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Who is the Bitchetarian?

I am of average height and weight, with lucscious locks and a salty temperament.



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Fixing the Liquid Liner Gap

I have a leeeeeeeetle addiction to makeup and beauty products. You'd never guess it since I routinely look like I just dragged my ass out of bed, but it's true. 

One of my loves, as of late, is liquid eyeliner. It's so pretty and feminine and looks so put together. I've gotten pretty good at getting a nice clean line, but there is always the problem of "the gap."

No matter how finely I try to start the liner, I can't ever seem to get it to look right. It's always too wide on the inner portion of my lid, making it really abrupt. I am going out on a limb and saying that others might also have this issue. Good news! I figured out how to fix it. 

Get ready because here come a whole bunch of closeups of my mug with no makeup on. Whee!

I felt a little like an idiot when I did figure it out - why the hell didn't I think of this before?! You just take a matching eyeliner pencil and gently blend the liquid liner in with it. Sonofabitch.

Also - my hair is insane. I realize this. It's just how it grows out of my head. Don't be jealous, bitches.


Marie Claire can kiss my ass. Also, Huevos Rancheros.

Mexican food and I have a little problem, namely, that I always want Mexican food. I have not, to date, found a solution to this problem that doesn't involve obesity. I'll let you know if I do. 

I feel a little badly even classifying this as a recipe, since it's really just putting things together without doing much to them. And I used food from both a bag and a CAN. But I get a lot of bitching about how my food looks good but no one would ever make it because it takes too long (true), so I'm counting this as a recipe. 

Speaking of shit that should not be considered a recipe - TANGENT TIME!

Want to know what Google search has really sad results? "Healthy meals for one person."

The only two recognizable webpages that came up in the results were AARP and Marie Claire, and surprisingly, the Marie Claire article was the more offensive of the two. 

It starts, "You all know her — or maybe you are her: the woman at the grocery store pushing a cart filled with Lean Cuisine meals, Pria bars, kitty litter, and a box of Tampax. She might as well be wearing a neon sign that flashes, "Alone, alone, ALONE!" 

Uhh... F you too, Marie Claire.

And then, THEN... this. 

"Chocolate-Peanut Butter Milkshake

1 cup chocolate ice cream
2 Tablespoons peanut butter
1 cup milk

Combine all ingredients in a blender and blend until smooth"

Are you kidding me? ARE YOU KIDDING ME?! GAHHHHHHHHHHHH! That is NOT a recipe.

I'm single, not a f%!*ng idiot. Or an 11 year-old. I've never read an article that dripped with more unnecessary pity in my life. 

The good part of this is that now I have a new life goal - to destroy Marie Claire. 

[PS - that's not really true. I don't even know how I would do it. I don't read it, so it's not like I can unsubscribe. I don't know anyone else who reads it either, so I can't even tell other people not to subscribe. Now that I'm thinking about that though, maybe I don't need to worry about it's destruction? Seems like its doing a fine job of sinking itself.]

So, back to this so-called recipe.

Don't hate me for explaining how to do something so simple, okay? And if you do, just remember that at least I didn't give you a "recipe" for a f&%*ng milkshake.


Huevos Rancheros with Refried Beans

You'll need:

  • 1/2 16 oz. can of refried beans
  • 1 6-8" flour tortilla
  • 1 ripe tomato, diced
  • 1/2 medium white onion, finely diced
  • 1 jalapeno, seeded and minced
  • 1 egg and 1 egg white (you can also just use 2 eggs, if you like)
  • olive oil
  • salt
  • Any garnishes you like - sour cream and avocados would be my suggestions
  • Cilantro, if you like its shitty soap taste (I, personally, do not)


Combine your tomato, onion, and jalapeno in a bowl. I used 1/2 my jalapeno and it was a little mild for me. I'd use the whole thing if you like spice. Sprinkle with salt, mix together, and put it in the fridge. I strongly prefer this fresh pico de gallo to a jarred salsa, but a salsa would work here if that's your thing. It'll be wetter, saltier, and will lack some texture, but it's up to you. Just don't bitch if you use jarred salsa and then don't like my recipe. UP TO YOU.

(Don't disappoint me.)

Heat 1 tsp or so of olive oil in a skillet over medium heat. Once hot, put your tortilla in. Once it's browned, flip it. When it's browned on both sides, take it out and set it aside. 

