Word: chickened
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Fedorchalk's diet was abysmal. She skipped breakfast, ate lunch at school - usually chicken strips and fries - and frequently had dinner at McDonald's: a burger and more fries. She drank nondiet soda and snacked on potato chips and Little Debbie cakes. She never exercised because, between school and extracurricular activities, she claimed she didn't have time. "It got to where I didn't like sports anymore," Fedorchalk says. "I'd get out of breath and get upset because mentally I wanted to do so much, but physically I couldn't." She gained 45 lb. in 2009 alone...
...recently spent an entire week eating only food that I had shrink-wrapped and cooked in tepid water for an inordinate amount of time: eight hours for a chicken breast, 24 hours for a steak, 36 hours for short ribs that came out rare. Although this culinary method may sound fit for a survival camp, a growing number of foodies are embracing sous vide, French for "under vacuum," as the ideal way to slowly cook meat in its own juices. (Watch TIME's video "Sous Vide: Your Food Takes a Bath...
...well as some recipes that came with the PolyScience gadget, I ended up with truly divine endive: cooked for 45 minutes with a little bit of lemon, it came out sweet, melt-in-your-mouth good. But that 24-hour steak was not memorable. And the chicken was gross, like a wet sponge. (See a special report on the science of appetite...
After talking with him, I decided to take another crack at chicken. That night, I filled part of an ice-cube tray with tomato sauce. The next morning, I sliced a lemon and some mushrooms and put them in a bag with a chicken breast and my frozen tomato cubes. I left with the heater set at 140°F (60°C). I cut out of work early to be home exactly eight hours later. The result: still spongy, but at least the sauce was tasty. I plan to try the recipe again with one slight adjustment - an oven...
Opting for the mesob and bench combo over staid dinner chairs, my roommate and I were forced to devour our sweet-spicy red pepper-smothered chicken and smoked collards—my new go-to plates, no doubt—with only the injera’s help, elbows on thighs and food on our faces. As the couple behind us could attest, the vulnerability inherent in relishing such messy (if delicious) tucker perhaps makes Asmara more appropriate for close friends than first dates: while a nameless fellow diner gave her soiled companion a disinterested stank-eye, my roommate...