But also diet things. Like, any and all diet things.  I think we can thank the ’80s for most things “diet” and “lite”, as well as for acid wash denim and the surge of needlessly long guitar solos that make most songs too awkward for karaoke.

My defenses against these fears are, first, keep a healthy stock of doctor-friendly underwear, and second, combat the diet fad by making my junk food the way the food gods intended: full fat, full flavor, no shame.

Like this ridiculous wheat-, dairy-, egg-, gluten-, and sugar-free chocolate cream pie, for instance:

Chocolate cream pie is probably my favorite thing in the world, just before rubbing puppy bellies and after Youtube videos of babies eating lemons. I just don’t buy it often because it’s chock full of stuff I just don’t want in my food. Like chemical sweeteners, sub-par ingredients and the grubby fingers of waitresses at The Village Inn.

The crust is made of pecans and dates, the filling is made from cocoa, dates, avocados and vanilla, and the whipped cream? Coconut milk and raw honey. (Though, for full disclosure,  I used pastured cream to make the whipped cream for the sake of aesthetics. Because I’m shallow.)

You read that ingredient list, right?

• Avocado
• Dates
• Pecans
• Cocoa
• Vanilla
• Coconut milk (or pastured cream)
• Raw honey

Das it! No shenanigans going on here; nothing diet, just normal foods with healthy fats and real flavor. Want to know why? Because diets are the cause of tragedies. Diets are the cause of the ebola virus** and high-waisted mom jeans. I’ll let you decide which one’s worse.

**The author is told to clearly note that this is an alleged allegation, which relieves him of any legal liabilities brought forth by diet foods or the highly gullible. The mom jeans bit is true, though. So…you know, watch out. Because diets WILL GIVE YOU DYSENTERY.***

***Also alleged…ly an awful thing to experience. So don’t eat diet foods.

PALEO CHOCOLATE CREAM PIE

©2013 Yum and Yummer. All Rights Reserved.

So why the quotes anyway? Potatoes are pretty straight forward; it’s either a potato or it isn’t. While this recipe falls under the isn’t, it’s also under might as well be, and here’s why….

I’ve been primarily making them with celery root (celeriac), which is comparable in delicousness given it’s subtle celery flavor with strong potato likeness, but also a little better for you. I won’t get too sciency here, but here’s the ADHD-special science breakdown: lower calories, lower carbs, equal amount of fiber and badger peepee. Were you paying attention?

Celery root by itself is amazing, except for the part where you’ll have to turn tricks on your off time to afford it. Celery root is kind of expensive, so I usually bulk it up with another root vegetable, like, say, parsnips. Here’s where I’d usually add a little anecdote about parsnips, but I’m feeling lazy and there is literally nothing funny about parsnips. Seriously, nothing.

Remove the weird center part of the parsnips or you’ll REGRET EVERYTHING.

For those of you who follow me on Instagram, Twitter, or Facebook, you’ve probably noticed a growing trend of paleo recipes popping up in my repertoire. Or you didn’t because you’re not following me on any of those sites, which is just nonsense.

I won’t use this post to go deep into the reasons behind why I’m eating so many paleo foods these last few months, but suffice it to say my body has responded favorably to foods I’ve been giving it, and I feel awesome. Like dogs riding on unicycles awesome. Like, my colon is feelin’ so fine it HIGH FIVED ME awesome. And then I washed my hands in very hot water.

CELERY ROOT & PARSNIP MASHED “POTATOES”

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BEHOLD. A gluten-free chocolate chip cookie that looks, feels and tastes like a REAL CHOCOLATE CHIP COOKIE. None of this crumbly, dry, flavorless nonsense. I would take this cookie to bed and call it the next morning.

The basis of the recipe comes from the most bomb-ass recipe for almond flour chocolate chip cookies found at Meaningful Eats. The cookies are moist, chewy, and, just like yours truly, are pretty much perfect in every way possible. For weeks I’ve been scribbling “Kerry + These Chocolate Chip Cookies 4 Eva” on my notepads. I seriously couldn’t say one bad thing about this recipe if I tried.

Except for one very minor detail: Because they are made with almond flour, and because almond flour can be fickle and brittle, they didn’t really hold up very well over time. Which really isn’t an issue for me, because I can usually pack away cookies like a pro (two dozen in one hour once – time me!). But not everyone is as determined as I am to eat ALL the cookies, so many may notice that by the next day the cookies become a little crumbly and worse for wear, albeit still ridiculously delicious.

So the first change I made was using coconut butter in place of coconut oil and butter. Coconut butter is coconut flesh and oil that’s been pureed together, and the paleo community has a massive collective boner for this stuff. Coconut fats are full of medium chain triglycerides which contribute to calcium absorption, cancer defense, metabolic increase, energy storage, a reduction in sugar cravings and pretty fly-looking skin.  If there’s one thing worthy of a pants salute, it’s coconut butter.

