Biscuits
Gravy
Biscuits and gravy
A plate
Butter
Buttered biscuit
Paper napkin
Assorted metal cutlery
Jelly that has been touched by knife to spread butter on biscuit
A ramekin of jam
Showing posts with label Pine State Biscuits. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Pine State Biscuits. Show all posts
Tuesday, April 22, 2008
Thursday, April 10, 2008
Praising Plants, Pissing Off Predators
“Do you like it, Mike?”
He grimaced at the burrito the same way he’d grimaced at the menu.
“I, um, I like some of the stuff in it. Guacamole. The cilantro.”
When cilantro is on the list of preferred components of an entrée a meal is not going well. I dragged my friends Mike and Mary to Blossoming Lotus, a vegan eatery located in the Pearl District. Lotus is pretty much exactly what I thought of when I thought of vegans at all prior to relocating to Portland. Hippies. An adjacent yoga studio. A fountain and some music with chimes for décor. Of course all it took for me to fall in love with the place was a bowl of vegan chocolate-mint soft serve. That was back in October. I’m not lying when I tell you that I missed the soft-serve on the right coast. I missed vegan dessert. I dreamt about it.
I should explain that Mike is a carnivore. A rigid one. He’s one of those guys who thinks that bacon-wrapped tenderloin bites paired with a side of venison is a legitimate meal. He has admitted that if he eats a salad it requires a gimmick, such as blue cheese, candied walnuts, or Craisins. When I had originally suggested Lotus it was because it was close to his job. He had chortled in response. A vegan restaurant, really? A whole restaurant serving vegan food?
I was only able to get him to agree to going in light of my month-long experiment. Mary would act as a buffer. The neutral pH strip of the meal, if you will.
She had an Indian bowl, and I went with my usual Monk’s bowl, ginger dressing on the side. Mike chose the black bean burrito after muttering, “They really shouldn’t put the word barbecue on this menu. It’s just wrong.”
The waitress had explained that tempeh was fermented soybeans and grains pressed into a mostly firm patty. Mike had not been sold. He read through the menu thoroughly and while I’d like to believe that it was because he was trying to absorb the broad scope of the experience chances are it was because each dish, to him, read either like the equivalent of eating a broken bottle or drinking a few snifters worth of bleach. I had suggested a sandwich because it would be the closest thing to what he would normally consume. But no. There were too many greens involved. My sometime cynicism seemed downright sunshine and rainbows compared to my friend’s seething contempt for all things plant-based.
“Cashew crème?” There was a snort. “Cashew crème. Okay.” Eye rolling.
It’s true that you can figure out your stance in an argument by having it challenged. I hadn’t expected my friends to enjoy the meal, which is wrong of me, I know. In fact, I invited a staunch meat eater to Blossoming Lotus for my own philistine amusement, perhaps in direct response the events of this morning, when I was taken to watch the biscuits I have so been craving get consumed by a non-vegan as I sat and sipped my black coffee between lukewarm mouthfuls of drool. But tonight instead of merely sitting back with a smug smile and watching two omnivores squirm over dinner at the vegan cafe I found myself passionately discussing the benefits of eating locally (something his lady agreed with whole-heartedly) and pointing out how a plant based diet could reduce the impending food crisis according to what I read today in the New York Times.
I’m enjoying being a vegan. I repeat, I am enjoying being a vegan.
Most of the time.
“I like this. I could eat this every night,” was Mary’s reaction to the bowl. She seemed incredulous.
“Really?” Mike asked, equally as shocked, although perhaps for different reasons.
“Well, did you hate it?” I asked of his three-quarters consumed burrito.
Silence.
“You ate it,” Mary observed.
“I was hungry.”
“So you would eat it versus not eating anything. It wasn’t as bad as something bad,” I pointed out.
“It was on par with something bad,” Mike replied.
My vitriol towards vegans apparently has abated. I’m not beating them by joining them. In fact, this attempt at bitterness Botox had backfired. I was feeling a bit, well, defensive. The discussion of bridging the gap between consumption and creation of food had sent vegan pride coursing through my veins along with the Darjeeling tea. I could be self-righteous and enjoy my steamed kale. The only rotisserie I’m craving is the slow burn of carnivorous doubts being spun over the flame of herbilicious purpose! Or, um, maybe I just dig being self-righteous.
