Archive for the ‘Vegan/Critters’ Category

Grrr…stayed up late watching on-demand episodes of my precious Downton Abbey and Homeland. And after the latter – OMG times a million, Claire Danes’s Carrie character has a complete psychotic break – I had a bit of trouble drifting off.

Shocker. Not.

Scary, disturbing television shows viewed after a long, stressful day at work = trouble drifting off.

Anyway, the entire time I was watching poor Claire bouncing off the walls because of her bipolar disease, I was warily munching the kale chips pictured above. I say “warily” because I kept inadvertently chomping into stems along the way. And it’s only now, as I sleepily type this blog post, that I spy the “How To Eat Kale Chips” directions on the bottom of the package.

And I quote: “New York Naturals kale chips are made with the whole kale leaf. Sometimes stems on the bigger leaves are hard to chew. Most people prefer to eat just the leaf part and discard the stems.”

Now you tell me!

Although this brand of chips comes in a few different flavors, I wanted to try this particular one because it’s heavily sprinkled with nutritional yeast. As someone who greatly – and I mean greatly – admires vegans for their commitment to animal kindness, I’ve read a lot about the wonders of nutritional yeast.

And just last week, I saw “nutritionist to the stars” Keri Glassman touting it as a “superfood” on Kathie Lee and Hoda.

So what the hell is it, you ask? In a nutshell (but it’s not derived from nuts), nutritional yeast is fake grated cheese. For a bit more info (and a video that I didn’t watch, just being honest here…), here’s a little link.

Oh, and if you want recipes featuring this brash cheese imposter, nab a copy of the Skinny Bitch In the Kitch cookbook.

Okay, gotta get motoring on another busy day. Watch out for stems, mamas!

I went to a fun, super-informative event on Tuesday night, and before I dive into the vegan substitute meat of it, I want to give a shout-out to all the parties who made it happen.

1. Well+GoodNYC, the extraordinarily kick-ass wellness website, which organized it. Lordy I love that site, and not merely because I live a hop, skip and a jump from Gotham. The overlords, Melisse and Alexia, just really know their stuff. They have like PhDs in Spa + Spinning.

2. Red Flower, the fantastico organic beauty brand, which hosted it at its adorable SoHo shop. I need to go back when it isn’t dark, and we aren’t meditating, because the décor is amazing - all recycled chopped-up chairs and whatnot. It sounds weird, but trust me, it is groovy. That night, we were also toasting the launch of three to-die-for soy candles: in the land of milk and honey; nothing but everything beautiful; and of the wilderness, my favorite. They’re available at the shop, and at Barneys and they are yummy and very, very large.

3. Gingersnap’s Organic, a new East Village resty and shop, which catered it. A purveyor of “conscious cuisine,” all the food is raw, vegan and gluten-free. And delicious, which I’ll personally vouch for, because I ate my bodyweight in snacks.

4. Elena Brower, founder of Virayoga, who led it. A very charismatic chiquita, she is producing – and starring in – a new docuseries called On Meditation, which will air early next year on TV and the World Wide Interweb. I will keep you apprised of that; I’m dying to see the entire series myself.

Okay, so Elena’s tips, which she dispensed liberally both during and after the actual group-meditation part of the evening.

Although I’m a copious note-taker, I didn’t whip out my little pad during the session, for two reasons: One, my eyes were closed, and writing can be tricky – albeit not impossible – when your eyes are closed. And two, I just really wanted to focus, because I hadn’t yet meditated that day.

Thus, I will be paraphrasing and re-capping, rather than spewing out verbatim quotes. I hope you’re okay with that.

And since I’m feeling “listy” today, here goes:

1. You don’t need to go to a mountain-top to get into the zone. Park your –s on that couch, and don’t even think about that lone cereal bowl in the sink. Trust that you’ll get to it later. One of the goals of meditation – and I use the term “goal” loosely, because meditation is not about specific, quantifiable achievements – is to be able to drop down into it anywhere, any time.

2. Place your left hand over your heart and let your thoughts drop down. “Think of it as a mini-download,” said Elena. I loved this tip. It’s great to put all those racing images, all those nagging bits and pieces of daily intel, into one symbolic spot. And then forget about them for the time you’re meditating. If they pop back into your mind, gently nudge them back out again, and re-train your focus on your breath – or my personal obsession, my trusty ocean soundtracks.

