I Love Carbs Quotes

Cut my life into pizzas. this is my plastic fork. oven baking, no breathing, dont give a fuck if its carbs that i'm eating' -Catherine Spann

Satan to Jesus: Well, I see someone has a bad case of the hangries. You might want to consider using your godly powers to turn these desert rocks into loaves of bread. Maybe if you engage in some serious carb-loading, you’ll regain what little sense of humor you had before you started this ridiculous hunger strike.

Like any southern woman would do. I choose to bury my feelings in carbs. There’s no problem carbs cannot fix. I can be my awkward, unsophisticated, tongue-tied self, but by god I’ll do it with cheesy carbs in my blood stream.

I wasn’t one of those girls who got tiny hunger pangs when it was time to eat, then took a few sips of water, burped, wiped my mouth, and announced I was full. Hell, no. Carbs. Give. Me. Carbs. Give me protein. Give me chocolate and I’ll be your best friend.

I only cut carbs when I’m using a pizza cutter.

I CAN LOSE WEIGHT. I WILL LOSE WEIGHT. I CARE TO LOSE THIS WEIGHT. MY BODY LOVES LOSING WEIGHT, AND SO DO I.

Dear Jon, A real Dear Jon let­ter, how per­fect is that?! Who knew you’d get dumped twice in the same amount of months. See, I’m one para­graph in and I’ve al­ready fucked this. I’m writ­ing this be­cause I can’t say any of this to you face-to-face. I’ve spent the last few months ques­tion­ing a lot of my friend­ships and won­der­ing what their pur­pose is, if not to work through big emo­tional things to­gether. But I now re­al­ize: I don’t want that. And I know you’ve all been there for me in other ways. Maybe not in the lit­eral sense, but I know you all would have done any­thing to fix me other than lis­ten­ing to me talk and al­low­ing me to be sad with­out so­lu­tions. And now I am writ­ing this let­ter rather than pick­ing up the phone and talk­ing to you be­cause, de­spite every thing I know, I just don’t want to, and I don’t think you want me to ei­ther. I lost my mind when Jen broke up with me. I’m pretty sure it’s been the sub­ject of a few of your What­sApp con­ver­sa­tions and more power to you, be­cause I would need to vent about me if I’d been friends with me for the last six months. I don’t want it to have been in vain, and I wanted to tell you what I’ve learnt. If you do a high-fat, high-pro­tein, low-carb diet and join a gym, it will be a good dis­trac­tion for a while and you will lose fat and gain mus­cle, but you will run out of steam and eat nor­mally again and put all the weight back on. So maybe don’t bother. Drunk­en­ness is an­other idea. I was in black­out for most of the first two months and I think that’s fine, it got me through the evenings (and the oc­ca­sional af­ter­noon). You’ll have to do a lot of it on your own, though, be­cause no one is free to meet up any more. I think that’s fine for a bit. It was for me un­til some­one walked past me drink­ing from a whisky minia­ture while I waited for a night bus, put five quid in my hand and told me to keep warm. You’re the only per­son I’ve ever told this story. None of your mates will be ex­cited that you’re sin­gle again. I’m prob­a­bly your only sin­gle mate and even I’m not that ex­cited. Gen­er­ally the ex­pe­ri­ence of be­ing sin­gle at thirty-five will feel dif­fer­ent to any other time you’ve been sin­gle and that’s no bad thing. When your ex moves on, you might be­come ob­sessed with the bloke in a way that is al­most sex­ual. Don’t worry, you don’t want to fuck him, even though it will feel a bit like you do some­times. If you open up to me or one of the other boys, it will feel good in the mo­ment and then you’ll get an emo­tional hang­over the next day. You’ll wish you could take it all back. You may even feel like we’ve en­joyed see­ing you so low. Or that we feel smug be­cause we’re win­ning at some­thing and you’re los­ing. Re­member that none of us feel that. You may be­come ob­sessed with work­ing out why ex­actly she broke up with you and you are likely to go fully, fully nuts in your bid to find a sat­is­fy­ing an­swer. I can save you a lot of time by let­ting you know that you may well never work it out. And even if you did work it out, what’s the pur­pose of it? Soon enough, some girl is go­ing to be crazy about you for some un­de­fin­able rea­son and you’re not go­ing to be in­ter­ested in her for some un­de­fin­able rea­son. It’s all so ran­dom and un­fair – the peo­ple we want to be with don’t want to be with us and the peo­ple who want to be with us are not the peo­ple we want to be with. Re­ally, the thing that’s go­ing to hurt a lot is the fact that some­one doesn’t want to be with you any more. Feel­ing the ab­sence of some­one’s com­pany and the ab­sence of their love are two dif­fer­ent things. I wish I’d known that ear­lier. I wish I’d known that it isn’t any­body’s job to stay in a re­la­tion­ship they don’t want to be in just so some­one else doesn’t feel bad about them­selves. Any­way. That’s all. You’re go­ing to be okay, mate. Andy

