Pecan & Cranberry Crusted Goat Cheese Salad

I’ve never been one of those people. The ones who “do lunch.” You know, the fancy people who always seem suuuuuper busy but can always “do lunch” sometime.

Puh-leaz. I do lunch every day. I can’t not do it. I schedule my classes at school around it. I start thinking about lunch as soon as I take my last bite of breakfast.

Lately though, with work and baking and other holidays to-dos, lunch has consisted of cookie dough, cookies, frosting, or some combination thereof. Delicious for a while, but not a sustainable meal plan. Mainly because I have to wear jeans to work. 

Roasted Spaghetti Squash with Caramelized Red Onions, Goat Cheese, and Toasted Walnuts

There are a few questions I don’t like being asked. “What size jeans are you?” “Did you want that with whipped cream?” “Can you give me the answer to this math problem?” Those are merely a sampling. They make me feel uncomfortable and unnecessarily stressed. I’ve carefully honed my behavior to avoid these kinds of questions (meaning I wear sweats, order Americanos, and refuse to take a math class until it is absolutely needed).

But lately, a question I can’t seem to escape is whether or not I am a vegetarian.

Growing up in Wisconsin, I didn’t encounter a whole lot of herbivores (I actually only knew one vegetarian before coming to college). Many times our family meals consisted of meat, potatoes, and more meat. Maybe some tasty biscuits from a can if we were feeling fancy.

Despite this meal plan, I managed to cultivate a strong taste for vegetables, particularly since coming to college. Raw, steamed, roasted, any way I can have them I will happily fill my plate. I include them in nearly every meal and feel very thrown off my axis if I don’t have any vegetables at all in a day. All very strange, I know.

Not all of my friends here share my outlook on, or love for, vegetables. I’ll talk about a dinner I made or order a meatless entree at a restaurant and be bombarded with a chorus of “Are you a vegetarian?”

Fig and Goat Cheese Breakfast Biscuits

“Are you learning anything new at the bakery?” my grandmother asked as I was elbow deep in biscuit dough. I tried to scrape the sticky mess off my fingers and think of a decent response, both efforts were futile.

“Oh, I don’t know. Not really. Maybe?” came my reply as I sprinkled flour onto the table and over my rolling pin. After forming the lump into a somewhat recognizable shape, I began to roll. My grandma watched and waited, nipping off a bit of dough with her fingers and tasting it, giving me her approval.

“You know, I always use a pizza or pie cutter to even out the edges when I’ve got a dough like that,” my grandma said after her sample. I took a knife and evened out the edges, giving myself a neat rectangle. Hmm, that’s better, I thought.

I spread not-so-softened goat cheese over the dough, taking care not to tear it and using my fingers when necessary; her eyes watched me the entire time. She mentioned something about whipping it with honey, for added sweetness. I contemplated and then disregarded it, staring at the lumpy goat cheese before me.