Per Elena, we should be taking more cues from our hearts, and fewer from our heads. “Boss,” she said, pointing to her heart. “Secretary,” she said, pointing to her head.

3. Without being too rigid, establish a mini-ritual. If you can kinda sorta meditate at the same time, in the same place and in the same position every day, it just helps you slip into a meditative state all that much more quickly and easily. I also personally find that certain scents are useful too, whether it’s patchouli or something oceanic or, now, my new Red Flower Of the Wilderness candle!

4. Five minutes is fine. Five minutes is fantastic. Some days you’ll be able to go longer, which is wonderful. I just noticed that for myself, since I made my birthday resolution last month to try to meditate daily, I’ve easily been adding a minute or two every day. The more you do it, the more you want to do it.

5. With time, it will grow from a challenge to a full-tilt craving. Eventually, you won’t feel like yourself without meditating. You’ll be longing to go “home” – that safe, cozy and grounding space within you that meditation creates.

Last night, en route to the cocktail hour(s) kickoff for the BlogHer Writers ’11 Conference (ooh, how very join-y of shy, shy Momover Lady) I saw an item on Page Six of the New York Post that completely supports my theory that women’s shoes have become weapons of mass destruction.

I almost hate to repeat the tale, because it must have been so cringe-inducing for the poor gal involved. But I feel like I’m doing a public service to all of you hot mamas who have the good sense not to read the majorly mean-spirited Page Six.

So here’s the CliffsNotes-style recap: After presenting a really important award to Katie Holmes at Marie Claire’s Women On Top event on Wednesday afternoon, the mag’s Editor In Chief did a face-plant in front of 200 VIPs. The culprit? Six-inch purple YSLs. The item then wraps up with a quote from Katie about how she, too, took a tumble while carrying little Suri. Nice nod to girl-power solidarity, but grrr…

I’m like the biggest hypocrite for writing this post, because I’ve blogged in defense of Rachel Zoe’s monster preggo heels, and regaled you with the story about the time some crazed bitch accosted me in a subway car because I was wearing spikes while I, too, was with child.

But still, I think this situation is getting a teensy weensy bit dire. We have Brandi Glandville hobbling around on crutches on RHOBH, the entire female cast of Jersey Shore face-down in the cobblestone streets of Firenze and the overload of stripper heels in every shoe store I venture into. Seriously. It is ridiculous.

Okay, that’s my rant du jour. Gotta get back to the BlogHer conference – in my cruelty-free, extremely cute and comfy flat boots.

Last night before we went to bed, I chit-chatted with Hubby as he chopped up a cantaloupe for the Wee Lass’s school lunch. How nice, I thought, that I have a Hubby who not only shops for the cantaloupe, he chops it too. The shopper-chopper. “This is good,” he said, handing me a chunk. “Yum.”

Cut to this morning, I’m making the bed between slurps of coffee and half-listening to the Today Show. But then my ears perk up when someone – Matt, Ann, whomever – starts talking about a listeria outbreak traced to tainted cantaloupe, the deadliest food-borne illness in a quarter century. So far, 25 people have died.

I gulped. And I Googled. And within seconds I found info: The melons were grown by Jensen Farms of Holly, Colorado. Whew, safe. There’s no way East coasters need to worry about those melons.

Not so fast. After a bit more recon, I see that Jersey is one of the many states under recall.

I dove into the trash, searching for the plastic bag Hubby had placed the peels in. Finding it, I’m ripping through hunks of rind until I find the label, which read Turlock Fruit / Peacock # 4050. Visiting the Turlock Fruit website, I felt a little better. They’re addressing this god-awful situation on the home page, and ensuring customers that their fruit is fine.

In the everything-happens-for-a-reason vein, I remembered that the October issue of Good Housekeeping has a big piece on protecting your family from foodborne illness.

I think I’ve bought Good Housekeeping exactly once in my life – last week, while waiting in line at Target, I got suckered in by both cover girl Ellen DeGeneres’s cheerful vegan vibe and the “Make Your Kitchen Clutter-Free” article tease.

