, slightly creamy fresh cheese paired with the bright acidic flavor of a ripe tomato with a touch of basil?

(Okay, if you hate tomatoes or cheese, this is admittedly not the recipe for you.)

For the rest of the tomato loving world, this recipe will change the way you eat your tomato mozzarella salad.  In fact, you might never go back to store-bought tomatoes or mozzarella again after tasting this.

Burrata is a shell of fresh mozzarella, stuffed with cream and cheese curds.  It’s creamy, decadent, silky smooth, and provides the perfect accompaniment to those sweet, ripe tomatoes.

There are six ingredients to this and it takes roughly seven minutes to prepare.  But it is so impressive and addictive, I have a hunch you can get that prep time down to five minutes.  I will say this, though.  The quality of the ingredients is in direct correlation to the fantastic taste factor.  Without the quality ingredients I’ll list below, you will take this dish from a 10 to a 5.  So, if you want to do your tomatoes justice, spring for the ingredients.  You  won’t regret it.

I intentionally did not filter or tweak the colors in any of the pictures because I want you to see how beautiful and ripe these tomatoes are. It’s possible.


  • 2 large, very ripe tomatoes from the farmer’s market or your garden. (Deep red, people. No orangey red.) Pick ones that are on the cusp of being too ripe.  You can also ripen them in a window sill for a day or two.
  • 1 ball of fresh burrata cheese (I found mine at Whole foods.)
  • 3-4 leaves of fresh basil, torn or roughly chopped
  • 1-2 Tbsp organic olive oil
  • fresh cracked pepper
  • kosher-style sea salt


  1. Remove burrata from refrigerator, drain water, and set aside.
  2. Slice whole tomatoes one inch thick.
  3. Arrange tomato slices on a platter and top with basil, fresh cracked pepper, and salt.
  4. Place burrata in the center of the tomato slices. Lightly drizzle entire plate with organic olive oil.
  5. Serve and devour immediately.
  6. My husband and I ate this for dinner the other night.  Just this.  Nothing else.  Because we are adults who love good food and also don’t like expending energy on a 95 degree day unless we have to.

Toematoe Tomahhtoe,