Turn the heat on your skillet down to medium-low. Add another teaspoon of olive oil. While you're waiting for you pan to cool a little and your oil to heat, heat up your refried beans. I used the microwave - fancy. 

Once your pan is ready, cook your eggs. I used 1 egg and some additional egg white, but you could use a single egg or two whole eggs if you like. I cooked mine over hard (runny yolk is repulsive), but if you like them over easy, this recipe would suit them well. 

Once you've fried your egg, layer your beans on top of your tortilla. Top with egg and pico de gallo, along with whatever garnishes you'd like. I added some light sour cream and some creamy avocado-lemon dressing I had made the night before. 

And this meal, folks, serves ONE. One happy, stable, independent, not at all stupid person (ahem, Marie Claire). 

Recipe without being peppered with my insecurities can be found here


How to Make Friends! Wait, no. 

Do you ever have one of those moments in which you just really, really want to put your words back into your mouth or stop your limbs from moving?

You start doing something, and you can see what's happening, but there's no way to stop it. It just keeps happening even though you KNOW this is a terrible idea.

Ahem, for example: Most days, I make a peanut butter sandwich for breakfast.

Yeah, that's right. A peanut butter sandwich. With natural peanut butter and sprouted grain bread all wrapped in a highly environmentally irresponsible paper towel because I'm a lazy hippie and I'M NOT AFRAID OF YOU.

I am not a timely individual. I live 1 mile away from work and I drive every single day. Why? Because I can't get my lazy ass out of bed on time to save my life. This also means that I do not get to eat my breakfast sitting at my apartment. I must jam it in my face on my way to work.

I live in an apartment building. We have elevators. I live in fear of someone cool in my building witnessing the daily peanut butter sandwich face-jamming session by surprising me while using the elevator. Today, it happened. 

The elevator was on its way down to parking garage. As it approached my desired floor, I moved closer to the door and continued cramming my sandwich in my mouth. The doors opened and a young man in a suit stood waiting on the other side, approximately 18 inches from me. What was my response? I waved. 

Imagine you are waiting for an elevator and when it opens, you are greeted by a girl with crazy curly hair and a mouth full of peanut butter sandwich mere inches from your face, waving at you.


I did it to a woman on my floor, too. My dog is an asshole and refuses to let me put her harness on her. Instead, she hops around the apartment like a little asshole bunny until I finally give up and bribe her. Most of the time, I do this by opening the door to the apartment and letting her run down the hall to the elevators. 

Usually, this is fine. Occasionally, it ends up with me in a neighbor's apartment, apologizing profusely as I try to catch her little greased-pig-like body while she sneezes all over their stuff. 

This occasion wasn't that bad. The woman a few doors down just happened to come out of her apartment at the same time and Lu ran over to her. I try to be conscious that while I love my dog, not everyone wants to be spit on by a tiny cat-pig-mouse hybrid. So I apologized and the woman stopped to pet her, insisting it wasn't a problem. 

No problems! Oh, wait. 

She introduced herself and we chit-chatted while we waited for the elevators (we were taking different ones). Her elevator came and, being friendly, she mentioned again how cute Lu was. In response, I said "Thank you! Well, if you ever, uh, want to... pet... her again, just stop by."


WHY WOULD ANYONE EVER SAY THAT? She was just trying to have a nice, normal conversation and I had to go and up the creepy factor by about 100x and make it super awkward and weird. And the best part was, I knew I was doing it! I could hear the words coming out of my mouth and I just couldn't stop. Lucy, sensing my distress, proceeded to run into the woman's elevator car and jump on her one last time, making things only a lot worse.

So, if anyone wants to move into my building... you can, uh... come over and pet my dog?



I'm not dead! But Brett Road does bring me a crippling sense of shame. 


It's true - not dead. Just really, really busy. 

Okay. Well, pretty busy and decently lazy. I moved and unpacked and traveled and worked and did a bunch of philanthropic shit. 

It's coming together nicely, don't you think? [This is my apartment, not a philanthropic endeavor. To be clear.]


She's not impressed with my excuses, either. 

In reward for your patience, I'll be sharing a story today. And it's a gem. 

I used to live in a nice suburban neighborhood, around which I would walk my shitty, disobedient little dog.

Lucy loves people, especially little kids. If I had to choose her loves, order by most loved, it would go: food, other dogs, little kids, people, carpet. She really likes carpet.

