As I sat down to breakfast this morning, I gazed with not a little wonder at the plate before me. It held one of my faves: egg-in-the-hole. Yes, a piece of wheat bread with a hole ripped in the middle and a lovely egg resting inside the empty space. Atop it were leftover roasted autumn veggies, tiny potatoes and Brussel sprouts, a few pepper slices, some hunks of carrot... Can you picture it? And then, the crowning jewel atop the veg—a sardine.
Scrumptious, yes? Aren't you jealous?
If you aren't, I won't take it personally. If you'd told me 30 years ago that I'd look upon this as a desirable dish, I would have laughed. I couldn't imagine eating something so savory and unsweet at that point in my life. It was beyond comprehension. I still inhaled ice cream most days, drank sweet tea, scarfed down Ho-Hos for lunch. I distinctly recall my splurge in college being Hostess brand raspberry-coconut coated Zingers.
(Not to say I wouldn't still enjoy those on a daily basis today. I mean, come on—those things are amazing.)
But thanks to sugar issues, changing metabolic rates, middle age, and a more sedentary lifestyle, I was forced to become much more health-conscious in the past decade, and it's been good for me. I've become a better and more creative cook, I've learned much more about our food supply, I actively seeking homegrown and local options for the kitchen... And my palate has expanded exponentially. As it should, since I'm a reluctant grownup now.
I described my breakfast meal only to preface the point of this post—that being, we as humans have an incredible capacity for change through growth. Most of us are constantly changing, and often not by choice; sometimes, however, through limitations or fear of consequences, the changes make us better people.
I've gotten better at budgets because of times when we lacked. I've grown more active lately because of the adopted dog who needs activity. Would I have chosen to go through tight financial periods? Heck, no. It was rough. But I'm wiser now because of it, and I have more faith in God's provision. Would I have picked out a high-energy dog intentionally so I'd be forced to exercise? Good grief, no—I wasn't eyeballing the purse-fitting dogs or anything, but I would likely have gravitated to a couch-loving breed of small beast, and we would probably have grown chubbier together... God knew I didn't need more relaxation.
So, what's the point? I guess what I'm saying is it's increasingly clear to me that what initially looks like suffering or denial will, in most cases, end up being a doorway to a good place that I would never have discovered otherwise.
And the big picture? We have the ability to be altered. We are capable of falling into bad habits, but equally capable of teaching ourselves (or being forced to learn) new, better habits. Our beliefs can shift, our behaviors can change, we can improve. We don't have to let life happen to us.
Isn't that empowering?
Showing posts with label food. Show all posts
Showing posts with label food. Show all posts
Tuesday, October 24, 2017
Friday, July 17, 2015
Night-time patio writings by moonlight
In summer months, I ponder oft
Cuisines that I adore the most.
Fair Italy's tomatoes soft
And salty, rich on garlic toast?
Or olives dripping brine, so fine
Adorned with mozzarella roast?
Yet South America's spice, so bright—
The nutty, toothsome pop of corn
That with a bean, and pepper's bite,
Will many happy plate adorn?
A tomatillo green, so keen
To make its cousin red, forlorn?
How could I choose when both are best
Depending on the harvest's cull?
Whichever type of plate I've messed
Most recently is all in all,
Because it's clear that both are dear!
All day could I this subject mull.
It matters not; I'll love them both
When golden sun is high and hot.
For winter, bring on stew and broth,
Those remedies when cold is caught.
But icy gale? The sting of hail?
These things, my favorite foods know not.
Cuisines that I adore the most.
Fair Italy's tomatoes soft
And salty, rich on garlic toast?
Or olives dripping brine, so fine
Adorned with mozzarella roast?
Yet South America's spice, so bright—
The nutty, toothsome pop of corn
That with a bean, and pepper's bite,
Will many happy plate adorn?
A tomatillo green, so keen
To make its cousin red, forlorn?
How could I choose when both are best
Depending on the harvest's cull?
Whichever type of plate I've messed
Most recently is all in all,
Because it's clear that both are dear!
All day could I this subject mull.
It matters not; I'll love them both
When golden sun is high and hot.
For winter, bring on stew and broth,
Those remedies when cold is caught.
But icy gale? The sting of hail?
These things, my favorite foods know not.
Thursday, September 26, 2013
Life lines
I don't mean the line that runs across your palm, that favorite of palm-readers the world over. My reference is supposed to be a play on words, a twisting of the utterly inappropriate term "laugh lines." You know, that lighthearted misnomer that some joker created to describe the deep indentations near mouth and eyes that are supposedly caused by too much joviality?
Yeah, right.
Mine are now Life Lines. As in, caused by life. It's been a stressful couple of weeks. I won't burden you, dear reader. But please pray that my family and I will have wisdom and compassion in generous doses.
This painting is a few days old, completed before things became too topsy-turvy. It features a quick rendering of our very own garden-grown, heirloom tomatoes. We've eaten plenty, and will eat more. One must indulge when the indulgence is in season.
Take nothing for granted. Perhaps that will be my new mantra. Can a Christian have a mantra?
Yeah, right.
Mine are now Life Lines. As in, caused by life. It's been a stressful couple of weeks. I won't burden you, dear reader. But please pray that my family and I will have wisdom and compassion in generous doses.
This painting is a few days old, completed before things became too topsy-turvy. It features a quick rendering of our very own garden-grown, heirloom tomatoes. We've eaten plenty, and will eat more. One must indulge when the indulgence is in season.
Take nothing for granted. Perhaps that will be my new mantra. Can a Christian have a mantra?
Sunday, January 27, 2013
Voting with your fork (and your dollar)
Their ranch is home not just to the Berks, but also to Scottish Highland cattle. All the animals at North Woods Ranch are privileged (in modern America, anyway) to live their creaturely lives in the traditional, humane way that was intended for such creatures. They roam freely, eating or rooting in grass, exploring small sections of field to which they're confined for a few days before being moved to another plot to exhaust that space, and so on. Their food is supplemented with natural, non-corn-based feeds. Nothing that goes into the animals is genetically modified, none of the critters require regular does of steroids or antibiotics (because they're not living nose to hind end in filthy quarters, eating food that makes them ill), and the animals are never caged or confined. As a result, the pigs and cows are healthier—and therefore, their meat is healthier in every way.
One of my favorite books of the last decade is The Omnivore's Dilemma by Michael Pollan. I recommend it to people who can handle the truth. (Remember A Few Good Men?) I have read and re-read it, and I'm more and more determined each time I revisit it to stay committed to the task of eating responsibly and with as much awareness as I can. It's not just about meat, though; it's all the food in our industrial system. What most of us are really eating, every day? Corn and petroleum. But I'll let you read it for yourself.
The copy I have right now (having lent a couple of others, and subsequently replaced them) seems to be a signed paperback. I found it at Half-Price Books (love that place) and it sure looks like Pollen's name in the front title page. Whomever it is urges the book's owner to "vote with your fork," and while I agree with that sentiment in an indirect way, I feel as if Americans grasp the idea of voting with dollars a little better. Where we spend is what we value.
Will free-range, homegrown foods of all kinds cost more? Yes. Is it a deliberate choice about where you put your money? About which system you support? You bet. All that inexpensive food in the markets has a different price, really, but you'll never see it because the real cost is under-cut by our government. The people who help keep the sick, limping, oil-dependent system in place. Those people (as if I need to tell you this) don't care about your welfare. They talk a good talk, but in the end, when you need them to explain how all that corn syrup and corn-fed beef and steroids and antibiotic-resistant bacteria got into your and your children's bodies, you won't get any answers—they'll be on vacation in Hawaii, likely. So.
Inform yourself. I'll stop ranting now, but I encourage you, implore you, beseech you to learn more. To become a food radical. Your body will thank you. You'll be doing something meaningful, making a statement (however small). People don't need meat every day, at every meal. It's only possible because of a twisted means of bringing it to you in bulk for very little money. And when the animals suffer, so does your health. It's all related.
In the meantime? Go here and read about North Woods Ranch. Support it, and also other people who are trying to do it right. Community Supported Agriculture buy-ins are another great means of helping the little guys, as are farmer's markets. Or heck, grow your own food! Victory gardens are a fantastic idea all the time, not just in wartime. And stop buying tomatoes in winter, and asparagus in fall. Buy what's in season, from people nearby that you know, if you can. It's better for everyone.
Okay, done now.
Wednesday, November 21, 2012
Ssshhhhhh
Wow, life has sped up recently and doesn't show signs of slowing anytime soon. I am trying to find my [figurative] sneakers so I can keep up.
And once again, Thanksgiving is upon us. A lovely holiday, truly. Like any holiday, though, it can become fraught with idealistic expectations and high drama. Will the turkey be perfect? Will everyone make it to Grandma's on time? Will anyone eat too much and feel ill? Will someone make awkward comments about when so-and-so might finally get married and/or have a baby? Will anyone fight in public, or loudly discuss matters that should remain private?