And right now, I’m really glad I did. Although I urge you to pick up the magazine yourself, I just want to share a few tips I found extremely helpful:

1. When you’re shopping, keep raw meats away from the other items in your cart. You don’t want any juices leaking on anything.

2. Don’t wash raw meats. Sounds counterintuitive, but you’re only really spraying potential bugs all over your sink and countertop.

3. Use separate chopping boards for raw meats and produce.

4. Buy a meat thermometer and USE it. I’m thinking of getting the OXO digital one Good Housekeeping recommends.

5. Choose your restaurant burgers carefully. A fast-food chain is likelier to cook its meats to the right temperature than your corner joint.

Food for thought. And on that note, I’m going upstairs to help my St. Louis-born Hubby root for the Cardinals in the World Series. Be safe, my Momoverettes.

Happily, I’ve pretty much recovered from my shoe meltdown of last week.

Why am I on the mend? Because of a Saturday shopping spree wedged between a 2pm showing of Moneyball (if Brad Pitt doesn’t get an Oscar nod, there is no justice in the universe) and dinner with Hubby. As he waited outside for me in the car, I bought three pairs of boots in 10 minutes flat.

Pretty good, right? I thought so.

I’ve been shopping at Moo Shoes on the Lower East Side for a few years now, and the selection just keeps getting better and better. While earlier I might have considered their offerings “pretty cute for cruelty-free,” I now consider them “pretty cute – period.” That’s a huge shift. And it makes me want to turn a cartwheel right here in this little ol’ home office.

Okay, so here’s what I bought, all linked-up so you can take a look-see:

1. Colorado Boot in brown by Jambu. So freaking cute. And wildly comfy. I’m gonna get them in black, too.

2. Sand Moccasin Boot in brown by Hearts of Darkness. I’d been looking for an alternative to Minnetonkas, which are real suede, et voila. I’m eyeballing the short versions as well. Possibly in off-white. My Native American ancestors would be proud. (Although theirs were definitely not faux suede…)

3. Zaney in black by Madden Girl. I’m on the fence about these. Might be too Eighties, and I hate the Eighties. But I dig the side snaps. And they were only $70 smackers, so no big deal.

Because I was completely in a panicked rush, I didn’t try on any actual shoes. (I have tiny feet, and shoes are always much trickier for me than boots.) So I intend to either head back down to Orchard Street for some more power-shopping, or take my chances online with these:

4. Chelsea Boots in black by Marais. Sharp, right? With the wood heel, they remind me of those Swedish Hasbeens clogs, only comfier. Actually, in brown, they’re even more Swedish Hasbeen-y.

And / Or:

5. Ricky K Boot from Novacas. These are a lot like the little Isabel Marant cowboy booties that the fashion world swoons over.

And something with a bit of heel or wedge, comme ça:

6. Echo Boot in black by Big Buddha. A little Prada Sport-y and après ski-ish.

7. Fantizy Boot in black by Madden Girl. I like the toe peep. I’d like to think I can still rock a tiny bit of toe-peep, especially if the rest of me is bundled up.

The good news: I have schmancy events on my calendar.

The bad news: I may have to go barefoot.

I’ve mentioned a few million times that I avoid leather, right? Because of the critters?

Which doesn’t mean that I’m tossing my beloved Chanel “Jumbo Classic” bag that Hubby gifted me with one Xmas, or the many other lovely purses in my collection that were acquired before I got a clue.

It just means that I don’t buy anything new made from leather, fur or sheepskin. Wait, sheepskin is fur. Anyway, you know what I mean. I’m a cruelty-free fashion consumer.

And right now, I’m a cruelty-free fashion consumer who is having a total effing panic attack because she has back-to-back shindigs tomorrow and doesn’t have a single decent pair of fall-appropriate footwear.

This is the time of year that drives me utterly bananas. It’s too late to wear sandally, summery fare. Because even if it’s 100 degrees outside, that s–t just looks tired. And it’s really too early for boots, too.

Yup, circa-right-this-second, it’s time for straight-up shoes.

And how is it, exactly, that I don’t own any right now? It must be because I went straight from clomping around in boots all spring to clomping around in sandals all summer. And since I’m not the best planner-aheader, I blew off shopping for proper shoes until the last second.

