What I've Been Eating

Grapefruit. My yearly citrus phase is about to hit hard.

Royal Riviera pears with a few spoonfuls of Cafe Latte Oikos. It tastes like coffee pudding, and it is fantastic.

Logs. Hold the ants.

Fall-inspired salads with spinach, acorn squash rings, pomegranate seeds, apple, an egg, pretty much anything else I can find.

Scrambled eggs with chives, and these breakfast buns. The recipe seems intimidating, but stick with it.

Split pea soup with cheddar chive biscuits.

My Thanksgiving contributions will be Mexican Venison Cornbread, Brussels sprouts salad with apple, pomegranate, and feta, and a buffet of baked goods. I asked my mother when she will let me make the turkey. She said when she is dead.

Mediocre Steak Night

I have a brother. I love him very much, but he and I do not see eye to eye on food. My brother eats because he has to. He eats meals in gas stations, meals where every single ingredient comes from a can, and meals where the potatoes aren't fully cooked through, but they're close enough so he'll just go ahead and eat. When I go to my brother's house for dinner he tells me to bring all of the food, because he knows that I will complain relentlessly if I get there and he tries to feed me canned meat.

My brother and I do agree on one thing- Fazoli's. It is delicious and we go there once a year, in March, for his birthday. Alone, so nobody can see how many breadsticks we eat.

A few weeks ago I decided to emulate my brother, and when I cashed in my Speedy Rewards, I selected a gift card to the Outback. No, we didn't eat a Bloomin Onion. I ate a filet and about 4 springs of broccoli, which apparently is a serving if you're fake Australian.

Beautiful plating, eh? What did I expect. The broccoli was cooked TO DEATH. The meat was heavily seasoned. The service was actually very good.

I ate this in about 56 seconds. Then stared at the flip-through menu on the table. And ordered shrimp.

Buffalo shrimp, to be exact, with blue cheese. I would eat tree branches if they were buffalo-style and served with blue cheese. I'm a human being, after all.

The boyfriend is constantly telling me that I'm a food snob. This was my attempt to try to prove him wrong, but I failed. As I sat there, watching him eat his sad little rack of ribs, I said "I'm sad that this is some people's favorite restaurant."

By the way, I know just about nothing about Australian culture, but I've heard that they call ketchup "dead horse." Can anyone confirm or deny this?

Coral Gables for City Pulse

Read it here.

Stuffed grape leaves.

Rice pudding, with a bite missing. Couldn't help myself.

Greek fries. Have mercy.

Now just wait until I tell you where I ate last week. I'll give you a hint- it's a chain, and they think they're Australian.

Junior League in Indianapolis

A few weekends ago I headed to Indianapolis with some of my fellow Junior League of Lansing members for a conference. Of course, I loved learning about what other Leagues are doing and how to make our League better, but you know I had to hit the streets and find some good eats.

On our first night we headed to Palomino for dinner. The restaurant was busy but we were seated promptly. We ordered some appetizers to share- the truffle deviled eggs, Sicilian meatballs, and Brussels sprouts and pancetta.The Brussels sprouts were good, but I would eat just about any Brussels sprouts and be happy. I had beef tenderloin for my entree.

The sauce was made with a heavy hand. It was thick, like gravy, and overwhelmed the taste of the meat. I ate most of it, but eventually set my fork down. The meal wasn't worth making myself uncomfortably full.

For dessert, several of us shared the Valrhona chocolate cake and the doughnuts.

I do love a few bits of a rich, flourless chocolate cake, and this one fit the bill. All told, there are other restaurants in Indy where I'd rather spend my money. The next day put a smile on my face. We breakfasted at Patachou, just down the street from our hotel. I was in love at first sight of the self-serve coffee counter.

When one of my girlfriends said she was going to be "a little ridiculous," I hoped that she meant my kind of ridiculous. I asked her if, by chance, that meant that she wanted both a savory and a sweet breakfast and she said yes. I fell in love with her as we ordered croissant French toast for sharing.

I also had a broken yolk sandwich with bacon and avocado.

And I ate the entire thing. I am deeply in lust with Patachou, and since I won a one-night stay at the hotel, I hope to head back to Indy soon and continue eating my way through their beautiful downtown.

For dinner that night (thanks to my Open Table app) we were lucky enough to get a reservation at St. Elmo's. This was a busy weekend in Indy, Peyton Manning was back in town for a football game and people were going.crazy. Our tuxedo-clad server glanced us over- four well-heeled women wearing our snappiest business casual, and slowly asked us if we were in town for the game. I said no, just for the steak, so it better be good.

Someday I want my likeness to be on butter.

The legendary shrimp cocktail was worth the hype. But you must be careful with the horseradish, because it is incredibly potent and will hurt you if you don't synchronize your bites and your breaths carefully.

After the shrimp cocktail I cooled off with a little glass of tomato juice.

I know the tomato juice seems a little odd. I've done research and can't seem to pinpoint where this tradition started, or why it has fallen out of favor. This tomato juice wasn't thick, like V8, but it was light and tasted fresh. It was Indiana Red Gold brand and would be a lovely way to start your day, if you're so inclined.

I stuck to my usual order at a steakhouse and asked for a petit filet, medium rare. The meat was perfectly cooked. One of my pleasures in life is to slice into a filet and be met with no resistance. My knife slid through the filet. After my first bite I tried to consciously slow myself down, to change the pace of my eating, because I could have plowed through and never taken a breath. I set my fork down. I took a sip of water. I ate a green bean (which still had a snap to them, and from which I picked out the red peppers. Blech.)

And then I dove back in and cleaned my plate.

St. Elmo's is charming as hell. Ruth's Chris is just down the block, and I have designs on engaging in my own personal steak throwdown on my return visit to Indy.