Well, you'll have to see for yourself. We'll all be celebrating in our own little worlds, or choosing not to participate in the over-fed madness. Some folks will not be celebrating at all, and will be alone; I am hoping God puts those people on my heart, because for many folks, that emptiness will be a sad state, and it doesn't have to be that way...
Re: expectations and drama, I'll say only this. In the Bible study I'm taking, we met in our small groups, and were all instructed to take turns telling about the happiest time of our lives. Many of the women in my group mentioned the obvious big days: birth of children, wedding, anniversaries... But one woman who's a cancer survivor mentioned how she's begun to cherish the quiet, un-momentous occasions in her life—those moments when she is subtly aware of contentedness, when she can hear God's still, small voice, when she feels blessed and fully aware of her blessings. Those glimpses are more precious to her now, because they offer views into a deeper happiness that is based on much more than circumstances.
And she is right, I think. I pondered how big, happy moments tend to make me feel uneasy, suspicious—when I experience that state, I immediately begin waiting for the proverbial other shoe to drop. In my pre-diabetic sensibility, I suppose that "happy" has begun to feel like a sugar rush to me... A rush that, as we all should know by now, is followed shortly thereafter by a blood sugar crash.
So, like my acquaintance, I'll be seeking the softer, subtler happy. It's unlikely that the upcoming holidays will be perfect, and that's okay. We are, after all, more than our food and families. We are more than what we buy, or what we experience. Our lives are a tapestry, not all bright colors and splashy designs, but tattered sections and dull, sparrow-like shades, too. We need to adjust our vision to see all the moments around us, even the quiet beige ones. To my way of thinking, sugar-rush emotions will never compare to simple delights of this world.
Wishing you a grateful heart that can see blessings,
mel
And once again, Thanksgiving is upon us. A lovely holiday, truly. Like any holiday, though, it can become fraught with idealistic expectations and high drama. Will the turkey be perfect? Will everyone make it to Grandma's on time? Will anyone eat too much and feel ill? Will someone make awkward comments about when so-and-so might finally get married and/or have a baby? Will anyone fight in public, or loudly discuss matters that should remain private?
Well, you'll have to see for yourself. We'll all be celebrating in our own little worlds, or choosing not to participate in the over-fed madness. Some folks will not be celebrating at all, and will be alone; I am hoping God puts those people on my heart, because for many folks, that emptiness will be a sad state, and it doesn't have to be that way...
Re: expectations and drama, I'll say only this. In the Bible study I'm taking, we met in our small groups, and were all instructed to take turns telling about the happiest time of our lives. Many of the women in my group mentioned the obvious big days: birth of children, wedding, anniversaries... But one woman who's a cancer survivor mentioned how she's begun to cherish the quiet, un-momentous occasions in her life—those moments when she is subtly aware of contentedness, when she can hear God's still, small voice, when she feels blessed and fully aware of her blessings. Those glimpses are more precious to her now, because they offer views into a deeper happiness that is based on much more than circumstances.
And she is right, I think. I pondered how big, happy moments tend to make me feel uneasy, suspicious—when I experience that state, I immediately begin waiting for the proverbial other shoe to drop. In my pre-diabetic sensibility, I suppose that "happy" has begun to feel like a sugar rush to me... A rush that, as we all should know by now, is followed shortly thereafter by a blood sugar crash.
So, like my acquaintance, I'll be seeking the softer, subtler happy. It's unlikely that the upcoming holidays will be perfect, and that's okay. We are, after all, more than our food and families. We are more than what we buy, or what we experience. Our lives are a tapestry, not all bright colors and splashy designs, but tattered sections and dull, sparrow-like shades, too. We need to adjust our vision to see all the moments around us, even the quiet beige ones. To my way of thinking, sugar-rush emotions will never compare to simple delights of this world.
Wishing you a grateful heart that can see blessings,
mel
Friday, March 30, 2012
Why a guy must buy
There have been so many posts swimming around in my head of late. Things are still rather hectic here, for us at least (our lives are still only a fraction as hectic as everyone else we know, but that is intentional because no one in my home handles chaos very well, IMHO...) Throughout the days, though, I am mentally composing blog post after post.
I won't lie: most of these posts are not fit to write, let alone to display anywhere that is public. Many are rants, mostly about the economy, the culture, money, idealism, unreal expectations, and men in general. Those are the posts that I think about, plan half-heartedly, and then toss out. Nothing good will come of putting those thoughts on virtual paper.
However, here's one that seems to be acceptable—men and the need to pay for food. Why is this? I know it's a performance thing for a young man and a special young lady. Fellows like to be able to pay, or at least that used to be the standard. (That's not to say they always did that or were able to do that...but it was a preference for many.) In this day and age, honestly, I can imagine that many young women have just as much if not more means to cover a meal eaten out.
But I'm not talking about dates; I'm talking about friends. Guy pals who happen to have lunch, or get together for coffee or a drink or something. The guy I know best seems to always feel it is his job to pay. It doesn't matter which one of them initiated the occasion. It doesn't matter who the other man is. The friend could be incredibly comfortable, not struggling in any way, a well-to-do co-worker who's comfortably ensconced in his second or even third decade of cushy employment, a person who co-owns a successful business, etc. The whole thing could have been the other party's idea... and yet my hus wants to get the check.
Why is this?
I get together with gal pals and we happily Dutch treat every time. There is no awkwardness, no real arguing about whose responsibility it is. The important part of the meeting is that we're together. We're talking, sharing, laughing. It does not matter who's paying.
Is it only my fellow who is like this? Are all men? And is this need to pay a pride thing? I realize more and more every day how much pride motivates us all, and I am seeing how it's a powerful (and frequently destructive) force especially in men. How they are perceived by everyone around them, especially other men, is hugely important to them. So is that what drives this need to pay for others? To prove success, to show without doubt that they can and will "take care of it"? It feels like more than just a kind gesture when the recipient of the meal originally suggested it, and/or is obviously in a good place and does not require the favor in any way, shape, or form. I understand that it's a nice thing to do at any time, for anyone... but does that mindset outweigh common sense even if money and finances are more of a concern for the person who insists on paying?
Thoughts? I'd honestly welcome other feedback here; I've been accused of being tight-fisted.
I won't lie: most of these posts are not fit to write, let alone to display anywhere that is public. Many are rants, mostly about the economy, the culture, money, idealism, unreal expectations, and men in general. Those are the posts that I think about, plan half-heartedly, and then toss out. Nothing good will come of putting those thoughts on virtual paper.
However, here's one that seems to be acceptable—men and the need to pay for food. Why is this? I know it's a performance thing for a young man and a special young lady. Fellows like to be able to pay, or at least that used to be the standard. (That's not to say they always did that or were able to do that...but it was a preference for many.) In this day and age, honestly, I can imagine that many young women have just as much if not more means to cover a meal eaten out.
But I'm not talking about dates; I'm talking about friends. Guy pals who happen to have lunch, or get together for coffee or a drink or something. The guy I know best seems to always feel it is his job to pay. It doesn't matter which one of them initiated the occasion. It doesn't matter who the other man is. The friend could be incredibly comfortable, not struggling in any way, a well-to-do co-worker who's comfortably ensconced in his second or even third decade of cushy employment, a person who co-owns a successful business, etc. The whole thing could have been the other party's idea... and yet my hus wants to get the check.
Why is this?
I get together with gal pals and we happily Dutch treat every time. There is no awkwardness, no real arguing about whose responsibility it is. The important part of the meeting is that we're together. We're talking, sharing, laughing. It does not matter who's paying.
Is it only my fellow who is like this? Are all men? And is this need to pay a pride thing? I realize more and more every day how much pride motivates us all, and I am seeing how it's a powerful (and frequently destructive) force especially in men. How they are perceived by everyone around them, especially other men, is hugely important to them. So is that what drives this need to pay for others? To prove success, to show without doubt that they can and will "take care of it"? It feels like more than just a kind gesture when the recipient of the meal originally suggested it, and/or is obviously in a good place and does not require the favor in any way, shape, or form. I understand that it's a nice thing to do at any time, for anyone... but does that mindset outweigh common sense even if money and finances are more of a concern for the person who insists on paying?
Thoughts? I'd honestly welcome other feedback here; I've been accused of being tight-fisted.
Wednesday, December 14, 2011
Odd bits
Well, hello there! It's been a while, eh?
My son likes Arthur, the book and TV series by Marc Brown (who, incidentally, is from Erie, PA. We knew that because the mall in Arthur's town is called Millcreek Mall, just like Erie's! And the town Arthur lives in is Elwood City, which is a real town south of Erie. Yep! We were onto you, Marc Brown!) So, on the PBS website, there are Arthur games. And one of them is a game for his friend, Buster Baxter the bunny, who is obsessed with aliens. On the site, you can build your very own, original alien. Marcus loves it. One "parts" category from which to choose is called Odd Bits, and when you pass the cursor over it, a strange, alienesque voice says, "Odd bits." It always cracks me up. Hence, the title of this post.
(If you care to create your own alien, click here.)
Okay, back to this post.