How about donuts?” “Donuts?” “Donuts will be our thing. You love donuts.” I said nothing. “Aren’t you going to ask me how I know?” She grinned. “Hmm, no. I’m alive, therefore I love donuts. Not exactly rocket science, dude. Carbs and sugar equal oral orgasms.

I hope you don't have a hangover after all this." I wasn't sure if I should be annoyed or touched by how he was trying to look out for me, so I figured some light teasing was in order. "Unlike you, I'm still in my twenties, so I'll be fine. Get me another sports drink and a bunch of salty carbs and I'll be ready for my morning run with Longganisa." He clutched at his chest in fake pain. "Well, since this old man needs to sleep soon, maybe I should drop you straight at home and let your aunt and grandmother help you." "Nooo, I'm sorry! I'll treat you to your favorite seaweed snacks and those honey butter chips you love." He leaned over for a quick kiss. "Acceptable.

Fuck carb counting. I love carbs. In every form of potato, pasta, and bread.

Stop loading up on excess protein. Stop eating diseased, tortured animals that cause inflammation. Stop fearing real carbs that have fed thriving populations for all of civilization. Feast on beautiful, delicious fruits and vegetables. Eat food that looks alive. Eat food that has been grown and made with love.

Zucchini pasta with chicken and lemon," Melanie says. "I'm using whole-grain linguini, and the zucchini is shredded in long strips the same size as the noodles. Half real noodles, half zucchini noodles, so everything twirls the same on your fork, but you halve the carbs and cut down the calories significantly." She grabs a tasting spoon and lets me taste the chicken, simmering gently in a rich lemony sauce. "That is amazing. So light and fresh, but still depth in flavor." "I love this recipe, especially in the winter like this; it just tastes like spring to me.

Wow. So Muffin annihilated that entire loaf of bread?" I giggle as I brush the crumbs off my lap. Max nods. "She's like her dad. Loves carbs." I bite my lip and quietly swoon at the way he calls himself Muffin's dad.

Growing up outside of Philadelphia, I never wanted for diner food, whether it was from Bob's Diner in Roxborough or the Trolley Car Diner in Mount Airy. The food wasn't anything special- eggs and toast, meat loaf and gravy, the omnipresent glass case of pies- but I always found the food comforting and satisfying, served as it was in those old-fashioned, prefabricated stainless steel trolley cars. Whenever we would visit my mom's parents in Canterbury, New Jersey, we'd stop at the Claremont Diner in East Windsor on the way home, and I'd order a fat, fluffy slice of coconut cream pie, which I'd nibble on the whole car ride back to Philly. I'm not sure why I've always found diner food so comforting. Maybe it's the abundance of grease or the utter lack of pretense. Diner food is basic, stick-to-your-ribs fare- carbs, eggs, and meat, all cooked up in plenty of hot fat- served up in an environment dripping with kitsch and nostalgia. Where else are a jug of syrup and a bottomless cup of coffee de rigueur? The point of diner cuisine isn't to astound or impress; it's to fill you up cheaply with basic, down-home food. My menu, however, should astound and impress, which is why I've decided to take up some of the diner foods I remember from my youth and put my own twist on them. So far, this is what I've come up with: Sloe gin fizz cocktails/chocolate egg creams Grilled cheese squares: grappa-soaked grapes and Taleggio/ Asian pears and smoked Gouda "Eggs, Bacon, and Toast": crostini topped with wilted spinach, pancetta, poached egg, and chive pesto Smoky meat loaf with slow-roasted onions and prune ketchup Whipped celery root puree Braised green beans with fire-roasted tomatoes Mini root beer floats Triple coconut cream pie

