The Power of Farmer's Markets

Farmer's Markets are a dying breed. It's sad too. Where else are we going to be able to find locally grown, organic fruits and vegetables? After going to the Decatur Farmers Market, I realized how interesting they could be.

This market was different in that it wasn't the fruit and vegetable stand that you might think of. This place had meats, cheeses, spices, freshly baked breads, and even a deli! It was, for all intensive purposes, a super farmer's market. And that's exactly what we need. We need a place that has the look, price, and convenience of a Walmart, but the connections, quality, and safety of a farmer's market. We need to know where our food has come from; know that it's safe and healthy. Unfortunately, the farmer's market is the only venue we have left, and they're dying out.

That's why it's so important for us to shop at places like these. After all, isn't it important to know who's in your kitchen?

Thanksgiving Mac and Cheese

How strange is it to eat mac and cheese on Thanksgiving? Apparently pretty darn weird. I heard a coworker recently talk about how weird it is that us Southerners have mac and cheese for Thanksgiving and Christmas. It was even stranger to her that we bake it. To her, mac and cheese consisted of Kraft's blue box special. She's from Ohio, and apparently the eating of mac and cheese on the holidays is a distinctly Southern affair. 

It's even been on the 700 Club recently where, much to my horror, Pat Robinson called it a "black thing."But at this point, should anything Pat Robinson says phase us? 

Nevertheless, it got me to thinking about how foods are eaten differently in different regions of our country. I automatically assumed that everyone had mac and cheese at Thanksgiving and Christmas. What else do I eat that is distinctly Southern? O_o

Drunk Eating

I'm always amazed at what gets eaten when I'm drunk. And I'm not just talking about the things that I eat, but the things that others eat as well. For instance, the go-to places seem to be Krystals, followed closely by Waffle House and Taco Bell. These are the worst possible things that you could eat, but maybe that's the beauty of it-you have to be drunk to allow yourself to go there (with the exception of Taco Bell. That place is amazing no matter what!).
However, most of the time, my friends and I plan to stay home, and buy food for afterward. Usually we consume pizza rolls, Doritos, chips and salsa, or Oreos. These are things that are easily consumed, and have no nutritional value at all. That's the beauty of drunk eating-you don't care, you just enjoy the food.

Mellow Cravings

Cravings: everyone has them. I get them frequently, but mine are usually for restaurant-specific foods.  For instance, take my addiction to Mellow Mushroom. I always seem to get the same dishes-cheese bread for an appetizer and a 10-inch caesar pizza. On this particular occasion, however, I decided to switch it up a bit. I order the drunken pretzels (I can't remember the full name) and a red skin potato pie. They were both uber delicious. The dipping sauces were mustard, cheese, and some sort of sweet and sour variation.You could definitely taste the alcohol, which was quite nice. The red skin potato pie pizza consisted of a basic pizza with bits of bacon, potato skins, and chives, drizzled with ranch and buffalo sauce. I left thinking, perhaps it's time I changed my usual order?

Marietta Diner

Zach had been talking about this place for weeks. Apparently, Tamara introduced him to this famous establishment after their last "girl's night out." The diner was etched in neon lighting-like a vegas Christmas tree. Upon inspection of the menu, there were food choices from "American" and Italian origins. In fact, I wondered if this place had close mafia connections, seeing as there were several Italian men gathered in the back arguing loudly. As I looked around, there were framed picture indicating that it had fed many stars, and even appeared on the Food Network, so it was sure to please, right?
Wrong. I was seriously disappointed. The food definitely didn't live up to the hype. The burger was moderately tasty, but I've had better from Zorba's restaurant in Cedartown. However, they did have excellent service-speedy and very polite. All in all, I would visit the place again to give it another chance.

Southern Comfort

If there's one thing a true Southerner knows, it's that there's nothing quite like our comfort food. You know the kind I'm talking about: mac and cheese, meatloaf, and fried okra-the stuff your Nanny or momma used to make. That's exactly what I found last Friday at Rome's Harvest Moon Cafe. I walked in expecting to order a sandwich, but found meatloaf on their menu. I'm a sucker for some meatloaf. Then to sweeten the deal, there were sides like mac and cheese, sweet potato soufflé, fried okra, and their own spicy cornbread. I was sold. As you can see, I helped myself to this amazing Southern feast. The mac and cheese was perfect-not too creamy, but ultra cheesy. The sweet potato was truly sweet. The cornbread, not too spicy, and cake-like in texture. The fried okra, however, was average, but that was my only complaint. That day I left with a full belly and a new spot to indulge at.

The Margarona!

Since I've moved to Rome, time with my friends back home has become more precious. Most of our times spent together are in restaurants scattered between Rome and Cedartown. On one such occasion, we visited both of Cedartown's Mexican restaurants. At El Nopal (my favorite), we met Zach's best friend, her husband, and a couple of their mutual friends. As usual, I ate my go to dish-the Quesadilla Rellana. Then, after dining with that group of friends, we parted ways and met Tamara, one of our mutual friends. After much convincing from Zach and Tamara,  I was formally introduced to the Margarona.

This monster of a drink was just the thing I was looking for. It had the best of both worlds: a margarita and a Corona, hence the name Margarona. Upon arriving at the table, I quickly snapped a picture. After all, it's not every day I partake of such a huge drink. The margarita was the perfect strength-super strong, and coupled with the bit of beer that had mixed in from the downturned bottle, made an interesting combination. I was warned, however, that I should drink the margarita first, then work on the Corona by gently lifting the bottle, thus releasing the seal created by the introduction into the margarita. I slowly sipped on my margarita, acclimating myself to the taste. Then, when I'd finished about half, I started working in more of the Corona. Eventually, I ended up drinking half of the Corona by itself.

