dot/not feather.

Back on the trail and back on our feet in the kitchen. The boy and I have been adjusting to his work schedule, plans for moving, and ramping up of training. This weekend we had a lot on our plates, both literally and figuratively.

On Saturday we determined we needed to be out the door by 8:40 am to be in time for a very important brunch date we had at the Flying Biscuit later. I came to this time with this logic:

11:00 am brunch - 20 min for travel time - 20 min for shower and get ready to roll - 10 min travel time - 1 hour 20 min run - 10 min travel time. I actually articulated this timeline before we went to sleep and I set my alarm for 8:30. Somehow, even with my ridiculously meticulous timing, we were still 7 minutes late for brunch.

First of all. To begin with. Just to start out. Let me tell you - running at 8:40 am on a warm and muggy Saturday in August is pretty stupid. I don't care what the weatherliar says. Forget what the app on your phone says. Ignore the temperature guage on your dashboard... they all lie. It may look like 88 degrees but they are not counting the thick layer of sweat and yuck you will quickly accumulate - adding a layer of insulation that makes 88 degrees feel like a steam room so thick with humid air that breathing is a legit struggle.

But... extra minutes of sleep have been few and far between lately so we made the conscious decision to be stupid and run at 8:40 am. Besides its obvious discomfort... the run was actually not too bad. I felt myself picking it up almost subconsciously around 5.5 miles when I made the turnaround and once I realized what I was doing... it was too late. I was pushing it. I was seeing just how much I could take. How much harder can my feet fall? How efficient can I get this stride? How fast can I get to that next mile marker? By the time I had two miles to go I was playing mind games. I told myself that whatever pace I was running, it was surely slower than my marathon pace so I better get used to it. In reality, I was probably running a good 20 seconds under marathon pace and should have told my unrealistic self to shove it... but instead I convinced myself that I needed to prove I could go this hard for the next two miles or ELSE. Or else I would never be able to do 26.2 at a similar foxtrot.

The things we tell ourselves.

This is what separates runners. There are those who go out and love it. There are others that roll themselves out of the house and prepare themselves to hate it. Then there are still others who absolutely love to hate it. I find myself drifting around in these categories that are much more like a spectrum than little boxes.

So we ran. And we sweat. And we burned some calories... so we were more than ready for our brunch date with friends. I ordered the sausage gravy and eggs... a delectable morning feast of scrambled eggs on a fluffy biscuit smothered with a southern favorite: sausage gravy. The boy got his usual black bean cakes with eggs covered with tomatilla salsa and chunks of feta. He ogled my biscuits. I ogled his cakes. We did what we do best... we shared.

And then we made our way to Charlotte's First Ward to sign our lease on the condo that will so soon be home. To celebrate, we had planned an indian dinner for two at his place.

There is something about indian grocery stores that makes my heart just go all a-pit-a-patter. We walked into a little grocery on Independence and I was in heaven. Strolling up and down the aisles I couldn't stop exclaiming over every little package of some favorite from my study abroad in India. Par exemple... the little green roll of Parle G cookies that we dunked in masala chai at least three times a day. Multiple times I found myself saying, "Ahh yes... this is why I achieved the rare feat of actually gaining 12 pounds while I was in India." Pointing to a particular kind of spicy snacks, I shrieked like the little girl I really am inside. Shoooooooooot that was good stuff!

And so we picked up some frozen spinach, paneer, frozen paratha dough, and naan for my mama (it was 99 cents - take that Trader Joes!). Oh yea, and I threw a package of Murukula snacks in the basket too... and when the boy ate his first bite, his eyebrows went up and I knew it wasn't just me.

We brought home our bounty and got to work prepping our meal immediately. We washed the Moong daal lentils my sister gave me and covered them with water. Chopped up garlic, ginger, onions, tomatoes and chilies from the garden... added the garam masala, turmeric, coriander, and cumin spice mix and threw this all in with the lentils to boil and then simmer for about an hour and a half.

Meanwhile... the boy was busy with his gobi palak paneer dish. He cut the paneer into chunks and dusted it and the cauliflower with indian curry spice before roasting it in the oven. Then he was messing around with the spinach and the blender (I was distractedly chopping away at onion, garlic, ginger, and chilies for him). I sauteed the onion, garlic, ginger, chilies, and tomatoes in sunflower oil for a good hot minute before adding the spinach. When the mixture was close to finished, we added 2 tablespoons or so of plain yogurt, the paneer, and the cauliflower.

The boy pan-fried the frozen paratha dough and we both happily watched it become puffy and flaky just the way it should be!

Last, but certainly not least, we pulled the half rack of lamb that the boy covered in fresh herbs out of the oven. The meat was a little rare but tasted amazing. I cannot imagine a more perfect texture.

When we sat down to eat the daal, gobi palak paneer, paratha, and half rack of lamb... it was 9:30 at night and we were drooling at the sights and smells of the kitchen. We dutifully tucked in our napkins... and dug in.