I can’t have crack, Melanie, I’m on an all carb diet.

Chicken Mozzarella Pasta This pasta really is the total package: hearty, easy, full of cheese, and bursting with carbs! All the qualities I look for in a friend. That made no sense. Sorry. Anyway, you’ll absolutely love this pasta, as you get a bunch of deliciousness without a whole lot of effort. It’s the perfect weeknight meal and also makes a great presentation if you’re having company over. (Does anyone have company over anymore? Do people still call guests “company”? Or is that just another old term I’ve hung on to through the years, along with “television set” and “fella”?)

In July, we started work on my next album, and Tommy wanted to go all in on making me a combo of Britney and Mariah. He said he would be even more involved this time and said I needed to be doing more dance pop over the ballads I loved. I also had to get even skinnier. I started the Atkins diet hardcore, envying and resenting anybody who could just eat. Off the diet, I obsessed over how I looked 24/7; on the diet, I was also hyperfocused on food. It made me nervous. My anxiety had something to hold on to, and instead of examining my emotions, I could just block them out by focusing on carb counts and waist sizes. If I focused on controlling my outward appearance, I could avoid thinking about my emotions and fears. My mother sometimes, with the best of intentions, fed into it. Her aerobics-teacher past would kick in, seeing a problem to fix and giving a solution she thought would help. When she urged me to exercise or told me she was going for a long walk and maybe I should come along, I knew what she meant. We ended up doing the Atkins diet together.

You really can't go wrong with the food at any Jewish holiday. Well, with the exception of Passover, because matzah is terrible and eight days of no carbs but matzah and potatoes can have you crying for pizza by the end. But think bagels and lox to break the Yom Kippur fast. All sorts of exotic fruits on Tu B'Shevat. Brisket and tzimmes and noodle kugel for pretty much any occasion. And that's only the Ashkenazi food; I'd been treated to Sephardic and Mizrahi food occasionally at friends' houses growing up, and I remembered fish cooked in spicy tomato sauce, tangines with chickpeas and saffron, Yemenite braided bread with whole eggs hidden in the twists. But Hanukkah food? Because Hanukkah celebrates the miracle of the oil, it's basically a mitzvah to eat fried foods for the holiday. And doing a good deed by eating French fries or doughnuts is the absolute best way to do a good deed.

INSPIRED BY PEPPERIDGE FARM® BLUEBERRY TURNOVERS BLUEBERRY TURNOVERS Growing up, I loved to heat up a Pepperidge Farm blueberry turnover for an after-school treat. I decided I’d try my hand at making them for my kids. I think they are really close, and my kids love them. —Christine Hair, Tampa, FL PREP: 45 MIN. • BAKE: 15 MIN. • MAKES: 8 SERVINGS 2 cups fresh or frozen blueberries, divided 2 Tbsp. sugar 1 Tbsp. cornstarch 2 tsp. grated lemon zest 2 Tbsp. butter 1 pkg. (17.3 oz.) frozen puff pastry, thawed 1 large egg 1 Tbsp. water ½ cup confectioners’ sugar 1 Tbsp. 2% milk 1. Preheat oven to 450°. In a large saucepan, combine ½ cup blueberries, sugar, cornstarch and lemon zest. Mash well with a fork. Bring to a boil over low heat; cook and stir until thickened, 1-2 minutes. Remove from heat. Stir in butter and remaining 1 ½ cups blueberries. 2. Unfold puff pastry. On a lightly floured surface, roll out each pastry sheet into a 12-in. square. Cut each into 4 squares. Spoon 3 Tbsp. filling into the center of each square; fold diagonally in half and press edges to seal. Place on an ungreased baking sheet. Beat egg and water; brush over pastry. 3. Bake until golden brown, 12-15 minutes. Combine confectioners’ sugar and milk; drizzle over turnovers. Serve turnovers warm or at room temperature. Note: If using frozen blueberries, use without thawing to avoid discoloring the batter. 1 turnover: 400 cal., 20g fat (6g sat. fat), 31mg chol., 235mg sod., 51g carb. (14g sugars, 5g fiber), 6g pro.

