Recipe roundup: 3 savories and a life-changing sweet

The thing I am asked most frequently about my whole foods, plant-based diet (aside from, “So, wait, are you vegan now?”) is for tasty new recipes. This is reassuring, actually, because it must mean I’m not considered some crazy, crunchy health-food nut after all — that there’s actually a very broad interest in cooking fresh, homemade food, and that people trust me enough not to lead them astray in my recommendations.

Well, I’m happy to oblige. Here’s a look at three savory dinner recipes and one sweet treat that I’ve made in the past few months that I thought were just delicious, along with notes on any changes I may have made. More to come!

Butternut Squash and Apple Soup from Choosing Raw

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Photo credit: ChoosingRaw.com

 

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Want to be skinny? Don’t bother with the gym

Each January my social media feed blows up with health challenges, gym selfies, links to healthy recipes, and passionate vows to give up carbs or sugar or Diet Coke … followed by diatribes of self-loathing when the vows have been broken and goals quickly abandoned. It’s almost as exhausting as actually hitting the gym — which, by the way, is chock full of newcomers desperate to make good on their New Year’s Resolutions.

Yikes. I’m so glad I’m not one of them.

Don’t get me wrong, I actually really like healthy recipes, and I’m more or less off sugar and have never had more than a sip of Diet Coke (in my day I preferred the hard stuff, straight up). And, I actually really like going to the gym. Really. I’m not an endorphin junkie or training for anything in particular; there’s a lot more to it than that, but that’s for another post.

But this does bring up the one point I must make clear: I don’t go to the gym to be skinny. And neither should you. Continue reading

Who do you want to be?

I have spent a significant portion of my life being unhappy. When I say “significant,” I mean nearly a third of my existence. And when I say “unhappy,” I mean living in a sadness so profound that I felt consumed, suffocated, engulfed by black swampy waters that held me paralyzed until I could barely breathe, let alone fight back.

I am what doctors would call “mentally ill.” Or at least I was, but I’ll get to that part. I was formally diagnosed with clinical depression when I was 15, but my first bout with the illness was around age 9. I cycled in and out of depressed episodes for more than a decade until I suffered a complete nervous breakdown at age 21, just a few months before I was set to graduate from college. The collapse was so complete that it took me nearly two years to climb out of it. Continue reading