Honey Soy Roasted Chickpeas | @thefauxmartha

It started to show itself in the way I kept my hair. Or didn’t. In high school and college I washed, dried, and straightened my hair daily. It was a thing of beauty. Well kept. Perfectly in place. With no sign of unruly wave, even under all those thick, thick layers. It was a good representation of how I saw myself. Of how I saw the world. I was a straight-laced rule follower. My perspective looked a lot like the scenery of The Giver. Things were orderly. Things were black and white. So black and white. Read more

BBQ Black Bean Nachos | @thefauxmartha

There was a time in my life when I deleted pizza and nachos from my diet. Cheese is bad for you, they said. I ate my ice cream with too few of calories. My eggs with no yolks. And bought low-fat butter that was mostly hydrogenated oil. It was as awful as it sounds. But I stuck with it long enough to learn that my issue wasn’t solely what I was eating, rather how much I was eating. (You can read way too much about my food history here.) Pizza, full-fat ice cream, whole eggs, and real butter have been apart of my diet for many years now. But it wasn’t until a couple weeks ago that I allowed nachos back into my life. Read more

“Be somebody who makes everybody feel like a somebody.” —Kid President

I need to tattoo this to the inside of my hand. Most days I’m just making sure I feel like a somebody. We have two mirrors in our tiny apartment—one that’s covered in so much dust I don’t have to worry about the reflection as I pass. The other, in the bathroom, I quickly skirt by until the end of the day. That’s when I usually catch a glimpse of the disheveled person walking by. Read more

Squash Kale Autumn Salad | The Fauxmartha

In his hurriedness to get off to work, I noticed Kev took the time to throw away my used coffee filter hanging off the side of the Chemex. Meanwhile, I sat at the dining room table, drinking the cup of coffee that filter had produced. It was a rare glimpse. I’m usually the one in the kitchen or on the floor corralling the babe. Thank you, I said. He said you’re welcome like it was no big deal, like he does it all the time. I often throw it away, he said. I paused, took another sip, and tried to remember the last time I threw it away. Thank you, I said again. Read more

Lucy's Chicken Salad | The Fauxmartha

I have an announcement of sorts, and I’m burying it in a post about chicken salad. Lucy’s Chicken Salad. I’ve been keeping this bit of information to myself for awhile, which is rare for an over-sharer like me. I’ve been starring at the blinking curser, picking at and playing with my hair like I do when I’m thinking but can’t verbally formulate my thoughts. This announcement–it’s really not that hard to say or even that crazy. I’m just not comfortable with it yet. Just like I wasn’t comfortable calling Kevin my fiancé for months after getting engaged. And the same reason I still have a hard time calling myself a mom. Those are grown-up words. And most days, I swear I’m still in high school. Read more

Roasted Veggie Wrap | The Fauxmartha

It’s been one of those weeks where I’ve had more of these than the things that grow out of the ground. My poor body. To combat “those weeks”, which are becoming my new norm, I’ve started roasting a sheet of veggies in a balsamic vinaigrette at the start of the week. Roasting vegetables is a magical thing. They caramelize and turn to candy in the oven. I could eat the whole sheet in one sitting. But instead, I ration them out throughout the week, stuff them in a wrap, and call it lunch. Life lunch saver.  Read more

Amazing Soba Bowl | The Fauxmartha

I don’t typically title my recipes with adjectives like amazing, superb, or outstanding. It seems trite. But in this case, I have good reason. I went to my first Thai restaurant in college. Growing up in Texas, I’d only ever heard of tex-mex. I’m only half kidding. Upon recommendation from a friend, I ordered #45—Amazing Chicken. Read more

Spring Chicken Salad | The Fauxmartha

Airports are funny places. Full of emotion. I said good-bye to my sister on Monday, choking back tears as I walked through security trying my hardest not to look like that crazy pregnant lady, all the while dreaming of the day “good-bye” means “see you tomorrow”. And yet a week and a half earlier I was over-the-moon excited to head out of town to celebrate my husband’s graduation with family and friends. Bipolar emotions—airports do that to me.  Read more