Close to the end of my Corona, and our third or fourth helping of chips and salsa (at this point, I'd lost count), I got a craving for desert. Our waitress recommended a dish that they were experimenting with in the kitchen. It was a sort of fried cheesecake, served with ice cream. I ordered it immediately, and the three of us split it. It tasted like cheesecake, but mixed with a crispy donut. It went down perfectly with the vanilla ice cream.

Fast Food Mood

It seems that every weekend, as I gleefully retreat from my four-night third shift sentence, I lose control on my eating habits. The weekend has come to signal a time of release for me. It's a time where I can finally reconnect with the world-see my family and friends whom I've had to neglect so that I could function on the job and tread water at school.

My diet is no exception. I seem to go for any resturant that has greasy, artery-clogging menu items, and somehow I always end up overeating. This ranges from our regular Thursday night Huddle House meetings to Applebee's on any given night of the weekend.

I think it's a combination of several things. One, I'm finally able to enjoy myself. Eating at work, or in between classes is a necessity, and as such, offers little to incite excitement. I've found that it's actually quite bothersome to eat. The other reason is that I am in a social setting, and I lose track of how much I've eaten while I'm busy catching up. Regardless, I've got to get a hold on this aspect of my diet before I begin gaining back what I've lost.

Ramen Noodles

There's nothing that says "broke college student" more than Ramen Noodles. I actually grew up on these horrible little blocks of cardboard-esque, beef-flavored food substitute. They signified short paychecks (both then and now), sick days (complete with grilled cheese and Sprite), and winter nights. After refusing to eat this food for the longest time, I realize now how much I've missed it. So with each bite, I'm reminded of memories past and prepped on what may come.

(And yes, I took that photo. :D)

Chili Fries

Food cravings are a funny thing. I don't know if it's like this with everyone else, but I try to hold out, yet somehow I always end up indulging in whatever I'm hungry for. This was the case a couple of weeks ago. Zach and I had just finished in the cafeteria, and we had set off to do homework. I had been studying for several hours when I began to get hungry. I decided that in order to prevent further distraction, I had better find a snack.

As I opened the cabinet, I eyed the can of Hormel chili sitting on the shelf, and then I automatically thought of chili fries. In fifteen minutes, Zach and I were on our way to Walmart to buy a bag of fries, and a block of cheddar cheese. Pretty soon, we were elbow deep in cheesy, chili goodness. As I sat there satisfied with my plateful of fries, I thought about how guilty I felt for indulging, but then I realized a simple truth: indulgence is quite alright. It's over indulgence that one has to worry about. That night I reaffirmed my belief that I could eat whatever I want, but only in moderation.

The Joys of PB & J

Growing up, I can remember nothing more enjoyable than a peanut butter and jelly (preferably grape) sandwich. These sandwiches were the perfect lunchtime meal, especially when coupled with a glass of chocolate milk prepared with Hershey's chocolate syrup and a handful of Doritos.

Recently I've begun to work third shift at a local hospital pharmacy, and had to start preparing my lunch (or breakfast, depending on your perspective). I knew that I needed some sort of sandwich to keep me moving until 7 am rolled around, but I had no clue that this old school classic would be just the thing to tie me over. Well, I say classic, but I put a couple of slight twists on it. For one, I've long stopped using white bread because of its unhealthy qualities. In place of these bleached slices, I used Double Fiber Wheat Bread. I've also dropped the chocolate milk for water, and switched from creamy to crunchy Jiff. I know, I'm so daring.

Regardless of the sides, or even the particulars of my sandwich, the basic combination of peanut butter and jelly can't be beat, whether you're eating it at noon or 4 am.

What's in a Name?

Coming up with a name for this blog was a far more taxing task that I had thought. I mean, naming a blog is hugely important. It sets the tone for everything that follows. Odds are that if you're reading this blog, you can probably vouch for that sentiment (shout out to my Food Writing peeps!). Nevertheless, my inspiration came from my childhood.

As you may know from growing up in the South, it's always been frowned upon to leave food on your plate, or at least at my house it was. This was especially true at my Nanny and Pop Pop's house. I can remember having breakfast at her house. My brother and I would sit outside on her screened-in porch amidst the potted aloe plants and frog figurines hungrily awaiting the breakfast food to follow.

My Nanny would soon bring out two paper plates that consisted of a bowl of grits, or oatmeal, and several slices of liberally buttered toast. I loved her grits, as they were the perfect combination of salty, buttery goodness and sugary sweet. Sometimes, if I pestered her just enough, she or my Pop Pop would let me sip from their brown and cream stripped cermaic mugs. As my tummy got full, I would start to ask for a Little Debbie Zebra Cake. If you haven't experienced Little Debbies, then you've missed out. For those of you who have experienced these, you know what sort of treats I was looking for. Yet, Nanny refused to let me have my dessert until breakfast had been completed. So what was a little boy to do? I hurridly forced those last spoonfuls into my mouth. Then with grinning pride presented her with my empty bowl and plate.

Nanny would take the plate and bowl from my hands, and hug me tightly. "Now you're a part of the Clean Bowl Club!" she would exclaim. Then she would get the small cake from the cabinet that held delicious treaures.

These mornings are some of my favorite memories with them. Now that I'm older, I rarely make time to visit them as often as I should, but I cling to these memories. So, it seemed the logical choice as a name for this blog where I hope to share some of my favorite food memories. I realize that unfortunately, this "clean-your-plate" mentality has been one of the factors in helping me gain weight, but I guess knowing is half the battle, right? Funny what food can reveal, huh?