The pureed coconut flesh gives the cookies a little more foundation and keeps the shape up over time, and the coconut flavor ends up being subdued by the rest of the cookie. And they are still moist

And for those of you with various food restrictions, there are many ways to alter the recipe to fit your specific diet. BEHOLD! AGAIN!

• Veganize it: Replace chocolate chips with cacao nibs or vegan chocolate chips (such as EnjoyLife brand), replace egg with egg substitute!

• Paleo-ize it: Replace chocolate chips with cacao nibs, replace sugar with maple syrup or molasses!

• Allergies to almonds? Use coconut flour instead! (and use all coconut oil and NO coconut butter)

• Allergies to coconut? Use regular butter instead!

• Allergies to coconuts AND almonds? Eat a banana instead!

BOMB-ASS GLUTEN FREE CHOCOLATE CHIP COOKIES

©2013 Yum and Yummer. All Rights Reserved.

I don’t really cook offal. Or eat offal. And it’s not that I’m not an adventurous eater, it’s just…have you seen what sweetbreads look like?

Certain things just make me severely uncomfortable, like gory movies and the palpable air of certain doom that follows the elderly. Or being trusted to hold small children. They’re just so breakable and I’m so very clumsy.

Offal doesn’t really make me feel all that much different.

Heart meat is a little weird, but since many people in the States seem to have the same feelings about it, it’s ridiculously cheap to get. It’s very meaty, a little tough, and is as purple as a newborn, but jam packed with minerals and nutrients, as well as a having a high density of a chemical compound known to reduce heart disease, scare off cancer and prolong life, otherwise known as CoQ10. That’s the same stuff made in pill form and sold for cash money millions.

But let me say it again: heart meat is kind of weird. Some people claim it to be a poor man’s steak, saying the taste to be indiscernible from more expensive cuts. Do not engage with these people. They are goddamn liars.

Though I’d rather go for short ribs, flank, tenderloin or other cuts of beef, heart definitely isn’t the worst cut you can find. Don’t take my review at face value, though. Many people love it! Most of whom have questionable tastes and should not be trusted with sharp objects.

Then again, I’ve had worse. In France I ordered a large helping of andouillette thinking it was andouille just spelled wrong. Spoiler alert: It’s not.  Instead of delicious, smoked sausage (andouille), you get pig intestines filled with pig intestines (andouillette). It was like Inception, except with pig asshole instead of dreams.

Truthfully, there is a slight but discernible sweet and coppery/livery taste to heart, but I almost expected that given its former full time job. If you like your meat with a somewhat earthy, meaty taste, you might enjoy grilled, roasted or braised heart meat by itself. The rest of us can reap the nutritional benefits of this cheap cut of meat by blending it into standard ground beef on a 1:3 ratio. For burgers, I would avoid going beyond a 1:2 ratio, otherwise the taste may be overwhelming, and the lack of fat makes for one dry sonofabeef.

SMOKY BEEF HEART SLIDERS with SPINACH-BACON AIOLI

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But this post isn’t about beavers or puppies, it’s about poutine (pronounced POOH-TIN — Thanks Johr!). Poutine is a Quebecois dish that is French fries, brown gravy and cheese curds. Dreamy, right?

The first time I heard about poutine was during small talk with a shapeless, rectangular Canadian man with a gruff voice and friendly disposition. He clapped his hands together excitedly and told me that he loved it, but hadn’t had good poutine since he’d been home years prior.

Just then a little girl ran up to him for a hug and was all like, “hi Grandma!” I winced and wished I’d just catch on fire because I’d called her sir like, 4 times. Which, to my credit, though I may be stepping all over sensitive gender boundaries like a landmine laced field, I have to say one thing: Wearing baggy flannel and having thick upper lip stubble is grounds for innocently being called sir. And instead of condemning my presumptions I think I should be congratulated for my southern manners.

And sure, I know hormones go wonky later in life, adding beards to broads and boobs to dudes, but I think just means that in the end we’re all just as sexually unappealing as the day we arrived. Which is kind of comforting. And…has nothing at all to do with poutine.

Hey, I have a distracting idea! Let me teach you how to make French fries from sweet potatoes! (Note: Brandon said the pictures below look like wood and accused them of not “looking real.” It’s not wood. It’s a sweet potato. A real sweet potato. Because we’re making french fries, not Pinocchio.)

First, peel your sweet potato and cut in half by its width, not lengthwise.

Place the potato cut-side-down and cut it down the middle.

Lay the potato down lengthwise and cut into slices ¼ inch wide.

Next, lay the slices down and cut lengthwise every ¼ inch into individual fries.