INSPIRED BY P.F. CHANG’S® HAND-FOLDED CRAB WONTONS CRISPY CRAB RANGOON My husband loved the appetizers we had at P.F. Chang’s so much, I was determined to make them at home. After several more trips to that restaurant to taste them again, I had them perfected. I often prepare the filling earlier in the day to save time later. —Cathy Blankman, Warroad, MN TAKES: 30 MIN. • MAKES: 16 APPETIZERS 3 oz. cream cheese, softened 2 green onions, finely chopped ¼ cup finely chopped imitation crabmeat 1 tsp. minced garlic 16 wonton wrappers Oil for frying Sweet-and-sour sauce 1. In a small bowl, beat cream cheese until smooth. Stir in onions, crab and garlic. 2. Place about 1 ½ tsp. in the center of a wonton wrapper. (Keep remaining wrappers covered with a damp paper towel until ready to use.) Moisten edges with water; fold opposite corners over filling and press to seal. Repeat. 3. In an electric skillet, heat 1 in. oil to 375°. Fry wontons, in batches, until golden brown, about 1 minute on each side. Drain on paper towels. Serve with sweet-and-sour sauce. 1 rangoon: 61 cal., 4g fat (1g sat. fat), 6mg chol., 77mg sod., 5g carb. (0 sugars, 0 fiber), 1g pro.

I don’t have to admit anything.’ He took a small mug and scooped pasta water into the pan with the garlic and the oil. Iris watched with interest. She was going to accuse him of being a food snob, but it all looked and smelled so good, that mocking him just seemed absurd now. He strained the spaghetti and tossed that in the pan, too, coating the pasta with the oil and garlic. Iris’s stomach grumbled in anticipation. He took two plain white bowls from the cabinet and twirled a perfect nest of pasta in each bowl, sprinkling some fresh parsley and parmesan cheese on each portion. Iris wanted to crawl inside and live in that pasta nest forever. ‘That looks so good,’ she nearly moaned. Damn this man and his pasta-making skills! Resisting his adorable dad-ness was one thing, but serving up a big ol’ bowl of carbs and cheese was going to be another thing altogether. ‘Buon appetito.’ ‘Jesus, man. Just give me the food and cut that out.’ Archer smirked and slid the bowl across the island. As expected, the meal was incredible. Like insanely good. Like so good that an hour ago Iris was planning her ‘I quit’ speech and now she was considering declaring her undying love for this man and his food. It was concerning. But she was full and exhausted from this stressful day and between the food and the wine and Archer’s dimple, she had been lulled into a cozy contentment she hadn’t felt in a very long time. Maybe not since those days in Josie’s kitchen, watching her neighbor cook while she chatted to her about everything from her mom’s latest boyfriend to the bike she wanted for her birthday. Was this why people wanted a partner? This feeling at the end of a rough day that they’d survived something together? She had to admit it was nice. She’d always had her mom and her aunt and her cousin. She collected friends like she collected new careers. But maybe having a partner would be different. Sitting here, laughing and drinking with Archer. Decompressing after taking care of a sick kid all day, it was … it was something she could maybe see herself wanting. Someday. Not today.

Fuck carb counting, I love carbs