As we walked down a street in my neighborhood, a little boy of about 5 asked if he could pet Lucy. I said yes, and held her harness so she wouldn't jump on him. She was still a puppy at the time and tended to get a little over-excited. They had a dog of their own, a Shiba Inu, that was putting Lu's spastic antics to shame by lying quietly on their porch.

So the little boy is petting Lu and all is well and his father came out of the house and we started to chat, so I stood up and began talking with him. The boy began playing in the yard and Lu went back to being an a-hole and yanking around on her lead. A quaint suburban scene. 

And then shit went down. 

In the span of about 4 seconds, this happened: the little boy ran over to his father (from the upper right of the yard to the lower left), which caused their dog to stand up and run across the front of the house, right to left. Which made Lucy run to the end of her lead and then follow the dog, right to left. I imagine it looked something like this (if that blue line was Lu's leash and I were an Asian woman in outdated khakis and the world no longer subscribed to proportions): 

The fact that the red line is bisecting the kid's neck is not an accident.

[PS - I know you'd never guess, but I MADE THAT PICTURE. Well, from other people's pictures. I'm so creative.]

In slow motion, I can see that this kid is about to get seriously clotheslined by my dog. Rather than choke him out, I decide to bring my hand up and attempt to get the leash over his head. 

You know what you get when you're moving your hand upward while it's being pulled quickly to the left and a little kid gets in the way? You get to upper-cut a five-year old in the friggin' jaw. 

Turns out, little kids actually don't like to be punched in the face by strangers. Who would have guessed?

Thank god his Dad was standing there and wasn't a total dick. Can you imagine if you came out of your house and there was a random lady and her a-hole dog in your yard and your five-year old was sobbing and holding his face while she stammered apologies over and over? Oh, no? I can.

Moral of the story: If you ever want the simple act of walking down a particular street to bring you an overwhelming sense of shame and embarassment, just choose a resident under the age of 10 and clock them in the head. As other bloggers are wont to say, "easy-peasy."

PS - even typing "easy-peasy" made me want to throw up.


Marriage proposals and frozen treats. 

There is something about me. 

I'm not sure if I have a particular openness to me, or seem weak, or am just strikingly beautiful. It's probably the middle one, since I'm pretty sure I walk around with bitchface and I'd give myself a solid 6.5. But something has made me a frequent recipient of oddly polite cat-calls.

Mind you, there's no question about whether or not they're cat-calls (they're not THAT polite). But instead of yelling creepy, sexual things at me, men tend to yell bizarrely nice things in a somewhat creepy way. 

Exhibit A: I used to take an... umm... colorful route home from work. I hit some neghborhoods on this drive that I wouldn't have lived in, but I never minded driving through them. My boyfriend at the time actually made me drive him down the route one day, so he would know where to look if I didn't make it home. I didn't think it wasn't THAT bad, at least during the day.

[I have a mantra that I refuse to be afraid of people, generally. Sure, I'll take note if someone in particular is giving me the creeps, but I refuse to avoid entire populations out of blind fear. It might be stupid, but it hasn't let me down yet.]

This particular day, someone had gotten shot (not a joke) and everyone was being routed down a side street and around. It was summer and something major had just gone down, so there were people EVERYWHERE. Porches were full. In the span of a city block, I would say somewhere between 4-5 different men yelled at me. And you know the only yell I remember? The guy who said, "Damn mami, you wanna be my wifey?"

I get called "mami" a lot for a white girl of Eastern European descent. 

Exhibit #2: I was, again, in my car, sitting at a stoplight with my window down. A man on the corner started calling things out - why don't I pull over, he wants to talk to me, blah blah blah. I pretend that my music is too loud and I can't hear him and stare straight ahead. That is, until he yells, "GIIIIIIRRRRLLLLL, I'll buy you iccccccceeeee creeeeeeaaaaammmm!" To which I immediately burst into laughter and couldn't help but give him a grin.

FYI: I did not take him up on his offer, despite my glee and my love for ice cream.

Exhibit 3: I'm going to be straight with you here - I'm no spring chicken. I'm in my 30's. It's not like I'm pencil thin and wandering around in short-shorts or anything (well, okay, I do wear unreasonably short shorts once in a while). Which is why this last example is particularly delightful to me. 

The other day, I was walking from my office building to the parking garage down the street. I could hear echos of people yelling and laughing from inside the garage, followed by the emergence of 5 kids on bikes. The oldest was probably not even half my age. 

They see me as they're on the way out of the garage and tentatively give a few "Hey girl"s, to which I smile and give a little wave. This clearly gave the leader a little confidence, who threw out a "Girl, you're beautiful." Once the leader tried it out and I didn't scream at him, the flood gates opened. They were like tiny cat-callers in training. 

