Jerk Tofu and Drunken Sailahs.

So this week has been a little intense. I've been vegan for all of it, eating all vegetables and tofu, no sugar, yadda yadda yadda. It's been good, and I know that I'm healthier for it, but it has been intense. I've also been working out with a trainer who has me attending pilates classes for the first time in my life. And dude, it's hard. It's really, really hard. I didn't know about the lower abdominals. No one ever told me about the lower abdominals. They hurt.

Pilates plus the trainer minus extensive animal protein has made me a little more sore than usual. My muscle recovery isn't bumping back as quickly as it used to, despite the whey protein shakes and tofu crumblies I'm eating every chance I get. I'm still sore. Everywhere.

And then, last night after sailing, the Volvo Ocean Race boats had a little party for Boston sailors down at their little campsite. You probably don't know about it, but there's this huge race going on around the world. Volvo is sponsoring it, the boats are ridiculous and sick, and they're basically breaking records for speed everywhere they go. You can see a video of the sailing here.




So we packed up the boat and headed down to Puma City last night to have a cocktail and chat with some other racers. My friend Kelly was there, and she's always a really good time. She and I were up at the bar waiting in line to get our cocktails when we saw that the male bartenders were wearing the cutest t-shirts that read "I'm a Drunken Sailah."

SO COOL, right? I mean, I'M a drunken sailah! We got all excited - oh Puma, how did you know the key to stellar marketing around Boston sailors??? It's brilliant! We wanted one. The bartenders, who both were sporting mohawks, told us where to go downstairs to get our drunken sailah t-shirts. Do I need to tell you that we ran as fast as we could? We were like giggly school girls after seeing the hot gym teacher without his shirt on.

Now this is where my night gets infuriating. Downstairs there were t-shirts. But the men's t-shirt, which we saw the bartenders wearing, read "I'm a Drunken Sailah!". The women's t-shirt, in female sizes, read "I'm Looking for a Drunken Sailah!".

No. Puma, shame on you and your gender discrimination. Because hello. Women can't get drunk and sail. We, instead, have to be what you call RACER CHASERS.

I was pissed. I mean, letter-writing pissed. Who is Puma to assume that I can't sail or drink? Who are they to assume that my goal would not be to sail or drink, but to FIND A MAN who can sail and drink! Have you met drunken sailors? They're annoying as all hell! Who would want to date one?

Now, I will admit that when I get upset, I get very hotheaded. But I am nothing compared to my friend Kelly, who is basically the epitome of a drunken sailah. She has only about ten pounds on me, but she is about six inches shorter than me and pure, pure muscle. I have personally seen her settle an argument between two men on a boat by shoving one of them into Boston harbor. I have seen her shotgun a beer, French kiss a total stranger, burp incredibly loudly, then shotgun another beer. I have seen her faceplant on the foredeck of a boat, stand up, then start crawling up the mast without a harness. She will arm wrestle you for a free beer. And she always gets a free beer. She is badass, she is scary, and I felt sorry for the folks at Puma after she realized they wanted to label her as a racer chaser with their stupid little baby doll t-shirts.

While Kelly went off to find a Puma Merchandizing CEO to re-circumsize, I found my friends and tried to duck whenever a piece of fried calamari was hurled across the room of increasingly drunken sailahs.

About half an hour went by somewhat quietly, while T and I chatted with people who knew people from my hometown and our friend Big Leif bench pressed a woman for a free Sam Adams Light. By that point, we went up to get another cocktail, and lo and behold, Kelly was behind the bar. Wearing a t-shirt that read "I'm a Drunken Sailah!" Which she had taken off the male bartender with a mohawk. He looked less than pleased to be wearing her baby doll t-shirt that read "Boston Harbor 'Round the Islands Race to End Ovarian Cancer." I figured he'd lost an arm wrestling contest.

I went up to him and apologized, while Kelly danced on the bar and passed out free Sam Lights, "courtesy of the jackasses at Puma." "Its no worries," he said. "She told me it's either this or my pants."

After all that, I really wasn't in the mood to cook. The pain, the three cocktails, it all just made me exhausto. But this CEiMB recipe really did look awesome, so we headed back to my house to put it together. To keep myself vegan, I used tofu instead of chicken, which I baked along with some stone fruit at 450 for about 30 minutes. I love how the avocado started to bubble up out of its skin.

For the salsa, I actually just blended half an onion together with the poblano and jalapeno, which I had roasted over an open flame on our stove, a la Martha. I added the juice of a lime and the other ingredients, but added an extra clove of garlic. This was actually pretty spicy - I'm hoping it cools a little with melding in the fridge for a few days. I served everything in lettuce wraps to keep things cool, and it really was absolutely delicious.


I loved this recipe, and the vegan adaption was excellent. Good luck to all the other CEiMB'ers!