Promises, Chickens, Pigs, and Bees

Ahh McDonald's. There is nothing like a double cheeseburger meal. I debated over an hour and half, while doing laundry at the laundromat, whether I would cave and get McDick's or go home and eat some thing healthy. Well, I caved. And didn't feel so great about it. I'm thinking of starting a record of sorts on my blog of foods/bad eating habits I have given up and good foods/cooking practices that I have taken on. A couple weeks ago I made a promise to myself that I will no longer eat chicken, unless I know for sure that the chicken was unmedicated and happy. Truly, free-range happy. So far, I've kept it, with one hiccup. I was baking a chicken breast for my boyfriend the other day and I had a teensy bite, simply to double-check that it was done. Taking all of this back to McDick's, all I could think about while eating the burger was how unhappy, unhealthy, lethargic, and tortured the cow was that gave me this beef. Thus, second promise: I will no longer eat beef, unless I know, I mean really know that the cow was unmedicated, on all-vegetarian feed, and was happy, truly happy. How I can possibly feel good about myself if the animals that died for me to eat and survive didn't feel good during their life? All I want is to have chickens in my backyard, own a pot-bellied pig, and raise bees. Seriously. I don't want to be a farmer, but I want to raise happy and healthy bees, pigs, and chickens. I wouldn't kill the pigs or chickens either. The chickens would provide me some eggs and I would just play with the pigs.
So, anyone who possibly reads this blog, keep me to my promises: no chicken or beef, unless I KNOW, I mean really really know, that they were unmedicated, really happy, free-range, raised on all vegetarian feed, and were raised well and ethically.

Fat

Some weeks just aren't that good when it comes to my diet. Really not good. Not good at all. I seem to have this problem, you see. A compulsion. If I have cash, I will spend it. I will spend it on food. Bad food usually. Think McDonald's, coke (the drink, not the drug. well maybe it's both. that's up for debate.), chips, pizza. In the last four days I have had five pieces of pizza and McDonald's. That is horrible for me. You might say, Jess come on, that's nothing. But lest we forget, you're talking to a walking talking gluten, wheat, and yeast allergy here. And well, pizza and McDonald's are havens for that dreaded trio. The Three Musketeers, out to burn a hole in my wallet and my stomach. :( Blech.
The worst thing is is that I ate the McDonald's today as a lame attempt at curing an emotion: anger. Anger that the doctor's office fucked up my appointment and now I'm not coming in until next week. Good thing those ear drops DID work. Lucky. Lucky. Really it shouldn't have pissed me off that much. Really, what did I have planned for today that was sooo important? Oh. Eating McDonald's. That must have been it.
But it's true, in all seriousness, that that is my financial flaw. I have pretty good self-control financially; I spend money on rent, modest bills, and groceries. Seriously. That's it. I don't have money for anything else. Ah food. Honestly, to be a food critic is obviously the perfect job for me.
Needless to say, the McDonald's didn't make me feel better. I still feel like screaming and punching a hole in the wall. Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. I just did that, out loud. I feel a bit better. Kind of giddy, kind of a scratchy throat too. Anyways, this has just been a rant post, most obviously.
What's on the menu this weekend: working at two farmers' markets, zing! Making Cranberry Pomegranate sauce and maybe an apple pie tomorrow for Thanksgiving dinner on Sunday. I'll post the recipes. The former is so easy: cranberries, pinch of salt, pomegranate juice, and red seedless grapes. Add heat. Done.
See ya on the flip side. When I'm less of a pill.