Here is a picture of an apple buttermilk corn-cake I made two nights ago, covered in the maple-cinnamon mascarpone cream I made in the blender at the last minute. It is the only real food you will see in this post, and it was delicious alongside the creamy chicken and wild rice soup we had as our main dish. Enjoy.
This post is going to be a little bit content-light, because I am exhausted and DESERVE to spend a few hours playing Halo and eating Tootsie Roll pops until my tongue is blue and my heart is covered in the shame of looking at a Halloween candy bag I emptied on my own. This won’t be the first time this has happened today, because about 2 hours ago I ate almost an entire bag of candy corn, stopping only to throw the rest of the bag away and pouring water on it in the garbage so I didn’t dumpster dive for it later like a diabetic hobo. I LOVE candy corn. L-O-V-E. But I’ve eaten almost 3000 calories today.
The majority of those calories came from, and I shudder to say this, Chili’s chicken crisper platter. Normally I won’t eat that shit at gunpoint. I’m not ashamed to say that. I’m even more violently opposed to Applebees. I once worked at Applebees for a week, pretended someone in my family had taken ill, disappeared to “take care” of that family member via a trip to Washington with a boyfriend, then returned to work for three days before the manager pissed me off enough that I ate my apple chimichanga and left (after extracting my tips from my black folder, of course). That’s neither here nor there. What I’m saying is that I was DESPERATE for a heavy meal. Would you like to know why? Huh? Would you?
BECAUSE I RAN A HALF-MARATHON TODAY. Some of you may be like “Ooooh! A half-marathon! I run those on my lunch hour.” But I will tell you now that I have NOT ever run that far. I once ran 10 miles on a treadmill and felt all tough about it, but running on a treadmill is to running outdoors as doing sit-ups is to performing cardiac surgery with nothing but your ab muscles and a poorly assembled sock puppet. Outside is SO much harder. Especially in the Texas hill country, which is aptly named because it is just a series of stupid hills surrounded by alarming amounts of nature that I assume contains scorpions large enough and mean enough that they’d kill me just to take my packs of energy gel. And they don’t even have mouths. The odd thing is that all of the hills are UP. On both sides. There is never a downhill. It’s like because they can’t do “barefoot in the snow” they have to stick to “uphill both ways.” Around mile 6 of this nonsense I began giggling uncontrollably and almost swerved into an oncoming semi (all of whom Chris kept referring to as “Optimus Prime”). It was almost 50% humidity and crept up to 93 degrees. But we finished. I do not wish to discuss my time, except to say that it was longer than the world record for a full marathon. By long enough for Rachel Ray to create one of her demonic “stoups.” Sad, huh? Here is a picture of me extra-sweaty to prove my triumph:
And here is Chris documenting our post-run binge:
What you can’t see in the pictures is that we both had rivulets of white crust down the sides of our faces and necks. The white stuff was grainy, gritty, and brushed off like a powder. Would you like to know what that was? SALT. I had dried salt on my own personal face that had, only a short time ago, been inside of my body.
What Chris said next is representative of why he is more awesome than anybody else in the universe. “It’s okay, Kristie. Just think of it as marathon finishing salt.”
Culinarians will know the greatness of this comment.