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I’m about to say something that may just break Pinterest: I think recipes that incorporate Nutella may be overrated.

I know, I know. Who hates on Nutella, that rich, delicious hazelnut spread imported from Europe?

I don’t want to hate on Nutella, but I do have to suggest that it may just be too much trouble and/or too sweet for a lot of recipes.

The first Nutella recipe I tried, Nutella Cookies, were delicious (although, honestly, a tad on the sugary side), but they didn’t age well. The cookies that we didn’t eat within 12 hours of baking had to be tossed.
The latest experiment, Nutella Banana Bread, was delicious, but it was also entirely too sweet for my taste. It was reminiscent of a brunch the husband and I once had at Max Brenner in Manhattan, a brunch which will forever be referred to with the catchphrase “Would you like chocolate with your chocolate?” Because the husband got banana pancakes that, I promise you, came with chocolate syrup, and may have contained chocolate chips. I don’t remember exactly what I had, but I do recall eating a sugar-dusted biscuit topped with chocolate gravy.

Admittedly, my tolerance for sugary foods has gone down over the past few years as I’ve reduced my sugar intake. The less sugar you eat, the more intense sugary foods taste when you do eat them.

Nutella’s also a bit of a pain to use. The opening isn’t designed to allow you to measure out large spoonfuls. (I’m using the extra big jars from Costco, BTW – anything smaller will bankrupt you when baking with Nutella because you’re going to use A LOT.) And it’s a gloppy, messy ingredient, with a consistency somewhere between peanut butter and molasses.

So, I’m going to stop trying to make Nutella into an ingredient and enjoy it as is, spread on a graham cracker, a banana or apple slices. Or, perhaps, melted and poured atop a sugar-dusted biscuit because CAN’T YOU JUST IMAGINE?

Ah, there it is. The first pound gained from boot camp.

That’s right. I have gained weight because of an exercise program.

Muscle is more dense than fat, and I’ve definitely muscled up a little. I can see it and feel it here and there.

This pound is not a bad thing.

I admit to a lifelong obsession with waifishness, however. Wouldn’t it be nice, I’ve always thought, to be one of those girls who looks effortlessly twiggy in a pair of yoga pants and a tank top, or one of those women whose tiny shoulders and small chest just look absolutely dainty in her sparkly LBD?

But this sort of thinking quickly veers into the you-can-never-be-too-skinny realm. And you can TOTALLY be too skinny.

And those waifs looking so graceful in their yoga pants? A lot of them want to be skinnier too.

Which brings me to my point: That number you see on the scale? No matter how bulky or skinny it makes you feel, that’s someone else’s goal weight. You may very well be someone else’s waif.

Me? I’ve done approximately 100 push-ups this week along with untold numbers of squats, jumping jacks, curls and ab exercises. I wore my heaviest boots to the doctor’s office this morning and didn’t blink when the nurse kept nudging the indicator over.

I feel awesome. Maybe I’ll gain another pound next week.

Due to Huntsville’s perpetual fall rain cycle (AKA cold November rain, for you G&R buffs), boot camp was held inside of a karate studio this morning. The indoor lighting revealed what 5:30 a.m. lighting in the regular outdoor location did not: I was the only participant wearing weightlifting gloves.

I felt particularly tomboyish for a few minutes, which is not an unfamiliar feeling for me, until I at last spotted one more boot camper wearing similar gloves. It then occurred to me that the two of us were going to have the softest hands in the whole group at the end of boot camp because the main reason I wear weightlifting gloves is to protect my hands from dumbell-induced calluses.

And that’s how I went from tomboy to soft-handed lady, all in the span of three minutes before daylight on a Monday.

My brain is a wonderland.


The secondary flowers from large bouquets usually last longer than the main flowers. When broken down into sub-bouquets, they stand on their own as quirky little arrangements.

Yang agrees.

First of all, guess what? I’m totally going to boot camp. At 5:30 a.m. Three days a week. During the kickoff of the holiday eating season.

I’m not trying to lose massive amounts of weight, although a little trim-up here and there wouldn’t go unappreciated. I really just need to get out of my fitness rut — working out by yourself often means that you stop really challenging yourself. Three sets of three different lifts, 30 minutes of cardio … meh. It turns into an uninspired check mark on the daily to-do list.

I’ve been lucky enough to inherit my maternal grandfather’s height (not ALL of it, but I’m taller than most other female relatives) and his tendency toward the slender end of the spectrum. I’m not stick-figure thin, mind you: I have curves that will grow curvier if left to their own devices.

What I want is muscles. Not big muscles, but toned muscles. And not just for display purposes. I like it when my muscles can DO things, like effortlessly move piles of books or march up the stairs two at a time. I like it when I can SEE the muscles outlined on my back and stomach, not because they’re making me look skinnier, but because they’re making me stronger.

They’re also helping me have better bones. Having watched my grandmother suffer with advanced osteoporosis, I want to do everything I can to prevent my own diagnosis.

So back to my first day at Madison Adventure Boot Camp: It was fun and difficult, very reminiscent of the workouts I completed the year that I was on the basketball team in junior high (note: tall girls may not be aggressive enough to play basketball – they may just be tall).

A workout with variety will draw me in me every time. A little jogging here, a few side squats there, some shoulder work (wait, MORE shoulder work?) … boot camp is the workout for those of us with fitness ADD.

Tomorrow’s going to be an achy-muscle kind of day, but in that good way where you can picture little bits of muscle breaking down only to rebuilt with better, stronger muscle.

One advantage I’ve already noticed: a general aversion to the office bowl of leftover Halloween candy. After all, I’m not counteracting all that early-morning work with cheap milk chocolate. (Expensive dark chocolate … maybe we’ll talk.)