I responded to his snarky comments and disdain with the revelation that maybe, just maybe, I would continue on this plant path at the end of the month. He suggested a venture to Ruths Chris’ Steakhouse to celebrate my eventual departure after I was, as he put it, “off the wagon.”
I think I’m off of the ground chuck wagon permanently, Mike. Hope you enjoyed that burrito. You could have offered me a bite.
Blossoming Lotus (rules)
925 NW Davis, Portland OR 97209
He grimaced at the burrito the same way he’d grimaced at the menu.
“I, um, I like some of the stuff in it. Guacamole. The cilantro.”
When cilantro is on the list of preferred components of an entrée a meal is not going well. I dragged my friends Mike and Mary to Blossoming Lotus, a vegan eatery located in the Pearl District. Lotus is pretty much exactly what I thought of when I thought of vegans at all prior to relocating to Portland. Hippies. An adjacent yoga studio. A fountain and some music with chimes for décor. Of course all it took for me to fall in love with the place was a bowl of vegan chocolate-mint soft serve. That was back in October. I’m not lying when I tell you that I missed the soft-serve on the right coast. I missed vegan dessert. I dreamt about it.
I should explain that Mike is a carnivore. A rigid one. He’s one of those guys who thinks that bacon-wrapped tenderloin bites paired with a side of venison is a legitimate meal. He has admitted that if he eats a salad it requires a gimmick, such as blue cheese, candied walnuts, or Craisins. When I had originally suggested Lotus it was because it was close to his job. He had chortled in response. A vegan restaurant, really? A whole restaurant serving vegan food?
I was only able to get him to agree to going in light of my month-long experiment. Mary would act as a buffer. The neutral pH strip of the meal, if you will.
She had an Indian bowl, and I went with my usual Monk’s bowl, ginger dressing on the side. Mike chose the black bean burrito after muttering, “They really shouldn’t put the word barbecue on this menu. It’s just wrong.”
The waitress had explained that tempeh was fermented soybeans and grains pressed into a mostly firm patty. Mike had not been sold. He read through the menu thoroughly and while I’d like to believe that it was because he was trying to absorb the broad scope of the experience chances are it was because each dish, to him, read either like the equivalent of eating a broken bottle or drinking a few snifters worth of bleach. I had suggested a sandwich because it would be the closest thing to what he would normally consume. But no. There were too many greens involved. My sometime cynicism seemed downright sunshine and rainbows compared to my friend’s seething contempt for all things plant-based.
“Cashew crème?” There was a snort. “Cashew crème. Okay.” Eye rolling.
It’s true that you can figure out your stance in an argument by having it challenged. I hadn’t expected my friends to enjoy the meal, which is wrong of me, I know. In fact, I invited a staunch meat eater to Blossoming Lotus for my own philistine amusement, perhaps in direct response the events of this morning, when I was taken to watch the biscuits I have so been craving get consumed by a non-vegan as I sat and sipped my black coffee between lukewarm mouthfuls of drool. But tonight instead of merely sitting back with a smug smile and watching two omnivores squirm over dinner at the vegan cafe I found myself passionately discussing the benefits of eating locally (something his lady agreed with whole-heartedly) and pointing out how a plant based diet could reduce the impending food crisis according to what I read today in the New York Times.
I’m enjoying being a vegan. I repeat, I am enjoying being a vegan.
Most of the time.
“I like this. I could eat this every night,” was Mary’s reaction to the bowl. She seemed incredulous.
“Really?” Mike asked, equally as shocked, although perhaps for different reasons.
“Well, did you hate it?” I asked of his three-quarters consumed burrito.
Silence.
“You ate it,” Mary observed.
“I was hungry.”
“So you would eat it versus not eating anything. It wasn’t as bad as something bad,” I pointed out.
“It was on par with something bad,” Mike replied.
My vitriol towards vegans apparently has abated. I’m not beating them by joining them. In fact, this attempt at bitterness Botox had backfired. I was feeling a bit, well, defensive. The discussion of bridging the gap between consumption and creation of food had sent vegan pride coursing through my veins along with the Darjeeling tea. I could be self-righteous and enjoy my steamed kale. The only rotisserie I’m craving is the slow burn of carnivorous doubts being spun over the flame of herbilicious purpose! Or, um, maybe I just dig being self-righteous.
