It's not very pretty. And Joe warned me beforehand that he didn't like broccoli soup. But for some reason, I just had to make the stuff last night. I poured a bag of broccoli, a bag of cauliflower and a handful of baby carrots into my stockpot and began boiling. In the skillet, I caramelized some of those overly zesty onions (see vegan taco salad post) to try to coax some sweetness out of them. All of this got zizzed by my stick blender until it was the color of your grandma's Osterizer. Like all the colors that your grandma's Osterizer could possibly be: olive green, mustard yellow, burnt orange. Flecks of all those unappetizing hues were whipped into this stew. Despite appearances, it didn't taste too bad, and there wasn't an overwhelming quantity of the stuff. But no, Emily just couldn't stop there. She had to add another bag of broccoli -- to bring it to a prettier shade of green -- and a package of silken tofu, for protein. The end result was a really big pot of lumpy, light green mush with the flavor and fluffiness of baby food (and I oughtta know what that's like since I started making Munchie's meals).
Now I don't know if being sick has got my taste buds and my texture buds and my smell buds all messed up, but this meal just repulsed me. The sweet potato oven fries that were supposed to be my bright and cheery comfort food amid the fast were also misbehaving. We've eaten a lot of parsley, lemon pepper, oregano and basil recently so I thought I'd switch it up and open a new shaker of thyme. For the record, thyme is not good with sweet potatoes. It's great on fish and chicken. But the overt Pinesol pungency seemed to get amplified in the 450 degree oven and was assaulting my nostrils before I even opened the door. And then I didn't add enough olive oil, so my fries had to be peeled off the foil one by one. Bleck.
"Emily, it's not like it's unpalatable," my husband said to comfort me.
So anyhow. That's why it's called the Moody Foodie.
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