I’m tired of being hustled at the cash register.

Cashiers at the two grocery stores where I shop at regularly have begun the holiday charity spiel early this year. The script literally says, “Would you like to give a dollar to help a family have a turkey for the holidays this year?”

Yes. Yes. A thousand times yes, if I thought that dollar actually went toward the purchase of a turkey. But I’m afraid that only 40 cents of that dollar goes toward a turkey. Possibly less.

And, you see, I know and trust several local organizations to take that dollar and do something awesome with it. Your unknown organization, not so much.

You might say that I won’t miss a dollar here and there. And you’re probably right. But at some point I WILL miss the sum of those dollars, and my own pet charities may get shortchanged.

So stop it. Stop delivering your spiel in a manner that makes me feel like a cheap jerk for saying no.

Stop hooking up with organizations that I’m not familiar with. Would it be so bad to sponsor a LOCAL organization? Ask me to donate a dollar to Manna House, or Friends of Huntsville Animal Services, and see how quickly I say yes.

Until then, the answer is still no.

Everybody back to school

Oddly, education is hindering my ability to write a post about education for the Rocket City Bloggers November blog carnival.

In four weeks, I’ll wrap up my master’s degree in English. I never intended to pursue this degree, but it has been one of the more awesome things I’ve ever done.

I think everybody should go back to school for something in their mid-30s. It remaps your brain and reenergizes your thinking process. Or at least that’s what it’s done for me.

It apparently has not, however, transformed my ability to do three things at once into the ability to do five things at once, so I better get back to writing for work, writing for class and cogitating about this Friday’s master’s exam.

I promise to return to cooking and decorating and writing about the whole glorious mess sooner rather than later.

Everybody knows that the best part of the cake-making process is licking the beaters. And the spatula. And any batter than may have dropped down the side of the mixing bowl.

The batter. The best part of the cake-making process is the batter.

I’ve been seeing a lot of cake batter-flavored recipes lately. Cake batter pancakes. Cake batter truffles. Cake batter bars. Cake batter pie.

The choices seem kind of exhausting when you could just make some cake batter.

But you never know, right?

I needed to make a couple of things for a bake sale recently (go back to college, get roped into a bake sale — live and learn), so I used it as an excuse to try a trendy-sounding recipe: Funfetti Cake Batter Fudge.

I need to point out that my mind skipped right over the “Funfetti” portion of the recipe title, since that word implies the use of sprinkles and sprinkles are the worst thing that can happen to a nice, clean kitchen except for glitter or a grease fire.

It called for only five ingredients: sweetened condensed milk, white chocolate chips, vanilla extract, almond extract and sprinkles. I melted the first two ingredients together as instructed, then stirred in the extracts. I did NOT stir in the sprinkles, since the recipe kindly warned me that the fudge would turn an “ugly muddy color” if the sprinkles were stirred for too long and I am always likely to stir things for too long. Instead, I poured about half the melted goop into the pan, tossed some sprinkles in, and then poured the rest of the goop on top before tossing more sprinkles on. I let the fudge set up overnight.

Did it taste like cake batter? No. It tasted like almond extract. Really sweet, really rich almond extract. With crunchy sprinkles.

Little kids (and, apparently, some college students) will love it. Me, I’d rather make a cake and lick the beaters.

Bonus Behind-the-Scenes Footage

Yang inspects all Entirely Adequate photo shoots, provided he's awake.

The Internet seems to be bursting at the seams with Nutella recipes. Folks are mixing the hazelnut spread into everything from ice cream to hot chocolate.

As a friend pointed out, the only thing needed for a good Nutella dish is a spoon. It is a product that may be best unencumbered by other ingredients (although you should really try encumbering it with sliced bananas — heavenly).

I’ve never been one for unencumbering things, however. I’ve been scoping out Nutella recipes on Pinterest for a few weeks, and finally chose Four Ingredient Nutella Cookies from A Busy Nest to test. (Note that I also purchased the super-deluxe family size pack of Nutella at Costco. If you’re going to use Nutella as an ingredient instead of a light spread, you’re going to need this, too.)

The recipe made the driest cookie dough I’ve ever worked with. You’ll see in the recipe’s comment section that this freaks some people out, since the dough will easily fall apart during handling.

The solution: Put on a pair of food-safe gloves and gently roll the dough into 1-inch balls, pressing it together as you go. Instead of using a floured glass to mash the cookies into circles, I simply pressed the balls flat between my palms.

The result: Delicious, melt-in-your-mouth cookies with strong Nutella overtones and just a hint of caramelization. The centers were delightfully underdone and chewy.

The drawback, however, is that the cookies only stayed chewy for a few hours. The next day, they were crunchy all the way through. Good if you want to dunk them in a glass of milk, I suppose, but not what you’re looking for if chewy is your thing. And chewy is, most definitely, my thing.

So taking pictures of framed artwork hanging on the wall? Nearly impossible. Between reflections and off-color lighting, I’m sunk.

This is a postcard from EN Japanese Brasserie in Manhattan. We went there for the sake tasting and stayed for the fresh tofu and black sesame ice cream.

Usually, restaurant postcards feature a photo of the restaurant from the street or maybe a shot of a few dishes — maybe something for the scrapbook, but nothing you want to frame and hang on the wall.

I had plans for this postcard the minute I saw it. No writing, no photos. Just a vivid 4-by-6-inch image.

Believe me when I say that its bright red lines contrast brilliantly with the deep olive walls of my downstairs bathroom. I don’t know why this camera wants the walls to be beige.