The joy of cooking...

... is finding a way to make something incredibly delicious without fat.

Yesterday, I made cranberry walnut bread from my trusty red-and-white-checked Better Homes & Gardens. Of all the bread recipes out there, it wasn't the worst -- only a quarter of a cup of oil and one egg. But I was feeling bold. How bold? Well, let's just say I substituted out both items.

But how? you may wonder. Well, I took a few bits of accumulated knowledge about vegan and healthy cooking and put them together, one plus one.

One. Grind up a tablespoon of flaxseed and add it to the liquid in place of the egg.

Plus.

One. Substitute applesauce for oil.

Equals.

A delicious, moist loaf of bread that benefited especially from the bag of cranberries I had the foresight to freeze in November. The fruit froze well. The substitutions took NOTHING away from the end product. And now I'll head off to yoga with a clean conscience.

Do you like sugar, or are you sweet enough?

Potato chips: You just can't eat one, right? Well, the cliche doesn't quite get to how fully I fantasized about about eating them yesterday as I made the three-hour drive home from Virginia. I knew there was a bag of Archer Farms baked chips with sea salt and black pepper sitting on the fridge. I could imagine the tang of salt and the subtle burn of the pepper. I knew I would walk in the door and make a beeline to the kitchen to sink my teeth into a chip. Or 50.

Well, the fantasy didn't quite play out the way I had hoped. Because I share a bed, and thus a dwelling and a grocery supply, the bag was nearly empty. I had to content myself with dredging the bottom of the bag -- still good, but not nearly as satisfying.

Lucky for me, we had taken advantage of the 2 for $5 deal and picked up a bag of spicy potato chips, same brand. These were quite good, though not baked. (My one complaint with Archer Farms is the labeling. What you think might be tortilla chips might be dill potato if you aren't careful.) So I got in my crunching quotient...

...and immediately got the most persistent case of heartburn known to humanity.

I'm a stubborn heartburn patient. I don't take Tums, or at least not right away. I eat ice cream. So in an effort to chase the burn, I ended up at the Dunkin' Donuts on Hillsborough Street -- a newer tenant of the strip famous for its high turnover (and frankly, boring street life).

Oh, I tried to be good. I looked at the mango and berry smoothies. Then I did what any good girl with PMS does. I ordered the Oreo Jamoca shake.

This wasn't just a shake. I think it was aiming for religious experience. It missed the mark and simply made me feel guilty. Perhaps it's a Catholic shake? Anyways, picture this: A coffee-chocolate ice cream blend with Oreo bits*, slightly thicker than drinkable, topped with whipped cream and the coup de grace: a half-inch layer of caramel on the bottom of the cup. So every sip threatens a diabetic coma.

It tasted fantastic. It also made me, very much a nonCatholic, consider a trip to confession, and it helped fuel a terrific case of gut rot to accompany my hearburn. Which did not go away, by the way.

At 2:30 a.m., I finally caved and munched on some Tums. They tasted like crap. I immediately felt better.

Lesson of the day: I should think about eating some veggies.

Eating well, even in poverty

Harris Teeter is my savior.

Where else can I get a cheap bottle of white (I recommend the Barefoot wines, but only the whites; their reds taste like donkeynuts), a tub of baba ghanouj, a bag of pita and the ever-necessary Slice o' Cake? That right there is a decadent feast for about $15.

There are many other ways to indulge on a budget. Of course, many of them involve birthday candles and Taco Bell -- but rest assured, if you are unemployed and desperately in need of a little something special, you can make it happen.

Those of us under 35 need to remember, in these pitiful economic times, that eating at home isn't the antichrist. No, really. We may be tempted by payday and the pile of dishes in the sink to head out to indulge that new craving (ahi tuna! chocolate mousse! margaritas!) -- but the fact is that wages aren't even nearly aligning with cost-of-living increases. Which means that mebbe, just mebbe, we should actually cook. Or at least have an HT picnic on the living-room floor. Just try it. You might even find it romantic. And doesn't it feel goooood not to have to leave a $20 tip at the end of the night? I thought so.

And speaking of trying times...

Lilly's Pizza has a selection called the Corporate Greed. I ordered it with some coworkers a few weeks back. It's one of their better pies, particularly in light of how unpalatable their traditional tomato-based pizza sauce is (though I highly recommend the pesto). The chicken is well-marinated, the artichokes fresh-tasting and not the least bit woody. The overall combination of flavors -- enhanced by a really good olive oil -- is a delight. In fact, these words could actually be heard in the office: "Corporate greed is good!" and "We have a bit more Corporate Greed over here, if anyone wants any."

It's one of those pizzas that begs you to order it, pour a tall mug of pizza-appropriate beer and curse Gary Pruitt in witheringly articulate language.

Eating out in trying times

Things have been slow foodwise, folks.

I blame the economy. It has made me feel guilty about every penny I spend beyond the necessities. (I'm still psyching myself for the $60 haircut, not including color, that I've talked myself into for later this month.) So there really aren't any more random, wine-soaked $120 dinners at Bogart's anymore.

Which is why we recently ended up at IHOP. Yes, IHOP.

Now, if you know me, you know that I know that there's better breakfast out there. In fact, we were but a mile and change from the unparalleled Big Ed's. Why didn't we go there, you ask? Well, let me tell ya: We wanted pancakes. We were too lazy to make them. We were only willing to spend $20.

