c.o.a.f.g. stands for confessions of a fat girl and you can use it to introduce your grossest moments. For example, “c.o.a.f.g., I found a piece of fried chicken skin in my bed this morning … and I ate it.”* (And I invite all of you, dear readers, to adopt #coafg. Own it. Love it.) We started using the phrase in college, but the spirit of c.o.a.f.g. has been with me all my life. When I was about two and riding in the backseat of my mom’s car, she pulled up to a drive-through ATM and I announced from my carseat: “Ummm, I’ll have french fries and a Coke.” #coafg. My mom loves that story because she took it as a sign that I was smart. I recognized the ATM machine! (Even though I didn’t.) Actually, I have just spent most of my life thinking about food and hoping that every automated-looking box I come across will somehow magically dispense french fries.
c.o.a.f.g. doesn’t have anything to do with actually being or becoming fat, it is more about openly embracing food and eating. It can be shortened to just “c.o.a.” in conversation — for example, “c.o.a., I would love a swimming pool full of queso right now.” Or, “c.o.a., I had a frito pie for breakfast.” Since college, c.o.a.f.g. has come to stand less for my totally disgusting eating habits (“c.o.a.f.g., there is a cheeto in my pocket”) and more for my food adventures (“c.o.a.f.g., there is a water cracker in my pocket”) (I didn’t say they were mature food adventures…)
So you can find out about those food adventures on this blog. I wanted to be a chef when I was a kid and my parents told me to scrap the idea — “Cook in your free time! Be a lawyer!” (Lawyer was my other dream. I drafted a living will when I was 10, which my cat “witnessed” to attest to my sound mind. Don’t think too hard about that one.) I am actually now a lawyer who cooks in her free time. When I have free time. As a junior associate at a New York law firm in my twenties, I found myself scouring mommy blogs for quick and easy recipes, things that make good leftovers for lunch. Real food, lots of veggies, actually sitting at a dinner table. There is oddly a lot of overlap between young, busy, urban professionals and young, busy, urban moms. Who would have thought? You’ll find a lot of that here at Leighto-Greato. You’ll also find weekend favorites that take a little longer, and things I like to cook for company. (I love dinner parties! I am 42 at heart.) Maybe we’ll even get around to a couple restaurant reviews. But mostly, you’ll find delicious recipes because I have probably been planning my next meal since right around the time I finished my last meal. #coafg.
And Leighto-Greato is obviously not my name. What made you think I was going to tell strangers on my internet my real name? This isn’t an AOL chatroom in 1998.
If you’re looking for more info around the blog, be sure to check out:
- my recipe index, which lists the recipes on the site categorized by ingredient, season, dietary restriction, etc. Want a new category? Holler at me.
- my leightogreato recommends… page for all the podcasts, blogs, cookbooks, and kitchen gadgets I listen to/read/use/love. If you want a recommendation about anything, look there first! Want something new? Holler at me.
- my where we eat page for all the place know and love in NYC, plus all the places I recommend from our travels. Want a recommendation for a gluten-free, dairy-free, BYOB restaurant that has last-minute availability for Thanksgiving? Buzz off. Just kidding, holler at me, I’ll do my best, but you’re a very difficult customer.
*This is not my story. This happened to my friend, Mel, when she was living in Spain and skyping with her sister, Sarah, back in Texas. Mel insists that she did not actually eat the found piece of chicken skin; Sarah maintains that she did. For new initiates to c.o.a.f.g., please note that it doesn’t really matter either way — just finding chicken skin in bed is gross enough to count.
Also, the words and photos on this blog are mine. Don’t be a jerk. Don’t steal stuff that’s not yours.