Place on a baking sheet or within a cast iron skillet and bake those suckers at 425 for 20 minutes!

For the gravy you will get the best results with beef, veal or mushroom stock, but chicken and vegetable stock are great alternatives.

Now, cheese curds are a bit difficult to find in some places, but if you’re lucky (as I am) you have Amish purveyors nearby that have the world’s best cheese curds. If you aren’t so lucky, you can use chunks of white cheddar cheese, or mozzarella in a pinch.

If you’re a blog-skimmer, this is probably the only line you’ll read so let me summarize: poutine is delicious. Make your own French fries. Verify ownership of a penis before calling someone a “sir.”

That about covers everything.

SWEET POTATO POUTINE

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We’ve been arguing for years, and in its seething resentment toward me, I’ve found that breads and pastas weigh like a ton in my stomach and the aftermath of eating chocolate is like a dull kick to the vagina. And if my stomach were a man I WOULD FIGHT IT.

After a few years of this nonsense, my stomach and I reached a stalemate and I decided to treat it nicely for a few months so we can come to an understanding. Which means I have a Russian novel of restrictions including no sugar, minimal fat, no caffeine, no dairy, no alcohol, onions, garlic, citrus and oh my god, I’m legitimately crying right now.

But because I’m a thug, I’ve been adapting to my new relationship with food just like Alcoholics Anonymous or people with bad haircuts: one day at a time.  I’ve even found a favorite snack to quell my insatiable sweet tooth while my stomach mends: Larabars.

Have you heard of these? These Larabars? They’re gluten, dairy, soy and wheat free and non-GMO, with their primary ingredients being dates and almonds. And at almost $2 a pop in some stores, they aren’t exactly cheap. But I am, so I make my own. Depending upon what brand of ingredients you buy, the below recipe comes out to around $0.65-0.75 per bar. Go get a taco with those savings!

So, come. Follow me and let me teach you my frugal ways.

*You can replace the coconut with other dried fruits or chocolate or various nuts or anything you want! Use this as a starting place for your own date nut bars*

COCONUT DATE BARS

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My initial vision for this dish was a tiny quail on a soft bed of wild rice, roasted with a spicy lime quail egg mayo. The poultry lady at the store looked confused and offered up her assistance, “so…you mean you want a Cornish hen?”

I was exhausted. After running around town and coming up empty, I the bitter sense of defeat lingered over my head like an Acme anvil attached to an unthreaded rope. I let out an exasperated sigh that may have come off as rude, which I recognized immediately, and offered up a smile to offset the sigh before throwing my hands in the air and saying, “ok, lady! Take me to your Cornish hens!”

The bird sat in my hands, being two sizes too big. How dare it? I dropped it unceremoniously into the basket and covered it with a box of trash bags. If I was going to be stuck with this bird, I might as well let it know I wasn’t happy.

Throwing a cooking party with birds twice the size of what I wanted them threw a wrench in my plan, which is why I took my kitchen shears and sliced that Cornish hen in half, scary movie style. I haven’t yet desensitized myself to hacking up chicken carcasses, even though I do it on the regular, and having these birds with such brittle bones makes it feel so weird. It makes me feel gigantic. I can only assume this is how Paul Bunyan felt when chopping trees. Except with chickens.

But it usually takes me a while to desensitize myself to things anyway. For instance, I’ve been watching birthing videos on YouTube trying to get used to the idea that babies aren’t actually grown in cabbage patches.

My plan was to start with the birth of something tiny – a mouse, maybe – and gradually work my way up to bigger things, like a slightly larger mouse. At that size the animal isn’t large enough to make out the actual horror of birth. But still, I feel like I’m progressing.

She and her missing ovaries are sensitive to birth talk.

I guess I should now mention that I’ve had the worst case of writer’s block these last few weeks, and this post is an exercise in writing whatever comes to my mind to break the barrier. It’s like my brain had too much cheese to eat and now can’t go number 2. Wait, no…I didn’t write that.

Pro-tip: for the mayonnaise mixture, you can use either homemade or store bought, but take extra care not to use Miracle Whip. Miracle Whip isn’t mayonnaise. It’s the second sign of the end of days.

The first is not being able to find quail.

BAKED LIME-MAYO CHICKEN

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It wasn’t until Thursday that a single lump of pumpkin gnocchi smothered in a viscous maple beurre blanc found itself lodged in my throat with nobody around to help but the cat, who looked neither concerned nor impressed, that I caught on: Pumpkin means danger.

But thinking of those children starving in various multisyllabic faraway countries, whom I’ve dubiously been told would be happy to eat a variety of oddly-prepared, ill-fated foods I rejected growing up, I side-eyed my remaining pumpkin puree and sighed. Stuck halfway between duty and hazard, I broke out the puree, which of course meant only one thing: I was probably going to catch dysentery.