It's the holiday season (can you hear Andy Williams crooning that line?) and things are rather hectic, but under control. Right before Thanksgiving, we added a member to our family. Here she is.
Isn't she pretty? Her given name was Ninja, and it fits; she's stealthy and silent a lot of the time. I like dogs, too, and hopefully there is still a dog in our future. But with the uncertainty of where we'll end up living (we still hope to move), a house-restricted cat seemed like a smarter choice. We've been needing a furry addition for awhile; the home just felt too sterile. She's very shy with strangers, and we were strangers initially. For days, this little lady hid in impossibly tiny spots, dusty corners, underneath cabinets, etc. She didn't eat or pee for at least 24 hours. I had second and third thoughts about our decision, which I did not voice aloud since this whole thing had been my idea.
But in time, she's come around. For the past couple of weeks, she's been increasingly friendly, and now she's staked out a comfortable chair in the living room as her own. It's likely that no guest of ours will ever see her, because said guest will be a stranger. But we know that she's really pretty sweet and playful. She's very much the opposite of our old cat, who was honestly more of a "dog-cat" that got in your face, meowed full volume, and then leaped onto your lap if you passed muster. Finding a different personality for this kitty was intentional; you can't repeat the past pet, nor should you try.
The whole experience has reminded me that earning the trust of someone who's shy and suspicious feels like a real accomplishment. I'm sort of more like the old cat, meowing a lot and getting in people's faces. That's not good. I need to be more quiet, subdued, reserved. It's not natural but it probably goes a lot farther than my current approach. I always struggle with stuff from the bible that talks up the "gentleness of spirit" aspect, because I really have to look deep in myself to find that sort of thing. Maybe I should work on putting more of it in there, so it's not such a rare discovery...
Onward to another new addition: a lovely, nearly completed (doesn't have a door or windows yet) shed in the garden. Yes, I know—why build a shed if you plan to move? Please ask my husband. Maybe you'll get a more satisfying answer than I did.
Moving on, I looked for a photo I took last summer, but couldn't locate it and was too lazy to search through my CDs of saved images. The photo featured a wonderful, simple, possibly nutritious entrée called egg-in-the-hole. I first learned of this easy meal from Martha Stewart, but I turned it into an art form in late August, when our home-grown tomatoes were bursting from the vines. EITH is a lovely food form because it is completely flexible and easily individualized. (And yes, occasionally I take pictures of my edible creations. No comments, please.)
Here are some divinely uncomplicated instructions for Egg-in-the-Hole:
-Take a piece of bread, rip a smallish hole in the center, and eat the bread you ripped out to sustain you while you cook this masterpiece.
-Heat a medium-sized fry pan over medium heat.
-Drop in a BIG pat of butter.
-When it's sizzling, decrease the heat slightly and drop in the hole-y bread.
-As it begins to toast in the pan, crack an egg into the hole in the bread.
-When about 30 seconds have passed, use a spatula to loosen the egg/bread so it doesn't stick too much to the pan.
-After about 30 more seconds, turn over the egg/bread.
-Add some lunch meat or leftover turkey or ham to the top of the mostly cooked egg.
-Add some shredded or thinly sliced cheese atop the meat.
-Ascertain that the egg is fully cooked or darn close, and then turn off the heat and cover the pan for a minute or two.
-EAT. It's that easy. The most difficult part is washing the fry pan. Which isn't too bad, since you used a ton of butter to prevent sticking. ; )
The tastiest combo I found was whole wheat bread, a home-grown egg courtesy of my sister's hens, then turkey topped with a fresh slice of tomato, sprinkled liberally with Parmesan and pepper. But the beauty of this is that it works with whatever ingredients you have available. The butter gives the bread a rich, crispy texture that feels positively luxurious. You don't even need meat, because the egg gives you protein. You can use fresh greens wilted on top, or just cheese, or even a dollop of cottage cheese. It's completely up to you. Use whole-grain bread and don't go too crazy with the butter, and you might just be able to pass this off as a healthy little meal.
Signing off now; more Christmas-related tasks await. Stay jolly and joyful!
My son likes Arthur, the book and TV series by Marc Brown (who, incidentally, is from Erie, PA. We knew that because the mall in Arthur's town is called Millcreek Mall, just like Erie's! And the town Arthur lives in is Elwood City, which is a real town south of Erie. Yep! We were onto you, Marc Brown!) So, on the PBS website, there are Arthur games. And one of them is a game for his friend, Buster Baxter the bunny, who is obsessed with aliens. On the site, you can build your very own, original alien. Marcus loves it. One "parts" category from which to choose is called Odd Bits, and when you pass the cursor over it, a strange, alienesque voice says, "Odd bits." It always cracks me up. Hence, the title of this post.
(If you care to create your own alien, click here.)
Okay, back to this post.
It's the holiday season (can you hear Andy Williams crooning that line?) and things are rather hectic, but under control. Right before Thanksgiving, we added a member to our family. Here she is.
Isn't she pretty? Her given name was Ninja, and it fits; she's stealthy and silent a lot of the time. I like dogs, too, and hopefully there is still a dog in our future. But with the uncertainty of where we'll end up living (we still hope to move), a house-restricted cat seemed like a smarter choice. We've been needing a furry addition for awhile; the home just felt too sterile. She's very shy with strangers, and we were strangers initially. For days, this little lady hid in impossibly tiny spots, dusty corners, underneath cabinets, etc. She didn't eat or pee for at least 24 hours. I had second and third thoughts about our decision, which I did not voice aloud since this whole thing had been my idea.
But in time, she's come around. For the past couple of weeks, she's been increasingly friendly, and now she's staked out a comfortable chair in the living room as her own. It's likely that no guest of ours will ever see her, because said guest will be a stranger. But we know that she's really pretty sweet and playful. She's very much the opposite of our old cat, who was honestly more of a "dog-cat" that got in your face, meowed full volume, and then leaped onto your lap if you passed muster. Finding a different personality for this kitty was intentional; you can't repeat the past pet, nor should you try.
The whole experience has reminded me that earning the trust of someone who's shy and suspicious feels like a real accomplishment. I'm sort of more like the old cat, meowing a lot and getting in people's faces. That's not good. I need to be more quiet, subdued, reserved. It's not natural but it probably goes a lot farther than my current approach. I always struggle with stuff from the bible that talks up the "gentleness of spirit" aspect, because I really have to look deep in myself to find that sort of thing. Maybe I should work on putting more of it in there, so it's not such a rare discovery...
Onward to another new addition: a lovely, nearly completed (doesn't have a door or windows yet) shed in the garden. Yes, I know—why build a shed if you plan to move? Please ask my husband. Maybe you'll get a more satisfying answer than I did.
Moving on, I looked for a photo I took last summer, but couldn't locate it and was too lazy to search through my CDs of saved images. The photo featured a wonderful, simple, possibly nutritious entrée called egg-in-the-hole. I first learned of this easy meal from Martha Stewart, but I turned it into an art form in late August, when our home-grown tomatoes were bursting from the vines. EITH is a lovely food form because it is completely flexible and easily individualized. (And yes, occasionally I take pictures of my edible creations. No comments, please.)
Here are some divinely uncomplicated instructions for Egg-in-the-Hole:
-Take a piece of bread, rip a smallish hole in the center, and eat the bread you ripped out to sustain you while you cook this masterpiece.
-Heat a medium-sized fry pan over medium heat.
-Drop in a BIG pat of butter.
-When it's sizzling, decrease the heat slightly and drop in the hole-y bread.
-As it begins to toast in the pan, crack an egg into the hole in the bread.
-When about 30 seconds have passed, use a spatula to loosen the egg/bread so it doesn't stick too much to the pan.
-After about 30 more seconds, turn over the egg/bread.
-Add some lunch meat or leftover turkey or ham to the top of the mostly cooked egg.
-Add some shredded or thinly sliced cheese atop the meat.
-Ascertain that the egg is fully cooked or darn close, and then turn off the heat and cover the pan for a minute or two.
-EAT. It's that easy. The most difficult part is washing the fry pan. Which isn't too bad, since you used a ton of butter to prevent sticking. ; )
The tastiest combo I found was whole wheat bread, a home-grown egg courtesy of my sister's hens, then turkey topped with a fresh slice of tomato, sprinkled liberally with Parmesan and pepper. But the beauty of this is that it works with whatever ingredients you have available. The butter gives the bread a rich, crispy texture that feels positively luxurious. You don't even need meat, because the egg gives you protein. You can use fresh greens wilted on top, or just cheese, or even a dollop of cottage cheese. It's completely up to you. Use whole-grain bread and don't go too crazy with the butter, and you might just be able to pass this off as a healthy little meal.
Signing off now; more Christmas-related tasks await. Stay jolly and joyful!
Tuesday, November 29, 2011
A heaping helping of stuffing balls and nostalgia
When I was a teen, Thanksgiving took place at Ma-Ma's home.