This weekend, knowing I had shindigs coming up, I headed to mall with the Wee Lass to try to rectify the situation. She, of course, scored two pairs of super-cute sneaks, including these Converse with multi-colored tongues. Adorable.

And I came home empty-handed. Why? Because finding non-leather shoes that you’d actually be excited to wear is crazy challenging.

That’s why I wrote to the guys behind Matt & Nat – purveyors of incredible vegan bags – yesterday, literally begging them to make shoes and boots. It’s on their To Do list, they assured me. And they hope to get to it in the next few years.

What about tomorrow, Matt & Nat? Aren’t you worried about my shoe-less feet?

I’m sure I’ll get through it all somehow. But not with the confidence I’d have if I were wearing really cool shoes.

I need a plan. I need to stop waiting until the last second and coming home from the mall empty-handed. I need an entire wardrobe of cruelty-free shoes and boots that I love. And I need them NOW.

If I’ve ever doubted my husband’s intelligence (and Hubby, if you’re reading this, I never ever have), the fact that he CAN. NOT. STAND. to go to Target with me and the Wee Lass should be ample proof that he’s one of the smartest dudes around. Because while he just wants to dash in, grab the 12-pack of Bounty and the 20-pound bag of Iam’s Hairball Control kitty food and get on with his life, she and I could happily spend hours there.

And one day earlier this week, we did precisely that. I didn’t clock it or anything, but trust me, we were there a verrry long time.

Ostensibly, the purpose of the trek was to get the tot-lette a “get well” present, because I’d kept her out of camp for the day due to a slight fever she’d had the night before. But very quickly, I got side-tracked by the ever-growing $1 department and these cute little plastic totes I couldn’t resist. “I need one for my knitting,” I said, tossing a gray one in the cart. “And these hot pink and teal numbers for your room and playspace.”

Next it was off to women’s clothing (a navy Mossimo Boyfriend Pocket Tee had my name written all over it, especially for a miniscule 5 smackers), then lingerie, where I scored several of my new favorite bras (the super-comfy Warner’s Simply Perfect and stretchy Hanes for working out).

Then I had a mini panic attack when I saw approximately 8 million really great-looking pleather bags in the accessories department. Since I avoid leather, I’m always on the hunt for purses crafted from nylon and other synthetic materials. And for fall, Target has a truly kick-ass collection.

Especially impressive: the new Linea Pelle styles in pebbled pleather that are genuinely chic and rich-looking. I had such a hard time picking just one (and I’m sure I’ll be sneaking back for more), but finally settled on this roomy tote with nailhead trim. Love me some nailhead trim. In fact, our living room furniture is plush burgundy velvet with nailhead trim. Okay, getting off-topic now…

At this point, the Wee Lass was getting her tiny knickers in a twist. “I thought this trip was for me,” she said. “But it seems like it’s all about you.”

So off we went to the toys, where she procured yet another Barbie to add to her massive collection. This one is like Animal Rescuer Barbie, so given how much time I’d just lavished on the cruelty-free handbags, there was a certain lovely symmetry to her choice.

Along with several other utilitarian items I won’t tax your weary mama-brain with (new lunch box, thermos, etc.), I was drawn like a moth to a flame to the SATC boxed set in the DVD section. “Momover Lady,” it cooed from the shelf, where it was encased in scary wire because it’s a bit on the pricey side. “You know you want me.”

After working my way through a short internal debate (“It’s a lot o’ dough. I can watch most of the episodes for free on HBO Go. I’m not even working right now.”), I remembered the 48-hour rule. You know – that old saw about giving yourself two full days to really consider a purchase before diving in and cracking open the ol’ wallet.

Well, I’d been wanting that collection for years. 48 hours times a million.

So into the cart it went. “Wee Lass,” I said. “Dad’s gonna kill me.”

I was not a happy camper after filing yesterday’s gloomy blog post about all the damn (white) meat and dairy I’ve been gobbling lately. But then a bolt of lightning – or at least a way to assuage some of my guilt – arrived via the U.S. Postal Service.

Cracking open my WWD, I headed straight to the story about Alexander McQueen’s will, and the masses of money he left to his own pets, as well as several UK-based animal welfare organizations, including Battersea Dogs & Cats Home and The Blue Cross.