Except I instead got risotto.

Risotto is one of those swanky sides that is served at highly inflated prices in restaurants and assumed to be difficult to prepare when technically, it’s one of the easiest and economically, one of the cheapest.

The entire time I spent in Italy I avoided risottos with the same fervor used to avoid abrasive close-talkers. I refuse to spend $17 on a dish that costs me half that for a four-plate serving and is simple to make. REFUSE. CAPITAL. LETTERS.

It’s my go-to dish when I’m in a pinch and have ingredients needing to be used up, and when I concede to being chained to the stove for a half hour, because with risotto, you can’t leave or move away from the stove. You are stuck stirring until that rice is done, and if you quit stirring even for a minute, you may as well start all over. But once you’ve finished, it all becomes worth it.

Unless you have my pumpkin curse, then maybe you should just get a burger instead.

PUMPKIN RISOTTO

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were gruesome displays of violent gore.

Of scenes very bloody and horrors untold

where bodies-turned-dishes were eaten and sold.

Dozens went missing, the young and the old,

and none of them knew how their end would unfold:

The town’s chef would claim a victim or two

and put them in dishes that gained rave reviews.

From braised Susan biscuits and Tommy pot pies,

He’d serve up roast Lisa with Yukon gold fries.

Unknowing town’s people had come from afar

to try out a piece of chef’s deep fried Lamar.

More disappeared but not one suspected

that the friendly chef had been so connected.

Now with his recipes feeling inert,

the chef went to making a winning dessert.

He made puddings and custards, trying in vain

to concoct a flaming souffle from Anne’s brain.

Unimpressed customers left in thick droves,

out of ideas, the chef wept at his stove.

But suddenly chef had come up with a plan,

and grabbed for a rusty old spoon and a pan.

Chef mixed up flour, milk, sugar and egg,

and boiled up blood, stirring it with a leg.

Tossed in the oven, chef shouted with glee,

at his plan for his latest victim, Henry.

Set to 350 he began to bake

a bright, bloody red velvet slaughter cake.

The droves all came back with their forks and their knives,

to eat chef’s new cake, all while risking their lives.

Chef looked at the guests for a victim, but who?

You’d better watch out, because it might be you.

RED VELVET SLAUGHTER CAKE

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But sure, I guess it’s that time of year again: Pumpkin time.

Not to sound like a negative turd, but I’m glad that pumpkins are only really revered one month out of the year. We puree their flesh and fold it into pies, roast the seeds that send sharp shards tumbling down our throats, and then whittle their hollow bodies them into jagged-toothed monsters or squint-eyed Bill Cosby effigies. Which means that not only are pumpkins everywhere, but they now also have eyes and are watching you always.

Still, even though the endless pumpkin-flavored everything exhausts me, I’m not completely immune to its lure. When the season comes around I take to them like an eager fist to the face of slackjawed yokels, but never for the obvious uses. Honestly, I don’t think I’ve ever made a pumpkin pie in my life, and I’m completely comfortable with that.

But I did make another kind of pie: spicy chicken sausage pizza pie with a pumpkin-sage cream sauce.

I’m a little obsessed with making pizza. Or maybe just eating pizza, I’m not sure, but somewhere along the process there’s an obsession. I like the smell of the yeasty dough while being kneaded by Bruce, my chartreuse KitchenAid mixer and cooking copilot. I like the crispy crust layered with a thin hull of salt and garlic. And the sage…

Sage has become a recent favorite of mine. It’s pungent and bitter, and to eat it by itself might make you wonder if you just ate poison, but it also gives sauces a new dimension of flavor. When in Italy I would walk up to the fresh herb stalls in center city Bologna semiweekly and ask the vendors for large bushels of sage, which were sold for pennies on the euro, and would be used in a few day’s time.

Brandon and I like to joke about the first time I bought sage in the Bolognese market. I asked the herb lady, “avete salma fresca?” thinking I was really smooth with my rehearsed Italian. Except I wasn’t, because instead of asking for sage I’d asked if she had any fresh corpses. Which was reassuring knowing my socially awkward tendencies transcended all language boundaries.

But then there’s the massive amount of Fontina cheese. I use Fontina because it’s mild and buttery, but also because it melts really well, so your pizza ends up coming out of the oven looking like those stringy cheesy pizzas on cartoons. The amount I throw on could choke a horse and deregulate even the most resilient bowels, but is it worth it? I mean, do I really even need to ask?

So while they’re available, I do TRY and take full advantage of pumpkins before they slip away into post-seasonal obscurity (or before I tire of their omnipresence and creepy jack o’lantern smiles that follow me down and around the block, whichever comes first), but come November 30^st, their exit won’t illicit many tears from me.

PUMPKIN SAGE & SPICY SAUSAGE PIZZA

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