Eat carbs. Eat butter. Eat cream. Eat cake. Eat bacon. Eat chocolate (!).

Let me guess, you are thinking: Wait! Didn’t she recently mention she was one set of final exams away from a degree in Nutrition? And isn’t she just ten frenzied months of internship away from being a registered dietitian? What is this?! A dietitian *slash* butter advocate. Gasp!

Though I might spend much of my professional day promoting increased veggie intake, I stand firmly in my conviction that you should eat what you love and love what you eat. And in doing this you can be healthy and happy and fit. Take a look at so many foodie folks; food bloggers, writers, chefs, and food critics alike - people who eat for a living - who stay trim while regularly whipping up rich, delectable, lip-smacking treats. Yes, you can have your cake and your size 6 (or 14, or 2 or whatever size you are comfortable at) jeans, too.

It took me four years of studying what we should eat, to come to the conclusion that we should simply just eat. Food is such an insane pleasure. Everything to do with it - squeezing mangoes and sniffing herbs in the market, discovering new recipes that inspire your imagination, moments spent in the kitchen chopping and seasoning and creating something wonderful, sharing a scrumptious dessert straight from your oven, the sheer delight of biting into something delicious … Food is just one of the richest human experiences.

So, for that reason, I will share with you the most riveting yet simplistic revelation born of my nutrition education joint with my feverish love for edibles. Are you ready? Here it is: Eat what you love. Stop when you are satisfied.

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Cool completely before slicing. I am bad at that. In fact, in my pre-blogging life, I don’t think I ever once obeyed that rule. Other rules I am bad at obeying include: cool completely before frosting, cool completely before churning in your ice cream maker, cool completely before dipping in chocolate, allow the pan to cool completely before making the next batch, cool completely before topping with sugar and torching up a delicious, crackly, burnt caramel crust. It’s torture!

I just don’t possess the self control to allow something tempting to sit there, wafting away its warm deliciousness, while I bite my nails and make myself busy trying to distract myself from the call of the fresh something, sitting on top of my stove. I may be completely cool myself, but “cool completely” is still usually beyond my reach. Read More

I’m not known for my patience in the kitchen. Just ask my mother who spent many years firmly insisting that the oven not be used like a microwave (which did little to stop my hungry teenage self from cranking it to 500 degrees in hopes of enjoying my frozen pizza in 3 minutes or less). I blame this lack of patience for my previous failed attempts at making crunchy oatmeal cookies. The occasional cookie recipe says to bake them for 18-20 minutes… but who can wait that long? Cookies are only supposed to take 8-12 minutes! It actually took me several tries at playing around with ingredients - using white sugar instead of brown, using a higher butter-to-flour ratio, etc. - before I had a duh moment and realized that the crunchiness potential exists in every cookie, if you just leave leave it in the oven long enough.

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When I was an exchange student in Belgium, my best friend was Hannah from Australia. Hannah told me stories of inside-out seasons (Christmas on the beach?! That could blow a Canadian girl’s mind!), taught me important exchange-student life skills (like which Belgian beers were the strongest, and how to stuff your rapidly expanding exchange-student ass into your tiny pants), and introduced me the Australian delights of Tim Tams, Anzac biscuits, and Pavlova. I make Pavlova on occasion, and always think lovingly of my favorite Aussie, somewhere out there on the upside-down side of the world.

Pavlova is a traditional to Australians and New Zealanders that was apparently created in honour of the ballerina Anna Pavlova, when she toured in those parts. It is basically a delicate mountain of whipped meringue. After being baked under low heat, the outside shell gets crunchy, the top gets browned, but the inside stays chewy and soft - like creamy fresh marshmallow. It then gets piled high with softly whipped cream and fresh fruit. The result is dreamy, with the consistency of a cream-smothered cloud. Read More

Over the Christmas holidays, my sweetie took me on an exciting trip to the big city, NYC. We walked and walked and walked, and we ate and ate and ate, (and we froze and froze and froze). I made the mistake of bringing only my Vancouver-weather rubber boots to stomp around in. Did you know that uninsulated rubber boots act as individual foot refrigerators in cold weather, the way they trap and recirculate damp, frigid air? So because of my silly choice of footwear, we froze. And because we froze, we ate - for every few blocks we walked, we had to stop in somewhere to warm up. We found all kinds of little hole-in-the wall shops and cafes where we were happy to munch on cupcakes, rice pudding, cardamom coffee, dosas, thin-crust pizzas… As far as problems go, this one was rather favorable, the freezing necessitating the eating - my tummy was happy enough to more than make up for my toes’ misery.

One of my favorite places we stumbled into to thaw our extremities was a little tea house called Alice’s Tea Cup in the upper west side. The entrance was just like a descent into the rabbit hole, and the inside was magically decorated with twinkly lights, keyhole windows, stained glass, and antiques. They had a multiple-page menu of teas and a selection of sweets to accompany them, including a variety of fresh scones with cream and fruit preserves. I hungrily devoured a warm strawberry-chocolate scone, piled with sweet whipped cream. And it was so scrumptious that it has been on my mind ever since.

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