Ma-Ma was my paternal grandmother. She shared a gigantic second-floor apartment in my home town, living there until the end of her life with her youngest son and, for awhile, his son—her oldest grandson. The place had to be nearly 3,000 square feet. It had tall ceilings, and a ridiculous staircase at both the front and back entrances (where both doors sported multiple locks, always securely locked). Running down one side of the length of the place was a spacious but dark hallway that could easily have been divided into three or four decent-sized rooms; off this hall there were several bedrooms, and a bath, with another half-bath accessible from the dining room. A cheerful sun porch faced the back parking lot, crammed from top to bottom with the bulk of Ma-Ma's bounteous plant collection. Anchoring the other end of the place was a huge living room complete with decorative fireplace. The living room conveniently faced the street, so you could sit in Ma-Ma's favorite rocker by the middle window—if you were lucky enough to land such a prime seat—and there you could watch the comings and goings of the entire town. You could look up the hill to a nearby park, to the college campus housed there, or you could look down the street toward the middle of Main Street (High Street, as it is named in that small town).
When we arrived, others were almost always there already—aunts, uncles, cousins of various ages, all wandering to and fro and getting in the way at times. The turkey was roasting, the potatoes were being mashed to perfection, the corn pudding and green bean casserole were warming somewhere safe... and the stuffing balls were likely being fussed over by my grandmother. Generously portioned, not too wet and not too dry, she formed them all by hand, and they were never baked to perfection inside a bird's carcass! Absolutely not. They were wonderfully browned on cookie sheets, I think. She was always very concerned about their safety, or at least that's what I recall. Would they dry out? Become too hard? We didn't want to bat them in a sports event, we wanted to savor their crispy-tender wonder. The stuffing balls must be protected. The gravy was very important, too; it was another delicate delight to be nurtured and watched.
The dining room in that apartment was grand, right out of the 20s I suppose, with beautiful woodwork, double glass-paned doors leading in from the grand hallway, and my grandmother's table in the center of the room as its stupendous crowning glory. I seem to remember that the big wooden table was always pulled out to its full length, even when the holidays were done. The room was large, the table almost as large, and we filled it and still required a kids' table; I think that was a card table at the end of the room opposite those swinging double doors.
When the meal was ready, we all took plates and filled them, or had help filling them in the case of little ones. We sat, we usually remembered to say a grace and ponder the things we felt thankful about having, and then we ate like the hungry, fragrance-teased people we were. The food was always fabulous. The whole experience was loud, confusing, a bit crowded, and immense fun.
When the meal was done and the kids long gone from the room, the adults lingered, eating more, talking more. I think I lingered most of the time, perhaps realizing even in my spoiled youth that these were precious moments, that some day I would be penning a memory as I am right now. Talk of family, of the people in town, of political developments, all swirled around the warm room. And then, everyone gathered dishes and carried them to the kitchen, and the great food preservation and dish-washing events began in earnest.
I do remember being expected to help wash or dry dishes. I think I usually dried, probably not yet trusted in my girlish giddiness to handle Ma-Ma's pretty China when fully submerged in soapy suds. I don't recall us ever breaking into song or anything, but the mood even while we worked was festive and upbeat. I've never minded getting up and doing something immediately after a big meal, so the clean-up was a welcome chance to move around and remain standing instead of folding my stuffed belly into a soft chair. (That still just impedes my digestion, truly.)
Then it would all be done, or at least the main meal. Maybe we delayed the pies; I really can't remember. I feel as if we held off on desserts and enjoyed them a bit later, after people had squeezed in a rest. When everyone had eaten, that vast living room was like a morgue, bodies everywhere, the couch and recliner always occupied but also large portions of the floor; people everywhere were flung in the half-joyful, half-suffering poses of the gorged. The room was never silent, though; that was the decade of MTV's birth, those early days when the station actually played music videos. My lucky grandmother had a cable subscription, something that we country folk couldn't even fathom, and a day at Ma-Ma's was one of my only chances to absorb as many videos as possible. I never napped, but I did jockey for a position on the floor in front of the television, so I could stretch out on my stomach and gaze, in my overfed stupor, at the musical mindlessness before me.
Now, I am about the same age that my aunts and uncles were at that gathering. Now, my child is small, and my nieces and nephews are teens and young adults. Now, that apartment is inhabited by someone else. My parents are the grandparents. MTV has become something unrecognizable; indeed, much of this culture is unrecognizable to me—strange and empty. Ungrounded. Shallow.
I am realizing, in my old age, that there are scenes and people that you will never stop missing.
Happy belated Thanksgiving. Remember it all, cherish it. Take photos. Write it down. It will fade, and change, and then suddenly it will be part of the past.
Ma-Ma was my paternal grandmother. She shared a gigantic second-floor apartment in my home town, living there until the end of her life with her youngest son and, for awhile, his son—her oldest grandson. The place had to be nearly 3,000 square feet. It had tall ceilings, and a ridiculous staircase at both the front and back entrances (where both doors sported multiple locks, always securely locked). Running down one side of the length of the place was a spacious but dark hallway that could easily have been divided into three or four decent-sized rooms; off this hall there were several bedrooms, and a bath, with another half-bath accessible from the dining room. A cheerful sun porch faced the back parking lot, crammed from top to bottom with the bulk of Ma-Ma's bounteous plant collection. Anchoring the other end of the place was a huge living room complete with decorative fireplace. The living room conveniently faced the street, so you could sit in Ma-Ma's favorite rocker by the middle window—if you were lucky enough to land such a prime seat—and there you could watch the comings and goings of the entire town. You could look up the hill to a nearby park, to the college campus housed there, or you could look down the street toward the middle of Main Street (High Street, as it is named in that small town).
When we arrived, others were almost always there already—aunts, uncles, cousins of various ages, all wandering to and fro and getting in the way at times. The turkey was roasting, the potatoes were being mashed to perfection, the corn pudding and green bean casserole were warming somewhere safe... and the stuffing balls were likely being fussed over by my grandmother. Generously portioned, not too wet and not too dry, she formed them all by hand, and they were never baked to perfection inside a bird's carcass! Absolutely not. They were wonderfully browned on cookie sheets, I think. She was always very concerned about their safety, or at least that's what I recall. Would they dry out? Become too hard? We didn't want to bat them in a sports event, we wanted to savor their crispy-tender wonder. The stuffing balls must be protected. The gravy was very important, too; it was another delicate delight to be nurtured and watched.
The dining room in that apartment was grand, right out of the 20s I suppose, with beautiful woodwork, double glass-paned doors leading in from the grand hallway, and my grandmother's table in the center of the room as its stupendous crowning glory. I seem to remember that the big wooden table was always pulled out to its full length, even when the holidays were done. The room was large, the table almost as large, and we filled it and still required a kids' table; I think that was a card table at the end of the room opposite those swinging double doors.
When the meal was ready, we all took plates and filled them, or had help filling them in the case of little ones. We sat, we usually remembered to say a grace and ponder the things we felt thankful about having, and then we ate like the hungry, fragrance-teased people we were. The food was always fabulous. The whole experience was loud, confusing, a bit crowded, and immense fun.
When the meal was done and the kids long gone from the room, the adults lingered, eating more, talking more. I think I lingered most of the time, perhaps realizing even in my spoiled youth that these were precious moments, that some day I would be penning a memory as I am right now. Talk of family, of the people in town, of political developments, all swirled around the warm room. And then, everyone gathered dishes and carried them to the kitchen, and the great food preservation and dish-washing events began in earnest.
I do remember being expected to help wash or dry dishes. I think I usually dried, probably not yet trusted in my girlish giddiness to handle Ma-Ma's pretty China when fully submerged in soapy suds. I don't recall us ever breaking into song or anything, but the mood even while we worked was festive and upbeat. I've never minded getting up and doing something immediately after a big meal, so the clean-up was a welcome chance to move around and remain standing instead of folding my stuffed belly into a soft chair. (That still just impedes my digestion, truly.)
Then it would all be done, or at least the main meal. Maybe we delayed the pies; I really can't remember. I feel as if we held off on desserts and enjoyed them a bit later, after people had squeezed in a rest. When everyone had eaten, that vast living room was like a morgue, bodies everywhere, the couch and recliner always occupied but also large portions of the floor; people everywhere were flung in the half-joyful, half-suffering poses of the gorged. The room was never silent, though; that was the decade of MTV's birth, those early days when the station actually played music videos. My lucky grandmother had a cable subscription, something that we country folk couldn't even fathom, and a day at Ma-Ma's was one of my only chances to absorb as many videos as possible. I never napped, but I did jockey for a position on the floor in front of the television, so I could stretch out on my stomach and gaze, in my overfed stupor, at the musical mindlessness before me.
Now, I am about the same age that my aunts and uncles were at that gathering. Now, my child is small, and my nieces and nephews are teens and young adults. Now, that apartment is inhabited by someone else. My parents are the grandparents. MTV has become something unrecognizable; indeed, much of this culture is unrecognizable to me—strange and empty. Ungrounded. Shallow.
I am realizing, in my old age, that there are scenes and people that you will never stop missing.
Happy belated Thanksgiving. Remember it all, cherish it. Take photos. Write it down. It will fade, and change, and then suddenly it will be part of the past.