"You're so pretty!"

"I think I love you!"

"Girl, will you marry me?"

It was bizarre - they appeared to be the world's most positive, polite teen-aged riff-raff. 

There was one boy who was a bit younger, maybe 10 or 11. It took a lot of yelling from other boys in order for him to get up the courage to say anything, so the rest had basically stopped by the time he shouted, in his noticeably higher-pitched voice, "YOU HAVE NICE HAIR!"

If anyone is looking to start making a list of people who are not too proud to have their day improved by compliments from pre-teens, you can put my name right on top.


Oh, you were looking for THAT?

The search traffic delights just keep rollin' in.

"my packing and moving bitch"

This one I kind of get. I say 'bitch' a lot and I am talking about moving a little. But what was one searching for that they hoped to find using that phrase? I imagine a weird bondage-themed moving company. Maybe that's just me. 

"little girl diva birthday parties"

This one I do not get. There's not much I hate more passionately (okay, that's a lie - I hate a lot of things) than parents who think of their daughters as "divas." Note: if you are one of these parents, it's likely that your kid is a screeching mess of a brat and no one likes her. And birthday parties where little girls do adult things like wear bikinis and have their makeup done and drink mocktails just make my heart sad. They should have birthday parties like I did - you invite a bunch of girls who only partially like you and at least two of them get in a fight and you basically try to spend the whole time making the party even a little about you, which is hard because you have frizzy hair and glasses. Sounds way better, right?

 "alf buharlı temizleyici"

Let's end on a way more awesome note. The thing that makes this one so delightful is that it has led SEVEN people here. Seven Turkish people, specifically. They are searching for what appears to be a brand of totally bad-ass steam cleaners and are instead finding a picture of a 12-year-old me wearing a "Rockin' Alf" t-shirt. I can smell their disappointment from halfway around the world. 


Why I hate furniture stores and have never done meth.

I have been trying to act like a responsible adult and NOT buy things for my new loft before I live in it. Instead, I have been using my afore mentioned 'fancy furnishings' board to keep my shit in check. 

It's not that good of an idea. It's sort of like using morphine to wean yourself off of meth - it works for the time being but it's so much worse in the long run. 

[Side note: I have no idea why I just pretended to know anything about weaning oneself off of meth. I took morphine after a knee surgery once. I had one of those drips where you hit the button every 8 minutes or something. I hit it about 6 times. And threw up about 6 times. I'm such a nerd that I have to take my allergy medicine at night because it makes me all loopy. I can't even imagine what meth would do to me.]

Yesterday I finally gave in and decided to allow myself to browse actual furniture stores under the guise of Memorial Day sales. I am looking for accent chairs and have been pinning a lot along these lines:

Simple, modern, wooden. 

I made it through ONE furniture store. 

Why is it that furniture salespeople seem bent on giving you the least enjoyable experience ever? You step past the first set of doors and you can see them all lined up inside the store, waiting.

When Lulu really wants something that you have (like an apple or a piece of paper or a rock... anything really), she sits very, very still and stares at you. Her eyes get really wide so that you can see the whites all the way around and she shakes just a little.

Furniture store salespeople seem to act similarly.

I seriously almost turn around at that point every time. But usually I need something, so I force myself through the second set of doors and into the store. They hold out that stupid little bottle of water as a peace offering, and you have to make a decision. Once you let the vampire across the threshold, they can come in whenever they want. You take that water and you've given this totally unhelpful, often slightly creepy individual license to follow you around for next hour. 

I spent about 20 minutes browsing horrible, gigantic, microfiber monstrosities in tandem with my new friend Dan before I couldn't do it anymore. 

On my way home, I decided to chance it at a thrift store just for kicks. 

And this happened:

Are you shitting me?!

I walked into the store and it was like a light shone down on it from above. The curved back, the angled legs, the low profile - it was fantastic. 

And get this - I looked at the price tag - $6.99.

And it was 50% off. I paid $3.77 for my bad-ass new chair.



Chan Luu Inspired Bracelet DIY

As previously mentioned, I am distracted a leeeeeeettle easily. Which means I like to do lots of things, none of them exceptionally well. I think of "dilettante" as a compliment. 