For the record, it was actually a fairly good IHOP experience. The server, a jolly man in his 40s, was cheerful and fairly efficient. He didn't appear to be strung out on anything -- an important consideration at IHOP. We didn't get panhandled in the parking lot. The food was hot.

Was it my ideal breakfast? No. But in this wintry economic climate, sometimes we have to settle for less than the best, yo. And until I can figure out how to get a meal at a four-star restaurant without taking out a mortgage or becoming a dishwasher, this is the new normal.

Or at least it is until the guilt fades, and I say screw it and slap down the Visa.

Thai me up, Thai me down

On Friday I visited Champa Thai, one of downtown Raleigh's newest lunch spots, at the intersection of Salisbury and Martin streets. It's a great location, but apparently China Market didn't fare too well. It's a shame -- such proximity to downtown employers is a terrible thing to waste, from a marketing standpoint.

Champa clearly decided to break the quickie lunch mold. There is no counter, and thus no lines. But there also is no hostess stand: That was a tiny bit confusing, for about 10 seconds. The whole of the restaurant is a relatively compact space filled with tables, with a small lounge-y space in the back for those waiting for takeout. The flat-screen TV isn't the first I've seen in a Thai restaurant, surprisingly. But the sofas are.

Service was quick and friendly. The server even offered to put tofu in my pad thai, even though it's not a menu option. The downside was that it was silken tofu, so it wasn't the best, texturally. But I'm willing to overlook it on the basis that the pad thai itself was wonderful: very spicy, per request, with a generous serving of crushed peanuts on the side and plenty of broccoli and cauliflower roasted crisp-tender.

Granted, it's tough to judge an eatery solely on the basis of one pad thai. Let's just say I'm easy to please in the Thai department. Next time I'll venture out on a Southeast Asian limb and get thom ka or thom yum, or whatever monosyllabic delicacies strike my fancy that day. Till then, I'm pleased enough.

The Pit.

Expectations were high when my companion and I headed to the Pit on Thursday night. There had been a whole lot of hoopla over the pitmaster, Ed Mitchell, apparently a barbecue legend who was taking barbecue to another level in the lovely warehouse-district building once occupied by Nana's Chophouse.

There were upsides and downsides.

Upsides: Wonderful ambience. Good service. My drinks: a Lynchburg lemonade to start, and then a crisp, dry chardonnay recommended by the server. The crab dip and flatbread crackers. The heavenly banana pudding, which had a layer of crumbs in the bottom with a touch of cinnamon.

Downsides: The barbecue was kind of dry, and the sides weren't the least bit impressive. The mac'n'cheese, also recommended by the server, was dry and sticky and the fruit salad was anemic -- though at least it wasn't the usual restaurant "fruit salad" consisting only of cantalope and honeydew.

It's sad, because as y'all well know, I love good barbecue, and combining good 'cue with a good sit-down experience would have been near-nirvana. But the heavy dishware and cloth napkins can't hide the fact that someone got lazy and decided to coast on location and reputation.

Thanks for the heads-up, Greg

In today's News & Observer, Greg Cox offers a hot list of kid-friendly restaurants.

My translation: Places I should avoid at all costs, for the sake of my safety, sanity and overall well-being. *shudder*

It's not just the childfree snob in me who seeks to keep the kiddies at arm's length. I used to wait tables, so I have insta-sympathy for servers who have to scrape dried mac'n'cheese and macerated saltines off industrial carpeting and hose down high chairs sticky with apple juice and saliva. I cringe just thinking about it.

You want child-friendly? You can have it. I'll go somewhere else.

However, Elmo's gets a pass. Elmo's diners are such a mishmash that the people-watching is almost guaranteed interesting and rarely annoying.

South at North Hills

It's such a shame this directionally gifted restaurant lost its way.

The "new, eclectic" (restaurant marketing parlance) Southern restaurant was apparently the second such spot in North Hills to go belly-up, according to The N&O's Sue Stock. Read about it here.

Until today, I hadn't sampled either. North Hills is a great place to go to Target, for a mildly impoverished yuppie like myself. Sometimes it's a great place to catch a movie. But I don't generally consider it a great place to eat unless I'm going to Chick fil-A or Five Guys. Too many people, too little parking, too little patience. The one foray into real sit-down dining, at Fox & Hound, was distinctly underwhelming.

Today, however, was a particularly girl day. Three of us ladies caught a chick flick and then decided to have lunch. Since we had heard South was headed you-know-where, we decided to give it a parting shot.

It was wonderful. The decor is clearly North Hills Snob, but the service was laid back and genuinely friendly. We arrived around 3, when the menu was a limited midafternoon dealie. Regardless, the choices all sounded great. I asked for a recommendation between the shrimp tacos and the fried green tomato BLT. The server, unfortunately, was not a pig-eater, but he did enthuasiastically recommend the tacos. And they were lovely: several deep-fried prawns tucked into soft shells with cabbage, guac and a savory aioli sauce. On the side: a mixed-greens salad with gorgonzola, candied pecans and some lovely croutons made of some kind of phyllo dough, I think.

Also on the table: gourmet mac and cheese, shrimp and grits, and buttermilk mashed potatoes. Carbs galore, well presented, well received.

It was kind of in a class apart from Chick fil-A.

So, all y'all have got five days left before South is off the map. I'm considering heading for one last taste. I just hope they don't liquidate their stock of green tomatoes before then.

Check out the Web site, while it's still up: South at North Hills