Wednesday, September 14, 2011
Joy in, and from, the garden
A garden can be so inspiring, especially on a late summer morning.
I was picking beans earlier today, plucking some peppers, thinning the slightly leggy arugula, and as I pulled each item from its vine or stalk, the plant released a little zing of scent, redolent with the fresh good thing I'd just freed. Around me, birds were talking to each other, a squirrel was threatening some perceived intruder, cars swished past behind the fence, a neighbor directed the driver of a large truck of mulch to the desired spot in his yard. It was warm but not hot, slightly cloudy but not raining, and I was a small part of something so big and wonderful that I could scarcely receive all the stimuli around me.
These little veggies came from our garden. I couldn't resist painting them; the colors were so yummy. And I hadn't painted from real life in a long time—I'd forgotten how rich the shadows, how complex and delicate are the tiniest details in real life. (The veggies are for sale in my Etsy shop.)
And now, for everyone who's grown cabbage that's becoming ripe, here's a simple grilling recipe to use some of it. (We never intentionally grow cabbage because the plants are space hogs, but it seems that each year, we are gifted with a handful of them. I like cabbage, though, plus it's super-healthy...and I discovered that grilling it is fabulous.) You'll see from my recipe that I like to keep things "loose" so that everyone can make the recipe his own.
Grilled Cabbage Potato Kielbasa Stuff
NOTE: You'll need a grill cage/pan/something with small openings to fit over grill)
*red potatoes (4 larger ones)
*fresh cabbage (one small head or part of a big one)
*big hunk of kielbasa, any brand, any style (about 1 pound)
*some olive oil, salt, and pepper
First, pre-cook the potatoes in the microwave; stab them each with a fork several times, put them on a plate, and cook them using the potato setting. If no setting, then on high for 8 or 9 minutes will do it.
While the potatoes cook in the microwave, cut up a big hunk of kielbasa into large, bite-sized pieces. Then chop the cabbage into big pieces, not bothering to separate the layers. (Obviously, don't use the stem or nasty thick white parts.)
When potatoes are done, let them cool briefly and then chop them, skins and all, into big pieces. If they're undercooked, it's okay—they'll finish on the grill.
Now put all the big chunks and pieces into a big bowl and slosh a bit of olive oil into it. Add several bold dashes of salt and pepper and any other seasoning you'd like (no baking spices, though) and then put the whole mess on a pre-heated grill tray. Use a long-handled something-or-other to keep the stuff moving around periodically, turning it, making sure what's on top ends up on bottom and vice versa... About 8 minutes on low/medium heat should do it.
Scoop it all off the grill tray into a big bowl—the same one you used before, if you'd like. Eat it. It's great with corn on the cob, even better if you slice the corn off the cob and mix it into the grill.
The kicker may surprise you: Put a big scoop of full-fat, small-curd cottage cheese on top of the whole thing. WOW. It's fantastic. I can't tell you why it works, but I can assure you that it does.
(This recipe feeds 2 hungry adults with a tad left. Need more? Double it!)
Hey! Have a great rest of the week and weekend! I'll be removed from technology for a few days, but I'll be back next week! : )
I was picking beans earlier today, plucking some peppers, thinning the slightly leggy arugula, and as I pulled each item from its vine or stalk, the plant released a little zing of scent, redolent with the fresh good thing I'd just freed. Around me, birds were talking to each other, a squirrel was threatening some perceived intruder, cars swished past behind the fence, a neighbor directed the driver of a large truck of mulch to the desired spot in his yard. It was warm but not hot, slightly cloudy but not raining, and I was a small part of something so big and wonderful that I could scarcely receive all the stimuli around me.
These little veggies came from our garden. I couldn't resist painting them; the colors were so yummy. And I hadn't painted from real life in a long time—I'd forgotten how rich the shadows, how complex and delicate are the tiniest details in real life. (The veggies are for sale in my Etsy shop.)
And now, for everyone who's grown cabbage that's becoming ripe, here's a simple grilling recipe to use some of it. (We never intentionally grow cabbage because the plants are space hogs, but it seems that each year, we are gifted with a handful of them. I like cabbage, though, plus it's super-healthy...and I discovered that grilling it is fabulous.) You'll see from my recipe that I like to keep things "loose" so that everyone can make the recipe his own.
Grilled Cabbage Potato Kielbasa Stuff
NOTE: You'll need a grill cage/pan/something with small openings to fit over grill)
*red potatoes (4 larger ones)
*fresh cabbage (one small head or part of a big one)
*big hunk of kielbasa, any brand, any style (about 1 pound)
*some olive oil, salt, and pepper
First, pre-cook the potatoes in the microwave; stab them each with a fork several times, put them on a plate, and cook them using the potato setting. If no setting, then on high for 8 or 9 minutes will do it.
While the potatoes cook in the microwave, cut up a big hunk of kielbasa into large, bite-sized pieces. Then chop the cabbage into big pieces, not bothering to separate the layers. (Obviously, don't use the stem or nasty thick white parts.)
When potatoes are done, let them cool briefly and then chop them, skins and all, into big pieces. If they're undercooked, it's okay—they'll finish on the grill.
Now put all the big chunks and pieces into a big bowl and slosh a bit of olive oil into it. Add several bold dashes of salt and pepper and any other seasoning you'd like (no baking spices, though) and then put the whole mess on a pre-heated grill tray. Use a long-handled something-or-other to keep the stuff moving around periodically, turning it, making sure what's on top ends up on bottom and vice versa... About 8 minutes on low/medium heat should do it.
Scoop it all off the grill tray into a big bowl—the same one you used before, if you'd like. Eat it. It's great with corn on the cob, even better if you slice the corn off the cob and mix it into the grill.
The kicker may surprise you: Put a big scoop of full-fat, small-curd cottage cheese on top of the whole thing. WOW. It's fantastic. I can't tell you why it works, but I can assure you that it does.
(This recipe feeds 2 hungry adults with a tad left. Need more? Double it!)
Hey! Have a great rest of the week and weekend! I'll be removed from technology for a few days, but I'll be back next week! : )
Thursday, March 24, 2011
Embracing my purpose
I'm becoming more and more convinced that one of my biggest roles on this little planet is to speak truth. I don't often enjoy the job, because most people don't want to hear what I have to say, seeing as it's usually bad news. Yet, I am bound by my personality to fulfill my duty.
This time, my somewhat unwilling speech is about food. The movie Food Inc., to be exact. But it's not just that movie; it's my slow, unhappy, dawning realization that the food supply in this country is really messed up.
Let me say, up front, that I am not a vegetarian. I eat meat. We own firearms. I am increasingly conservative. However, we also have a garden and grow food in it. I am an avid cook who tries to use healthy, natural ingredients as much as possible. I love animals, while also realizing that we are superior to them in our intellect. I believe that God made us in his image, and that animals are wonderful companions that are here to help, teach, and serve us.
It seems logical to me that, if we are more intellectually capable than any other earthly living thing (that we know of), it should be our goal to treat all of creation with respect and gratitude. (Within reason, of course. Respecting nature doesn't mean we never chop a tree, or that we move an entire city because its existence threatens the life cycle of an owl, etc.)
Anyway. This movie, Food Inc., is disturbing. If you're not thinking seriously about where your food comes from, you ought to. It's sort of a companion piece to King Corn, another eye-opening flick, plus one of the commentators in Food Inc. is Michael Pollan, author of The Omnivore's Dilemma (which I have yet to read but very much want to).
In the same way that the phrase "throw that away" has somehow turned into a mammoth floating garbage dump in the ocean , the idea of "going to the store" has morphed into a weird, utterly dependent system of unhealthy consumption that feeds our twisted, tightly controlled agricultural economy.
Even if you don't live in a city, it's still quite likely that you don't know any farmers. Why is that? If not, where did they go? Food is coming from somewhere... so neatly wrapped, in pretty packaging, it just magically appears and we buy it and eat it and ask no questions.
People: WE SHOULD BE ASKING QUESTIONS.
I need to keep this short because, lo and behold, my little guy came home sick from school today; he's feeling pretty lousy and I need to be attentive now that "Arthur" has ended. But seriously, I hope you'll watch the movie. I hope you'll ask some questions. I hope you'll see, as I am seeing, that the terrorists of this world won't even need to bring us down, because we're doing it to ourselves with ignorant and bad choices.
Over and out, for now. Next on my public service messages? Buying American. Then, we'll tackle the abandonment of plastic bags.
This time, my somewhat unwilling speech is about food. The movie Food Inc., to be exact. But it's not just that movie; it's my slow, unhappy, dawning realization that the food supply in this country is really messed up.
Let me say, up front, that I am not a vegetarian. I eat meat. We own firearms. I am increasingly conservative. However, we also have a garden and grow food in it. I am an avid cook who tries to use healthy, natural ingredients as much as possible. I love animals, while also realizing that we are superior to them in our intellect. I believe that God made us in his image, and that animals are wonderful companions that are here to help, teach, and serve us.