Aside from food, I love crafts. I have an entire plastic tub full of craft shit. Figuring out how to replicate things is fun and besides, I'm sort of cheap. Recently on Pinterest, I pinned a gorgeous wrap bracelet by Chan Luu. And then immediately made it myself. 


All $234 of those dollars can kiss my ass. 

It looks a little different, of course. The main reason is that I have freakishly tiny carnie wrists. They're like bird bones. I have to wear children's watches, or have women's ones significantly altered. I think the average watch or bracelet is 7 inches - my bracelets are about 5 1/2. 

The other reason is that I got my materials at Michael's and they're most likely of a significantly lower quality. Toe-may-toe, toe-mah-toe. 

In case you want to get in on the fun, here's how I did it. 


You'll need:

  • leather cord
  • thread
  • a needle
  • your desired beads (I used about 5 inches of each)
  • a button with holes big enough for the leather
  • A safety pin
  • Scissors
  • about 3 hours


Start with your leather. Decide how many times you want it wrap around your wrist, then actually wrap it around, loosely, to see how long it will need to be. Add 6 inches and then double the total length (wrist + 6 inches). For this entire project, too much will always be better than too little. 

Fold your leather cord in half. Using your button as a size guide, tie a knot at the fold to create a loop that your button can comfortably fit through, but won't slip out of. Don't pull it too tight quite yet. 

Now onto getting your thread ready. For me, this was the biggest pain in the ass of the whole project. I used regular all-purpose sewing thread, which is not nearly strong or thick enough as a single strand. You would probably be fine just doubling it, but I am a nervous person and felt the need to quadruple it. You need a LONG piece of thread for this project - about 6.5 feet for my 20 inch bracelet, or 4 inches of thread for every beaded inch of bracelet (this should allow for plenty of extra, which is nice). That means I had to measure out 26 feet of thread initially. Want to know what gets tangled really easily? 26 feet of thread with two dogs playing in it. 

I ended up taping one edge to the wall and walking out half the length I needed, taping the midpoint to another wall and walking back and cutting it. I then used a needle threader to drag the folded thread (both strands) through the eye of the needle. I grabbed both my new ends (the cut end and the looped end) and pulled it through until the needle was at the mid-point. Tie off the end of all 4 strands and you have your thread. And you're probably sweating and swearing under your breath. 

You now still have 6-8 feet of thread you're trying to work with - take care to make sure it doesn't get tangled. Once there's a tangled knot, the whole bracelet goes down the toilet. But honestly - if I could do it, so can anyone over the age of 6. 

Secure your leather strands to something reasonably stable by safety-pinning the loop to it. I used my sewing box, but a couch or pant leg or towel-with-something-heavy-on-it will work too. 

Loop your thread around the lowest strand of the knot in your leather. Pull the needle between two of your four strands of thread to secure the thread to the leather and tighten the leather knot. Get your beads ready. 

Wrap your thread around the left strand of leather a few times to get to the starting point and to keep the first bead in place. Thread the first bead and position it between the two strands of leather with the thread behind the leather. (You'll notice a few steps are missing in the picture, like securing and wrapping the thread and the safety pin. Pretend they're not.)

Pull the thread all the way through until it's tight. Now, go back through the bead in the opposite direction on the FRONT side of the leather. 

Pull the thread through until it's tight, taking care to make sure all 4 strands pull through evenly. Occasionally you'll get little loops in one of the strands and will need to check each strand individually to remove it. 

Repeat with the next bead. And then the other 150. 

Keep an eye on your length. I used 4 different beads, so I kept checking my length to see when I needed to switch beads. In order to do this, I wrapped the leather loosely around my wrist to find my approximate end point and shortened it up a little to account for the fact that you actually want your button to be your end point, not your beads. I marked that length by holding it with my fingers, the folded the leather in half and in half again to four equal lengths, one for each of my colors of beads. Use these lengths as a guide for when to change beads. They don't need to be perfectly even - you'll never notice once it's wrapped. 

When you've finished your beading, tie a finishing knot in your leather using both strands. Then finish off the thread by going back through your last 5-10 beads in a zig-zag that matches the thread that's already there. Tie a knot and trim the thread. 

Check your length by wrapping the bracelet around your wrist and marking where your button should be on your remaining leather. Thread one of the remaining ends of leather through your button and tie both ends off together to keep it in place (that knot is hidden behind the button). I then added a final knot a little further down, just for kicks. 

Trim your ends to the desired length and you're done, bitches! Now you have a ridiculously bad-ass bracelet and most likely, a deep understanding about why this bastard cost $234 in the first place. 