I responded to his snarky comments and disdain with the revelation that maybe, just maybe, I would continue on this plant path at the end of the month. He suggested a venture to Ruths Chris’ Steakhouse to celebrate my eventual departure after I was, as he put it, “off the wagon.”
I think I’m off of the ground chuck wagon permanently, Mike. Hope you enjoyed that burrito. You could have offered me a bite.
Blossoming Lotus (rules)
925 NW Davis, Portland OR 97209
Wednesday, April 2, 2008
Chasten My Casein: Day Two
I woke up to the most beautiful day of my residence in Portland thus far. Birds? Chirping. Sun? Actually shining. Roommates? All but The Vegan One sleeping. It was going to be a good morning.
Breakfast is important to me. I’d say that it falls somewhere between dry socks and breathing on my personally assigned level of importance. Without breakfast I have been known to overuse sayings such as, "I will cut a bitch," and to literally cry if I'm prevented from my morning consumption. My fervor for cereal with skim milk washed down with two cups of coffee and a helluva lot of Splenda (on everything) has been labeled OCD or batshit crazy by nearly everyone who has had the misfortune of seeing me in the morning, my mother included. If you value your genitalia you will not drink, move, or otherwise fuck with my skim milk. Or, as of this month, my Vitasoy milk. Same goes for my CoffeeMate.
One of the weird things that goes on in my head is the way that small things excite me. This seemingly asinine enthusiasm for minutiae has only been increased with my sobriety. Buying a new bottle of shampoo is enough to bring me to the edge of smug laughter. Non-fat French vanilla flavored CoffeeMate has been a perpetual bottle of bliss since my discovery of it on Long Island a mere year and a half ago. CoffeeMate is the elevation of breakfast. I am serious. It’s also the elevation of the workday, when I have one.
It even has the nerve to challenge the mother of all mothers to a battle. Nestlé says, “CoffeeMate. Dozens of Ways to Enjoy Coffee. Let’s see milk do that!” It threatens. It’s brash and not made with anything remotely natural. It’s commonly associated with women named Linda who have acrylic tips, drive Miatas, and chew gum during their shift at the salon.
I adore it. I practically bleed it. It’s like marshmallow’s tears. Or better.
Why I decided that today, my second vegan morning, where everything feels right, especially refraining from killing things for food or fun, to check the goddamn ingredients list on my heaven-sent non-dairy creamer is beyond me. I had asked this question to the blue bottle before.
Is it vegan?
It says non-dairy. That, prior to yesterday, was enough.
CoffeeMate, the non-dairy creamer, contains casein. What is casein, you ask. My response would ,as it is to most things, “Wikipedia that shit.”
“Casein (from Latin caseus "cheese") is the predominant phosphoprotein (aS1, aS2, ß) that account for nearly 80% of proteins in milk and cheese.”
Or, as it says on the bottle, a milk derivative.
I repeat, the non-dairy creamer. Has. A. Milk-derivative. In it.
Not vegan. Not even close.
Why is it in there? To improve the consistency of the stuff. Basically it’s like an emulsifier, from what I gleaned through several internet searches that were eventually derailed by porn. (You can take the meat out of the meat and potatoes but I am still an All ‘Merican, red-blooded gal.) Casein is something added to other stuff to solve any textural woes.
But it’s not just a hellion of breakfast destruction, oh no. Not only is it used in non-dairy products such as veggie slices and cheese singles, in part ‘cause it gets all good ‘n melty, but casein is used to make adhesives, protective coatings, and plastic products (“such as for knife handles and knitting needles”) while also being a post-workout supplement for bodybuilders. Yes, hipster, your knitting needles might be working in direct opposition to your veganism. Now go and knit your ennui a sweater.
Needless to say, I did not throw out the CoffeeMate. Rather, it’s resting for a month on our refrigerator door. Considering that it doesn’t expire until May 8th (yes, of this year, it’s artificial but it ain’t Cher) I figure I can lust after it every morning as I reach for the soy milk.
I did not check the ingredients list on my Corn Flakes. Don’t tell me. Until tomorrow I just don’t want to know.