I was really touched by that. So much so that it emboldened me to rip open another piece of mail that arrived in tandem – a donation solicitation from Dogtown. The woof-woof arm of Best Friends Animal Society (that ginormous no-kill critter kingdom in the Utah desert that my sister and I intend to volunteer for when we’re old and gray), Dogtown looks like a pretty fun and wonderful place for these poor rescued pups to chillax. A “real” home would be better, of course, but at least they seem very well taken care of.

And I want to help. So that’s why I just cut checks to Best Friends and the following other groups:

Farm Sanctuary

Defenders of Wildlife

The Jane Goodall Institute

Granted, they aren’t Alexander McQueen-sized donations. And they’re just a fraction of the organizations that reach out to me with heartbreaking solicitations every week.

But I feel a little bit better now. Every nickel counts, even if it’s from a fallen vegan wannabe like me.

Gads, I’m wracked with diet guilt. Not only have I been eating chicken and turkey lately (why? why? why?), but I’ve also been a big ol’ dairy queen. In fact, I think we may have actually dined at an actual Dairy Queen during Road Trip 2011.

As someone who loves critters, I am not thrilled about this situation. Even the dairy, which is theoretically a byproduct, has put a massive guilt-bee in my bonnet. Although I’d like to believe that there’s such a thing as a humane dairy farm, I don’t think one really, truly exists. As I scrutinized the Horizon egg carton in our fridge the other night, I was hoping the fact that they say they give their chicks plenty of room to roam means they do in fact do that.

But how could I know?

Anyway, I figure that if I can’t critter-guilt my way back to my vegan-wannabe ways (and I’m sure I can if I read enough depressing chapters from my vast library of vegan cookbooks and such), I can definitely health-guilt my way into more optimal food choices.

Allow me to connect the dots in my usual round-about, mind-racing-at-a-million-miles-an-hour Momover way:

Because it’s summer, I’ve been slathering the Wee Lass with sunblock. Which led me to thinking about my own multiple skin cancer scares, which led me to thinking about redoubling my efforts to balance my pH level.

Although there’s debate about this in the medical community, a balanced pH level is considered – by many health gurus and holistic practitioners – to be one of cancer’s worst enemies.

Soooo…I fired off an email query to Dr. Susan Blum, one of my Mama Gurus and my unofficial integrative wellness mentor. Are there any easy, do-able shifts I can make to tilt my pH level in a more alkalinic / less acidic direction?

“Eat less animal,” Dr. Blum shot back, “and more vegetables and vegetarian proteins” such as beans and legumes (and even some grains and fruits).

Grrr…had she installed a hidden camera in my kitchen???

There was more to our conversation, which I’ll share with you tomorrow, along with other tips. But right now, I have to go pick up my little meat-lover from day camp.

Okay, so it’s grainy. If you want the slick, vibrant-color version, trot on over to your local newsstand (or open your mailbox) and procure the latest issue of O.

So why, precisely, of the millions of images I see as I flip through my towering stack of magazines, did this one hit me like a tsunami?

A few reasons: One, I want to find that chubby, furry woof-woof and squeeze the pudding out of him. Two, that young girl just looks like the essence of kind-heartedness, and that’s exactly what I’m hoping for for the Wee Lass.

She’s already sweet, mind you, but kind? Kind takes time. Kind takes a little bit of life experience. Kind takes exposure to the not-great stuff in our world so we can learn to be grateful for what we have. And while she’s on her way, the Wee Lass ain’t quite there yet.

But here’s why this pic really stopped me in my tracks: It’s attached to a story about the New York chapter of Unleashed, and its remarkable program that trains middle school girls to recruit foster families for stray dogs, like the unspeakably delicious fluff-ball shown here.

At the risk of sounding far too crunchy for 6 a.m. on a Thursday, the story – and of course the picture – totes made me realize just how much I’m not “living my values.”

Sure, I write checks to the many, many animal welfare organizations pelting me with heart-breaking solicitations.

But I need to really get in there and actively help. And cuddle. And flex my kind-heartedness muscles so the Wee Lass will take note and hop right on board alongside Mommy.