Sunday morning's 2 hour run at Anne Springs was a whole different story. Late night indian + early morning long run = plenty of carbs alright but a little heavy on the belly.

Meat and Potatoes - done UP.

Let me start with: my feet hurt.

Due to a combination of the two things this is all about: running and food.

I spent Saturday morning running the roots, the rocks, the rambling road of Beatty mountainbike park with some friends. I was supposed to do my long run Sunday but opted to switch it up and do my 15 at Beatty what with the fabulous company, good weather, and zero time deadlines to meet. Got a chance to try out a new means of getting quick calories while running: Stinger products. Amazing... not only did I have enough energy to make it through the end of my run (thanks to Caitlin giving me some of the good stuff) but I was hyper for the next few hours. I was going going going energizer bunny style for quite some time thanks to the honeyed goodness. The chews come highly recommended.

Sunday morning we were up early again (but thankfully not before 7 am for the first time in quite a while) so the boy and I could pound out a 9 miler before our day really got going. The first 4.5 were that weird, I-know-I-should-feel-better-than-this feeling but once we hit the turnaround... it was smooth sailing. Got a nice rhythm and a nice pace going back to the car.

And then the day hit.

Grabbed a Power Shower (meaning, no frills shower time) split a zone bar and hit the road for The Village Church with Scott Waters. After an insightful hour that I enjoyed immensely... we made it to one of our favorite spots in Charlotte: Cafe Monte to split a badass omelette and some brioche french toast. The french toast with berry compote was perfect - no sticky syrupy mess... just pure good crusty bread powdered and drizzled with pureed blackberries, raspberries, etc.

We then decided to go to Crate and Barrel for kicks and came to the conclusion that we need everything. Ok ok... not everything! The chef thought poached egg "pods" were frivolous and was skeptical of their real benefit or effectiveness in the kitchen. However, the furniture section slayed us. Sigh. Someday.

Hit up the Taj MaTeeter and began a meatloaf madness afternoon. Shopping with the boy is always a good time, I usually learn something new and leave feeling like I have accomplished something. Must be some ancient throwback to the days of hunter-gatherers.

We then descended on the kitchen and got going for the remainder of the day. I set to work making dough for the savory tarts we were preparing as a side dish and the boy handled the weekly hardboiled eggs for our breakfasts and chicken with leftover tagine sauce with vegetable rice for our lunches.

I proceeded to throw a fit when my dough turned out completely different than expected and tried to listen when told a dough that is meant to be rolled out SHOULD differ from a pat-in-the-pan dough. But I was having none of this. I was blaming myself for the end of the dinosaurs and everything that has gone wrong in the world since, up to and including this dough disaster.

For the record... the tart dough was perfect and made for a lighter crust for our savory tarts to be filled and eaten later in the evening.

The boy busied himself with the main course next. He chopped carrots (beautifully), onions, green bell peppers, and celery and mixed (or should I say, mushed) that with the lean ground turkey and lean ground veal. He threw in a handful of the freshly dried red peppers I brought him back from Arizona last week before adding a healthy dosage of ketchup, mustard, and worcestershire sauce. The meatloaf mixture was thrown on a silpat covered baking sheet and was ready for the oven.

Meannnnnwhile... shallots and mushrooms were combining in an aromatic free-for-all with some beef stock in a saucepan for the makings of some gravy.

We had been waiting for another sweet potato to be dropped off after we had come home only to find two moldy root vegetables slowly disintegrating in the cabinet. Yuck.

First I got a phone call, "Hey, Skip said Jeff asked for two sweet potatoes but this one was really big so he just bought one."

So arrived our sweet potato.

It was oblong-shaped.

And a little twisted.

And white.

I am not a vegetable-racist but I know that sweet potatoes are supposed to be orange. I had begun peeling the potato and promptly stopped. Unsure of what to do... it was too late for us to go out to the store and get another one. So the boy took one look at it and said, it will just have to do - whatever it is, we're using it.

As it turns out, there is such thing as a white sweet potato and it worked just fine. I chopped the one sweet potato we had and it's awkwardly white counterpart and sent the chunks to be prepped for roasting in the oven. Once they were softened up we mashed them in a large pan, shredded some gruyere over them, added s+p and fresh rosemary from the garden, and mixed in a very little amount of heavy cream. Once this mixture tasted to our liking, we mounded it into the tarts and topped it with a layer of shredded gruyere to hit the oven once more.

Finally... after a few hours... the meal came together beautifully. The tarts were gorgeous and a big hit with everyone around the table and the meatloaf didn't stand a chance of not getting eaten. A crusty 8-grain bread was toasted and soaked up the mushroom gravy in the way only a crusty 8-grain bread could.

Oh... and there was no dessert. BUT there was an appetizer.

Boy's mom brought pate from Dean and Deluca. I had never eaten it before and found it scrumptious. I was then told it was liver mousse. And I didn't care one bit.