It seems logical to me that, if we are more intellectually capable than any other earthly living thing (that we know of), it should be our goal to treat all of creation with respect and gratitude. (Within reason, of course. Respecting nature doesn't mean we never chop a tree, or that we move an entire city because its existence threatens the life cycle of an owl, etc.)
Anyway. This movie, Food Inc., is disturbing. If you're not thinking seriously about where your food comes from, you ought to. It's sort of a companion piece to King Corn, another eye-opening flick, plus one of the commentators in Food Inc. is Michael Pollan, author of The Omnivore's Dilemma (which I have yet to read but very much want to).
In the same way that the phrase "throw that away" has somehow turned into a mammoth floating garbage dump in the ocean , the idea of "going to the store" has morphed into a weird, utterly dependent system of unhealthy consumption that feeds our twisted, tightly controlled agricultural economy.
Even if you don't live in a city, it's still quite likely that you don't know any farmers. Why is that? If not, where did they go? Food is coming from somewhere... so neatly wrapped, in pretty packaging, it just magically appears and we buy it and eat it and ask no questions.
People: WE SHOULD BE ASKING QUESTIONS.
I need to keep this short because, lo and behold, my little guy came home sick from school today; he's feeling pretty lousy and I need to be attentive now that "Arthur" has ended. But seriously, I hope you'll watch the movie. I hope you'll ask some questions. I hope you'll see, as I am seeing, that the terrorists of this world won't even need to bring us down, because we're doing it to ourselves with ignorant and bad choices.
Over and out, for now. Next on my public service messages? Buying American. Then, we'll tackle the abandonment of plastic bags.
Friday, November 21, 2008
"How can you eat that?!"
Meet Peter the buck. I call him Peter partly as a nod to REM band member Peter Buck, and partly because I photographed him in between bites of our abandoned pumpkin. Get it? Pumpkin eater?
But his name is not important. The important thing is that he is limping a bit these days, and one of his antlers appears to be shorter than the other. It wasn’t shorter a couple of weeks ago when we first spotted him, and we’re pretty certain it’s the same deer. I guess we can’t be absolutely sure… It’s not important. He’s limping a tiny bit, his antler has been broken off. Has he been hit by a car? That’s a very likely possibility, since the pumpkin photograph location is less than 20 feet from a sharp bend on a busy road—and that, of course, is the favored crossing spot of all the deer that hang out in our yard.
Sometimes we have 5 or 6 deer at once. Mostly doe—the two buck we’ve seen rarely hang with the babes, at least not when we’re looking. But they’re all regulars at our “club.” Why? They probably ran out of space, quite frankly. Plus, they know there’s easy pickin’s in our neighborhood (my animal-loving neighbor feeds them, so even when gardens aren’t blooming they have reason to pass through).
The point is, we humans are crowding them out with all our pretty little suburban neighborhoods. We’re driving big, heavy, metal killing machines across all their favorite pathways. And a lot of them are getting hit, maimed, or killed. I won’t lie: I feel really bad about that, about all the shrinking habitats of all the beautiful wildlife around us. The last time I saw an injured doe lying in the street, I was literally sick to my stomach as I called the game warden; it’s a horrible sight, the flailing limbs, the fruitless attempts to lift the head…just sickening.
But as bad as I feel, it will not keep me from eating venison. That’s right, deer flesh. I eat it. I’ve eaten it since I was a kid.
Before you slap a “barbarian” label on my forehead, let me explain myself a bit. If you’re a vegetarian and you’re reading this, I honestly have no qualms with your non-meat choices. I am pretty certain that the original, Garden-of-Eden diet did not include animal flesh. It wasn’t needed. That came around after we got kicked out of there. With some research and attention, a person can live a meatless life and be much healthier than most of us jowly, restaurant-abusing Americans. I was getting pretty good at going meatless until I got married (man want meat); plus, the whole diabetic issue isn’t helping—I’ve found very few foods that have the same hold-me-over power as meat—but I’m sure if I had limitless funds and my own dietitian, I could be meatless. I’d miss meat, especially as a cook, but it could be done. And that would be my individual choice, as it should be.
However, for the meat-eaters out there who dare to ask me the question that titles this post, I say, My dear carniverous hypocrite, have you ever ordered veal or lamb in a fancy restaurant, never giving a second thought to the fuzzy, adorable creature that your meal was in life? Have you ever stuffed a big, fat burger into your face or carved a ham at Christmas or Easter? Enjoyed a steak or a turkey dinner? Because if you have, then you cannot make comments about the barbarism of eating deer meat. I have never walked through a butcher’s workspace, nor seen a cow or pig taken in for slaughter, but how could it be any less awful than watching a deer be gutted prior to transport? Death is death; killing is killing.
And think about this: there’s my little Peter in the back yard, munching on rotten pumpkin and dying grass and relishing the memory of our pole beans from a few months back. If some lucky hunter takes him during season (which is unlikely since he’s in such a protected area), that hunter will get a more-than-half-rack to brag about and a freezer full of whatever meat forms he chooses, and it’ll be lean, healthy meat—no hormones, no chance of mad deer disease, no genetic alterations other than what God himself ordained. Sounds pretty safe, eh? Compare it to your faceless, nameless slab o’ beef (you have to assume they’re telling you the truth about the source animal, right?) that may or may not have been vacuum packed in carbon monoxide in order to keep its fresh color longer than it should…
I ponder at this time every year why some people feel righteously justified in turning their noses up at me. I think it’s founded in our complete separation of man from his food sources. It’s easy to badmouth game-eaters if you’ve never been hungry for a day in your life; honestly, how do any of us truly know what we're capable of eating? Have you ever really suffered from lack of food? I haven't. And how simple to slip into superiority about not eating wild animals when you never have to be confronted with the “civilized” (cough, cough) killing of animals raised purely for meat sales. Honestly, I think most folks would want to throw up after visiting a big, smelly egg farm, right? But those nice, white, clean eggs in their spotless cases are so removed from a chicken’s bottom that no one thinks much about it.
Well, we need to think about it. We need to grow more food in soil that we turn and weed. We need to learn more about what goes into all the ready-to-eat stuff that we consume daily without question. We need to be more responsible eaters in general. And we, as a society, need to stop vilifying the people who consume hunted game—especially when you consider that the naysayers are just as likely to be the very folks who are directly or indirectly responsible for Peter the buck’s shrinking habitat injuries. There’s a very good chance that because he’s injured and there’s limited land for him and his cronies, he won’t make it through the winter.
Now, who’s the barbarian again?
Sunday, February 10, 2008
A MUST READ! Mel’s magic foods
When I was pregnant, I found out I had a condition called gestational diabetes. Through no choice of my own, and out of terror at the thought of birthing a 20-pound infant, I was forced to acquire knowledge about glucose levels, the glycemic index, complex carbohydrates, and refined sugars. Of course, I was pregnant at the time… so thanks to pregnancy brain, much of that knowledge was swept right out of my head by rampant hormones. Still, I retain some of the basics, since as a prediabetic I still need to apply them daily; mostly. I know what foods make a huge difference in the way my own body processes food. So, by popular demand, I write this entry… which could easily be several entries, because there is so much to say about the matter.
I’ll warn you: I am not a doctor, nor a dietitian. I speak in layman’s terms because, frankly, they’re all I have. I can say with absolute truth that the information I’ll share here has worked for me, as evidenced by lower glucose readings. I hope you can get some ideas about how to improve your own eating habits. (And no, I don’t always do every single thing that I’ll list here. Sorry. Yep, hypocritical, I know.)
To put it basically, your body needs a considerable amount of food in its most raw forms. In short, the more processed and “done” a food is, the worse it is for your body. Anything that’s bleached or refined does too much of the work for you, and therefore causes your blood sugar to spike after you eat it. That’s not good for anyone, especially diabetics. What you need to understand is that all food has carbohydrates, or carbs. Some of the carbs are good and complex, and some are easy, empty carbs that do nothing for you but give you a quick energy and then make you sleepy. At least that’s what they do to me. Sometimes, they can even make you dizzy, light-headed, or nauseous once the spike is over.
There’s a tricky part about watching your sugar levels. It’s not just about avoiding sweets; it’s much more than that. All those boxed meals and crackers and white pasta and white bread and quick oatmeal and egg noodles… boy, they’re yummy in moderation, but eating them is practically the same as ingesting a chocolate bar or piece of cake. Maybe worse. They convert very quickly to sugars in your body, even though they don’t look like sugars going in. And that’s bad.
Anyway. The glycemic index is this giant index of food; each food is assigned a rating in the index, so it’s kind of like a scale. These ratings were determined by testing blood samples in healthy folks who’d eaten the foods; the ratings show whether the food in burned up quickly by your body, or whether it’s used more slowly and gradually, thus sticking with you longer and not causing blood sugar spikes. (BTW, you want to eat the slower, more gradual food.) Many food labels are beginning to include this GI rating to help people eat better. In short, foods that have a high GI rating are things made with bleached or enriched flours and sugars, like regular pasta, baked goods, white rice, etc. The foods that are low on the GI scale are veggies, most fruits, whole grains, that sort of thing—hence the whole grain train that’s making its way around the U.S.A. It’s easy to learn more about the glycemic index—just Google the phrase and have a field day. I’m no expert, so I’ll let you do that for homework.