Postscript
List of Things I Suddenly Miss Since I Went Vegan (Yesterday)
Yoplait
CoffeeMate (duh)
Eggs
Pine State Biscuits. Yes, I only had them once. No, I never missed them before, even though their awesomeness cannot be denied. For whatever reason, though, I have wanted a warm biscuit in the worst way since yesterday morning. Considering I live down the block from the joint it is going to be a long, dreary month exercising breakfast restraint.
(Pine State Biscuits, 3640 SE Belmont Street.)
Breakfast is important to me. I’d say that it falls somewhere between dry socks and breathing on my personally assigned level of importance. Without breakfast I have been known to overuse sayings such as, "I will cut a bitch," and to literally cry if I'm prevented from my morning consumption. My fervor for cereal with skim milk washed down with two cups of coffee and a helluva lot of Splenda (on everything) has been labeled OCD or batshit crazy by nearly everyone who has had the misfortune of seeing me in the morning, my mother included. If you value your genitalia you will not drink, move, or otherwise fuck with my skim milk. Or, as of this month, my Vitasoy milk. Same goes for my CoffeeMate.
One of the weird things that goes on in my head is the way that small things excite me. This seemingly asinine enthusiasm for minutiae has only been increased with my sobriety. Buying a new bottle of shampoo is enough to bring me to the edge of smug laughter. Non-fat French vanilla flavored CoffeeMate has been a perpetual bottle of bliss since my discovery of it on Long Island a mere year and a half ago. CoffeeMate is the elevation of breakfast. I am serious. It’s also the elevation of the workday, when I have one.
It even has the nerve to challenge the mother of all mothers to a battle. Nestlé says, “CoffeeMate. Dozens of Ways to Enjoy Coffee. Let’s see milk do that!” It threatens. It’s brash and not made with anything remotely natural. It’s commonly associated with women named Linda who have acrylic tips, drive Miatas, and chew gum during their shift at the salon.
I adore it. I practically bleed it. It’s like marshmallow’s tears. Or better.
Why I decided that today, my second vegan morning, where everything feels right, especially refraining from killing things for food or fun, to check the goddamn ingredients list on my heaven-sent non-dairy creamer is beyond me. I had asked this question to the blue bottle before.
Is it vegan?
It says non-dairy. That, prior to yesterday, was enough.
CoffeeMate, the non-dairy creamer, contains casein. What is casein, you ask. My response would ,as it is to most things, “Wikipedia that shit.”
“Casein (from Latin caseus "cheese") is the predominant phosphoprotein (aS1, aS2, ß) that account for nearly 80% of proteins in milk and cheese.”
Or, as it says on the bottle, a milk derivative.
I repeat, the non-dairy creamer. Has. A. Milk-derivative. In it.
Not vegan. Not even close.
Why is it in there? To improve the consistency of the stuff. Basically it’s like an emulsifier, from what I gleaned through several internet searches that were eventually derailed by porn. (You can take the meat out of the meat and potatoes but I am still an All ‘Merican, red-blooded gal.) Casein is something added to other stuff to solve any textural woes.
But it’s not just a hellion of breakfast destruction, oh no. Not only is it used in non-dairy products such as veggie slices and cheese singles, in part ‘cause it gets all good ‘n melty, but casein is used to make adhesives, protective coatings, and plastic products (“such as for knife handles and knitting needles”) while also being a post-workout supplement for bodybuilders. Yes, hipster, your knitting needles might be working in direct opposition to your veganism. Now go and knit your ennui a sweater.
Needless to say, I did not throw out the CoffeeMate. Rather, it’s resting for a month on our refrigerator door. Considering that it doesn’t expire until May 8th (yes, of this year, it’s artificial but it ain’t Cher) I figure I can lust after it every morning as I reach for the soy milk.
I did not check the ingredients list on my Corn Flakes. Don’t tell me. Until tomorrow I just don’t want to know.
Postscript
List of Things I Suddenly Miss Since I Went Vegan (Yesterday)
Yoplait
CoffeeMate (duh)
Eggs
Pine State Biscuits. Yes, I only had them once. No, I never missed them before, even though their awesomeness cannot be denied. For whatever reason, though, I have wanted a warm biscuit in the worst way since yesterday morning. Considering I live down the block from the joint it is going to be a long, dreary month exercising breakfast restraint.
(Pine State Biscuits, 3640 SE Belmont Street.)
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