Ch-ch-ch-changeeeees. And soup!

I'm back, bitches!

I know - I was gone a month. Know what kind of blog no one bothers to read? One that bails for a month. 

But I've been BUSY. Ish. 


Things that I have been doing

  • Yesterday I finished my 40 Days Challenge, which involved doing yoga 5 days a week. I accidentally found an oblique muscle the other day and nearly fainted with surprise.
  • I can do a headstand now! Well, with the wall. Most of the time. 
  • I decided to graduate to a big-girl apartment. Unfortunately, the washer/dryer and exposed brick and 16 foot ceilings and stainless range hood also come with an electric stove. BLEEEEGH. But, my pictures should look better starting in July.
  • I have spent 90% of my free time pinning shit to my 'fancy furnishings' board on Pinterest for said new apartment. It's ridiculous. Ridiculous enough that a friend I haven't talked to in 3 months that lives 5 hours away emailed me and said, "Uh, so I'm assuming you're getting a new apartment?"
  • A juice cleanse. Three days of just juicing and raw fruits and vegetables. Oh, and the 6 ounces of coffee and 2 crackers and tablespoon of peanut butter I had. Plus the slice of pizza and 8 ounces of beer I had on the last night. I suck at juice cleanses. 


Things that I have not been doing

  • I haven't cooked shit. 


In the spirit of my total inability to focus on one thing, I've decided to change up the blog a bit. More posts, more often, with less length (maybe, I'm long-winded if you haven't noticed) and a wider variety of topics. I will still do a LOT of food stuff. I love food (see earlier juice cleanse evidence). But I also love dogs and design and cool shit. 

So in an effort to be less absent and shitty and boring, I'm mixing it up. I know - I thought, "won't people be upset? Aren't people looking for food when they come here?" And then I remembered no one reads this shit since I haven't posted in a month and that it's mine and I can do whatever I want anyway. Similar to how I bypassed my sprouted grain cereal with organic milk and bananas as breakfast for cold parmesan bread bites from Dominos that had been sitting out overnight. I CAN DO WHAT I WANT.

But for now - how about a recipe? This one's been in the hopper a while and even though the warm weather is upon us, I think it bears sharing. 

Quinoa and Potato Soup with Spinach and Roasted Garlic

 You'll need: 

  • 1 head garlic, roasted
  • ½ white onion, diced
  • 1 tbsp olive oil
  • 2 medium butter potatoes, diced small
  • 2 cups vegetable stock
  • 2 cups fresh spinach
  • 2 cups cooked quinoa
  • 1 tbsp Adobo seasoning
  • 1/ tsp pepper

Start by roasting your garlic. Slice the tops off of the whole, unpeeled head. Lightly cover the exposed areas with olive oil, wrap it in foil, and pop it in a 400 degree oven for about 45 minutes. It should look caramelized when you take it out and be very soft. Set it aside to cool. 

I would recommend that you multitask and roast the garlic while you prep the rest of the ingredients, but I'll assume you're not an idiot and you already thought of that. 

Heat the tbsp of olive oil in a stock pot or Dutch oven over medium heat. Add the onion and saute until just translucent, about 3-4 minutes. 

Add the vegetable stock in bring it to a simmer. As always if, you use broth and not stock you will end up with MUCH saltier soup. You may want to pull back on the adobo if you go the broth route. 

Add your roasted garlic by squeezing it out of the skin and into the pot. If the big chunks aren't your thing, you can press them with the back of a spoon to help them break down. 

Add the potatoes and simmer until almost cooked through, about 10-15 minutes depending on the size of your chunks. 

Stir in the fresh spinach (in batches, if needed) and let it wilt. Once wilted, add your quinoa, Adobo, and pepper. Adjust seasonings to taste. If you don't have Adobo seasoning - get some. It will be in the international or Hispanic section of your grocery store. And an alternative to that - it's pretty much salt, garlic powder, oregano, and a little tumeric. Play with those seasonings until you get something you like. 

Serves 4. 

Shut Up and Cook version here


Oh, you were looking for THAT?

Okay, so I have a whole "I'm back" post in the process, but this is going to have to supersede it for the time being. 


I love looking at the search terms that lead people to my site. My current favorite?

"shut up bitch in vietnamese"


Other gems from the past include:

"awesome shit to pinterest"

"parsnip soup gives me shits"

"mini kirsch pelican" [WTF?]


I feel like I've really created something amazing here.