Raising the Lunch Bar

Raising the Lunch Bar

Kiwi food processor that nearly took my hand off

I battled a prehistoric Kiwi food processor for the first time today.  The 1960’s or 70’s Goldair beige contraption spit oats at me, then acted constipated when I fed her pitted dates. Even worse, she tried to amputate my hand. “Goldie” doesn’t like it when you try to separate her blade from her bowl (even when you twist to follow the arrow that says, ‘remove’).

I took Goldie for a test drive because of my new obsession with energy bars. We recently exhausted our supply of calorie-dense, chocolate-peanut buttery, factory-processed rectangles smuggled in my luggage from the US (a bargain at 50 cents each). Similar confections in New Zealand cost three or four dollars. Bugger that, I’ll make my own.

I mix my inaugural chewy squares using Pete’s Breville Motiv blender. Add one cup of oats, one-half cup of powdered milk, one-half cup of almonds, one-half cup of diced dried apricots…. Soon, food fusion gets tricky. And sticky. Pulse dry ingredients, then add dates, eggs and maple syrup. The blender whirls and slices, then sputters and stalls. Rur-rurrr…. Rur-rurrr… I give up, scraping the oaty-eggy-syrupy muck from the blender and mixing it by hand in a bowl.  The bars bake up miraculously well. Pete says not only do they taste good, they also have a mild laxative effect (makes you wanna rush to my house for a meal, doesn’t it?).

The reason for my energy bar fixation is not just because I need a feed lot full of snacks for my two-small-children-whose-appetite-is-anything-but-small, but also because I have one of those partners who doesn’t eat all day. So, being a nuturing mom/mum (and eternally hungry person who projects my runner's appetite onto others),  I’m determined to send Pete out the door in the morning with something he can furtively nibble whilst on the computer, on the phone or even in the ‘loo.

Pete says, “I’m so busy at work. Everyone’s always asking for something. I don’t have time to eat.”

Just hearing that makes my stomach growl. My PAHT-nah and I sit at opposite ends of the meal continuum, as in, I require regular meals and snacks, and he can last days or weeks without solid food. “I had a coffee at work,” he’ll say. This is an exaggeration - barely. How can you function all day without eating?   I would chew my arm off, curse out the world, disown my young and wither like a slug in a salt mine. This is an exaggeration - barely.

A family member (John) belongs to the same Undereaters Anonymous (at work) club as Pete. John’s a child psychiatrist. When I tell him nothing gets between me and lunch, even when working, he says, “It’s kinda hard to eat when you have a crying family sitting in front of you.”

Watch me.

If you ever read Oprah magazine (admit it!), you’ve seen Dr. Phil’s column, where he gives someone a suggested script he/she can use to discuss an issue. In the service of nuturing moms/mums around the world, I give you this script. Adapt as needed [note – none of these scenarios is remotely true]:

                Dear crying family/pushy client/ asshole boss/screaming children:

                I know you’re hurting/harried/drunk/relentless.

                I feel your pain/see your problem/smell your breath/hear your screams.

                However, I must fill a basic need before I attend to yours.

                I haven’t ingested a crumb in five hours. If I don’t eat within five minutes - I’LL DIE.

                Or at the very least, be grumpy. And unproductive.

                You see, if I don’t eat, you’ll get

                Crap advice/Blown deadlines/Water in your scotch/Locked in a cage.

So please, don’t think me rude if I quietly munch this sandwich in front of you. In fact, I’ve brought enough to share. Please join me for:

Egg salad/Steak/Scotch/Scotch

Thank you for understanding. This lunch is pretty good, huh?  Mur-muh-mmmm-mmm…     

      

I’m still making lunch bars. But Goldie the food processor’s getting tossed like yesterday’s sandwich.  On second thought, that ham and cheese is probably still good…

Excuse me whilst I eat.

Raising the lunch bar