Ideally, when you eat a meal, your plate should look like this: about ½ vegetables or vegetables/fruits, ¼ cereals/breads, and ¼ lean meat or protein. Plus, we eat monstrous portions in this country; therefore, in order to achieve that ideal plate, you’ll likely have to downsize each of those portions from what you’re expecting. Shocking, I know. If you haven’t yet done so, consult the labels on food packaging and finding out what THEY consider to be a serving; it’s quite eye-opening.
And remember, you’re not just shooting for low GI-rated, low carb foods. Your body needs carbs to be healthy. You just want to find the carbs that will take your body a longer time and more effort to digest. And you can’t rely solely on meat and cheese and the like—they’re often high in fat, and you don’t want to pig out on those and give yourself low glucose levels, but have a heart attack instead.
Okay. I’ve rambled long enough. I’ll get to the nitty gritty now. Just as love covers a multitude of sins, there are certain foods that cover a multitude of bad eating choices. Read on to hear about the foods that “cover” me.
Veggies: The magic vegetables that I’ve found are definitely spinach, celery, and baby carrots. They’re both best raw, of course, but spinach can be sautéed in olive oil with garlic, or used in soups, and likewise for celery and carrots—you just don’t want to cook them to death. Any dark, leafy greens are great. Brightly colored produce is good for you, so when they’re on sale, I try to work in red and yellow peppers. Some other great vegetable choices? Cauliflower is one (it’s great roasted with olive oil); zucchini, squash, and eggplant are good choices too—and in summer, you can slice ‘em and cook ‘em on the grill brushed with oil! Yum.
Fruits: Some are high in natural sugar. A reasonable sized apple, blueberries and other berries, grapes, melons—all are fine if I don’t overdo it. The problem with fruit isn’t typically the fruit itself—it’s what we do to them before we call them “good.” Eating your strawberries piled with Reddi-Whip is probably going to make them less beneficial for you. Also, canned fruits in regular syrup are off the charts. Don’t even bother unless you find some with no added sugar. Bananas? The more ripe they get, the higher in sugar they are.
Cereals: The more old-fashioned oatmeal you can work into recipes, the better. We actually started to make our own Muesli cereal so we can control exactly what goes into it—especially sugar, including the dried fruits, which are great energy foods but are very high in carbs. Wheat cereals and bran cereals are typically pretty good choices. Look at the carb counts on the labels of store-bought stuff and compare. Don’t forget to consider the serving size! Health-wise, a whole cup of crisped rice doesn’t hold a candle to a half-cup of shredded wheat.
Breads, pastas, and rice: The good news is yes, you can still eat them. You just need to eat less, and eat the right kind. I love Barilla Plus, which is awesome and tastes almost like regular pasta; another good one is the Barilla Whole Grain variety. Rice? Brown is a better choice, but be creative—try a wild rice mix, or the best type I’ve found, Basmati rice. I don’t know where it got the name, or whether it merits a capital letter, but it is much better for my glucose levels than plain old white rice. Jasmine rice also seems to be better than plain white. Whole wheat breads are the best for you—but whole wheat flour had better be the first ingredient, or the loaf is misrepresenting itself. Any grainy bread is good, really—crusty helps, too. The worst? White sandwich bread, especially the kind that makes a doughy ball when you roll it up in your fingers. The very worst for me? Mancini’s regular Italian. Sorry, Pittsburghers—it’s great stuff, but not for diabetics.
Beans: They’re good. Use them in stews, casseroles, skillet meals. If you use the canned ones (and most of us do), then rinse them before you use them. And if you don’t eat meat, use even more.
Nuts: These make great snacks, in moderation. Peanut butter, too. Yes, they’re high in fats, but it’s the good fat, not the saturated kind that clogs your arteries. Plus, peanut butter gives you protein, which is good. Get used to throwing some sunflowers or pine nuts in your salads, and always use peanuts in stir-fried meals.
Meat: Of course lean is best. Fish is especially great. Be warned, though—when you fry the fish, you reverse all the good stuff about it. Bake it, cook it in a pan, grill it in foil boats, but don’t coat it with egg and crumbs and toss it in boiling oil every time you have it; make fried fish the exception. I’ve also had great luck with venison, much to the chagrin of all you people who won’t touch it. A small amount—of lean beef, sausage that’s drained after cooking, and chicken—will go a long way in flavoring dishes and making them a bit more complicated for your stomach. Eggs are in this section too, I suppose—I’m not a big egg person, but I’m sure they’re fine in moderation.
Dairy: You need it. I should drink skim milk, but I don’t because I don’t want to buy two varieties of milk all the time. So, 2% works for me. Yogurt is also excellent, but don’t buy the fruity, sugary containers that you love. Buy the economy-size vanilla (I’d say plain, but no one eats it, including me) and then mix it with some cereal or a little bit of fresh fruit. Or, to save time, you can buy the light yogurts with artificial sweetener—yes, they still have that aftertaste, but they’re not bad, and you’ll really cut out a lot of sugar, plus do your stomach a favor. And cheese is great, cottage and ricotta cheese too. Use them in quiche or in sauces—a little goes far.
Fast food: It’s bad for you. If you must, get the side salad with the sandwich instead of fries. The taco salad at Wendy’s is always a safe choice, as are the big grilled chicken salads at McDonald’s. Other fast foods, or restaurant foods like Chinese and Mexican? They’re deadly. If you prepare the same thing yourself at home, with fresh ingredients, it makes a big difference. For example, I’ve seen my glucose readings differ by 30 points if I ate a small, frozen burrito vs. making the same (larger) burrito myself.
SUGAR: Don’t keep sugary stuff in the house. You’ll eat it. I love to bake, so I’ve come up with some recipes that are more forgiving because they incorporate some of these magic foods. But the truth is that I can’t have those in the house either—I just can’t leave them alone. So, be wise and don’t tempt yourself unnecessarily. And YES, you can get used to using Splenda in your coffee and tea. It does help. Not the same… but you get used to it.
Boy. This was a long post. And I could go on. But I won’t. You have some basics now. If none of this is new information to you, then sorry for wasting your time. If you found an error in my facts, then please let me know so I can amend the entry. And honestly, it’s just about common sense, changing the way you shop and cook, a little at a time. Eat the stuff you can’t go without—but put it alongside something that will help cover the bad food. Pizza? Add a salad and cut out a slice. Mac and cheese? Make your own from scratch using whole wheat macaroni. Haluski? Make it with whole grain noodles and extra cabbage. You can make this work! You can make a difference! You’ll feel better! Your body will thank you! And best of all, you’ll decrease your chances of developing some of the nastiest, most harmful diseases known to man.
Sorry, though—you will spend more money on healthy food. There's always a cost, right? Enjoy—and healthy eating!
I’ll warn you: I am not a doctor, nor a dietitian. I speak in layman’s terms because, frankly, they’re all I have. I can say with absolute truth that the information I’ll share here has worked for me, as evidenced by lower glucose readings. I hope you can get some ideas about how to improve your own eating habits. (And no, I don’t always do every single thing that I’ll list here. Sorry. Yep, hypocritical, I know.)
To put it basically, your body needs a considerable amount of food in its most raw forms. In short, the more processed and “done” a food is, the worse it is for your body. Anything that’s bleached or refined does too much of the work for you, and therefore causes your blood sugar to spike after you eat it. That’s not good for anyone, especially diabetics. What you need to understand is that all food has carbohydrates, or carbs. Some of the carbs are good and complex, and some are easy, empty carbs that do nothing for you but give you a quick energy and then make you sleepy. At least that’s what they do to me. Sometimes, they can even make you dizzy, light-headed, or nauseous once the spike is over.
There’s a tricky part about watching your sugar levels. It’s not just about avoiding sweets; it’s much more than that. All those boxed meals and crackers and white pasta and white bread and quick oatmeal and egg noodles… boy, they’re yummy in moderation, but eating them is practically the same as ingesting a chocolate bar or piece of cake. Maybe worse. They convert very quickly to sugars in your body, even though they don’t look like sugars going in. And that’s bad.
Anyway. The glycemic index is this giant index of food; each food is assigned a rating in the index, so it’s kind of like a scale. These ratings were determined by testing blood samples in healthy folks who’d eaten the foods; the ratings show whether the food in burned up quickly by your body, or whether it’s used more slowly and gradually, thus sticking with you longer and not causing blood sugar spikes. (BTW, you want to eat the slower, more gradual food.) Many food labels are beginning to include this GI rating to help people eat better. In short, foods that have a high GI rating are things made with bleached or enriched flours and sugars, like regular pasta, baked goods, white rice, etc. The foods that are low on the GI scale are veggies, most fruits, whole grains, that sort of thing—hence the whole grain train that’s making its way around the U.S.A. It’s easy to learn more about the glycemic index—just Google the phrase and have a field day. I’m no expert, so I’ll let you do that for homework.
