Old Clothes

My eating situation at home is starting to worry me. We tend to eat out more now, and of course the food is not exactly good for you. I'm hoping that the stress from moving, and losing weight because of that stress, will balance out all the empty calories I am consuming lately.

Usually I don't mind being a junk food gal. But, now, when it feels like there is no end in sight, I feel like a Truman-show version of Supersize Me. Let's see how much cholesterol Ilana could accumulate in her arteries this week!

Today was a very off day. We had asked my dad to help us move some of the lighter furniture, and we packed his SUV full of boxes and other stuff. But, when we got to our new apartment, we found that the elevator was out of order. On top of that, Rafa had no sleep after a 13 hours shift and then another two hours coaching at the pool. I hadn't eaten breakfast and was feeling all out of sorts. Usually, lately, when Rafa and I were both feeling hungry, we would go to some fast food place. But, he was knackered, and I really didn't want to ask him. We came home, I wolfed down a slice of pizza from yesterday's pie, and I went to sleep. My nap ended up lasting a lot longer than I expected.. and I woke up hungry.

I put together what I could, and I must say, the result was delicious.

The shredded chicken I had from the roast was tossed together in a pan with barbecue sauce, a sprinkle or two of sweet chilli sauce, a chopped ripe tomato, and half a can of green peas. The chicken simmered in the sauce for about 10 minutes, and all this was served over freshly cooked basmati rice.

I guess this is a pantry version of Ropa Vieja-- Old Clothes. The original has slowly cooked shredded pork, and is probably flavored by a spicy tomatoey sauce. I hesitated about adding the peas, but figured now wasn't the time to be authentic especially since I used shredded chicken breast meat and barbecue sauce from the supermarket.

The end result was fabulous, and the fact that I made it myself over a stove meant something. A hot meal. I had a British friend a while back, Donna, that said her mother was fine with her being the only 16-year old in the group (we were all twentysomethings in Hebrew Ulpan) and far away from her home as long as she had one hot meal a day. Almost ten years later now I see why that is important. A hot meal means you have a home, or two transient homes, with no dining table to speak of, but at least it's home.