Ideally, when you eat a meal, your plate should look like this: about ½ vegetables or vegetables/fruits, ¼ cereals/breads, and ¼ lean meat or protein. Plus, we eat monstrous portions in this country; therefore, in order to achieve that ideal plate, you’ll likely have to downsize each of those portions from what you’re expecting. Shocking, I know. If you haven’t yet done so, consult the labels on food packaging and finding out what THEY consider to be a serving; it’s quite eye-opening.
And remember, you’re not just shooting for low GI-rated, low carb foods. Your body needs carbs to be healthy. You just want to find the carbs that will take your body a longer time and more effort to digest. And you can’t rely solely on meat and cheese and the like—they’re often high in fat, and you don’t want to pig out on those and give yourself low glucose levels, but have a heart attack instead.
Okay. I’ve rambled long enough. I’ll get to the nitty gritty now. Just as love covers a multitude of sins, there are certain foods that cover a multitude of bad eating choices. Read on to hear about the foods that “cover” me.
Veggies: The magic vegetables that I’ve found are definitely spinach, celery, and baby carrots. They’re both best raw, of course, but spinach can be sautéed in olive oil with garlic, or used in soups, and likewise for celery and carrots—you just don’t want to cook them to death. Any dark, leafy greens are great. Brightly colored produce is good for you, so when they’re on sale, I try to work in red and yellow peppers. Some other great vegetable choices? Cauliflower is one (it’s great roasted with olive oil); zucchini, squash, and eggplant are good choices too—and in summer, you can slice ‘em and cook ‘em on the grill brushed with oil! Yum.
Fruits: Some are high in natural sugar. A reasonable sized apple, blueberries and other berries, grapes, melons—all are fine if I don’t overdo it. The problem with fruit isn’t typically the fruit itself—it’s what we do to them before we call them “good.” Eating your strawberries piled with Reddi-Whip is probably going to make them less beneficial for you. Also, canned fruits in regular syrup are off the charts. Don’t even bother unless you find some with no added sugar. Bananas? The more ripe they get, the higher in sugar they are.
Cereals: The more old-fashioned oatmeal you can work into recipes, the better. We actually started to make our own Muesli cereal so we can control exactly what goes into it—especially sugar, including the dried fruits, which are great energy foods but are very high in carbs. Wheat cereals and bran cereals are typically pretty good choices. Look at the carb counts on the labels of store-bought stuff and compare. Don’t forget to consider the serving size! Health-wise, a whole cup of crisped rice doesn’t hold a candle to a half-cup of shredded wheat.
Breads, pastas, and rice: The good news is yes, you can still eat them. You just need to eat less, and eat the right kind. I love Barilla Plus, which is awesome and tastes almost like regular pasta; another good one is the Barilla Whole Grain variety. Rice? Brown is a better choice, but be creative—try a wild rice mix, or the best type I’ve found, Basmati rice. I don’t know where it got the name, or whether it merits a capital letter, but it is much better for my glucose levels than plain old white rice. Jasmine rice also seems to be better than plain white. Whole wheat breads are the best for you—but whole wheat flour had better be the first ingredient, or the loaf is misrepresenting itself. Any grainy bread is good, really—crusty helps, too. The worst? White sandwich bread, especially the kind that makes a doughy ball when you roll it up in your fingers. The very worst for me? Mancini’s regular Italian. Sorry, Pittsburghers—it’s great stuff, but not for diabetics.
Beans: They’re good. Use them in stews, casseroles, skillet meals. If you use the canned ones (and most of us do), then rinse them before you use them. And if you don’t eat meat, use even more.
Nuts: These make great snacks, in moderation. Peanut butter, too. Yes, they’re high in fats, but it’s the good fat, not the saturated kind that clogs your arteries. Plus, peanut butter gives you protein, which is good. Get used to throwing some sunflowers or pine nuts in your salads, and always use peanuts in stir-fried meals.
Meat: Of course lean is best. Fish is especially great. Be warned, though—when you fry the fish, you reverse all the good stuff about it. Bake it, cook it in a pan, grill it in foil boats, but don’t coat it with egg and crumbs and toss it in boiling oil every time you have it; make fried fish the exception. I’ve also had great luck with venison, much to the chagrin of all you people who won’t touch it. A small amount—of lean beef, sausage that’s drained after cooking, and chicken—will go a long way in flavoring dishes and making them a bit more complicated for your stomach. Eggs are in this section too, I suppose—I’m not a big egg person, but I’m sure they’re fine in moderation.
Dairy: You need it. I should drink skim milk, but I don’t because I don’t want to buy two varieties of milk all the time. So, 2% works for me. Yogurt is also excellent, but don’t buy the fruity, sugary containers that you love. Buy the economy-size vanilla (I’d say plain, but no one eats it, including me) and then mix it with some cereal or a little bit of fresh fruit. Or, to save time, you can buy the light yogurts with artificial sweetener—yes, they still have that aftertaste, but they’re not bad, and you’ll really cut out a lot of sugar, plus do your stomach a favor. And cheese is great, cottage and ricotta cheese too. Use them in quiche or in sauces—a little goes far.
Fast food: It’s bad for you. If you must, get the side salad with the sandwich instead of fries. The taco salad at Wendy’s is always a safe choice, as are the big grilled chicken salads at McDonald’s. Other fast foods, or restaurant foods like Chinese and Mexican? They’re deadly. If you prepare the same thing yourself at home, with fresh ingredients, it makes a big difference. For example, I’ve seen my glucose readings differ by 30 points if I ate a small, frozen burrito vs. making the same (larger) burrito myself.
SUGAR: Don’t keep sugary stuff in the house. You’ll eat it. I love to bake, so I’ve come up with some recipes that are more forgiving because they incorporate some of these magic foods. But the truth is that I can’t have those in the house either—I just can’t leave them alone. So, be wise and don’t tempt yourself unnecessarily. And YES, you can get used to using Splenda in your coffee and tea. It does help. Not the same… but you get used to it.
Boy. This was a long post. And I could go on. But I won’t. You have some basics now. If none of this is new information to you, then sorry for wasting your time. If you found an error in my facts, then please let me know so I can amend the entry. And honestly, it’s just about common sense, changing the way you shop and cook, a little at a time. Eat the stuff you can’t go without—but put it alongside something that will help cover the bad food. Pizza? Add a salad and cut out a slice. Mac and cheese? Make your own from scratch using whole wheat macaroni. Haluski? Make it with whole grain noodles and extra cabbage. You can make this work! You can make a difference! You’ll feel better! Your body will thank you! And best of all, you’ll decrease your chances of developing some of the nastiest, most harmful diseases known to man.
Sorry, though—you will spend more money on healthy food. There's always a cost, right? Enjoy—and healthy eating!
Wednesday, October 31, 2007
Confessions of an egocentric foodie
Here is a photo showing what my child does to grapes. He doesn’t eat them. He gnaws them. He mauls them. He ravages them, and then he leaves the sodden, damaged goods behind. Or, better yet, he offers them in their semi-destroyed state to me. As if. He does this to a number of foods, and honestly, it’s a step in the right direction—at least he’s interacting with the food. There are so many foods he won’t even touch. Slowly, ever so slowly, he’s expanding his edible repertoire, but M-A-N is it taking a long time.
And I try not to take this personally. But for some reason, I do. You see, I’m a foodie. I love food. I love to make food, to eat food, to read about food. I’m the annoying person at parties who’s always trying to get a recipe. I’m the one who then sends those recipes to disinterested people (at least I used to do this—I’ve kind of given up lately.) The person who constantly tries to tell you about different dishes, or foods that are healthy, easy to work with, low in carbs? Yep, that’s me. I’m even more obsessed now that I have to watch the glucose levels. And I struggle to understand it: How can this child, my offspring, not love food as I do?
I know, he’s just a toddler, they have no appreciation of fine cuisine. It’s typical. It’s a control issue. They hate change. Blah, blah, blah. I know. But he’s MY child!!! How can he not love food?
I guess this reveals a lot about not just my interests, but also my pushy personality. I’ve been accused in my life of being too forceful, of wanting everyone to like my way best. Perhaps that’s true; supposedly, this obnoxious trait runs in my family. I honestly don’t believe it for an instant. And besides, my way is best—people should be able to see that, right?! (I’m teasing, people. Come on.)
But seriously, when I think about it, we all get a little bit defensive if people don’t love what we love, be it lasagna, a band, the girl down the street, a character from a favorite movie... It’s silly, but I run into that sort of behavior from so many people that it must be a pretty common human shortcoming. You can go ahead and deny it if you want, but it’s a rare man or woman who can remain completely unemotional about the things he or she loves—especially when those things are openly held in low regard by someone else.
Still in denial? Think of something you really like. And think of someone who mocks that something, maybe to your face, maybe in a smugly subtle way. Can you say in truth that it doesn’t bother you at all? I can’t. Call me small; I’ll call me honest.
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