Very Victorian Dried Fruit Compote

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My friend Lynn and I had our annual Chinese Auction today, which is practically my favorite thing to do all year.  I love when friends get to have lunch and steal gifts from each other.  Since it was the second luncheon in three days I was throwing I needed to make something easy that could feed 16 and was not seafood since Lynn hates fish.  I made a Prochetta, which is an Italian roast pork loin using Jamie Oliver’s recipe.  It is so good and produces an impressive looking roast.  It helps that I get the meat from Cliff the butcher at Cliff’s Meat Market in Carrboro, NC.

To make the meat more holiday-like I decided to create fruit compote, which I think really, was delicious.  Compote’s were made in Victorian England using dried fruit because that was what they had in the dead of winter and the fruit was reconstituted using port wine.  Now that we have refrigeration and high-speed transportation you can use fresh fruit, but there is something about the texture of the dried fruit that makes this a good enhancement for meat.  The fruit gets soft, but not mushy.  Traditional compote would just be sweet, but I like to add some tang to my sweet so I add vinegar at the end.

Here is the version I made today.

1 cup of water

1 cup of port – not a real expensive one

6 packets of Splenda or ¼ cup of sugar

16 oz. of dried fruits- I used apples, apricots, cherries and cranberries

3 T. chopped crystallized ginger

3 cinnamon sticks

Pinch of salt

3 T. sherry vinegar

In a saucepan add the water and port and Splenda/sugar and bring to a boil.  Chop the larger dried fruit into smaller pieces and add it all to the pot with the cinnamon, ginger and salt.  Bring to a boil and reduce to simmer for 20 minutes.  Remove from heat and add the vinegar.

Store in an air-tight container.  Will keep in the fridge for a couple of weeks.

Trader Joes had a large selection of dried fruits at reasonable prices and a good cheep port for cooking.


The Need for a New Green Vegetable

When I was a kid my mother told us we always had to have a green vegetable with every dinner or else we would not be able to poop.  Obviously the threat of constipation was a good one because my sisters and I believed that story for a very long time.  In my case it was not until I was in college and went three days without a green vegetable that it dawned on me that the green vegetable story was related to Santa Clause and the threat of blindness from sitting too close to the TV.

 

I should have caught on earlier because I had a cousin who as a child ate only roast beef and carrots and I never heard her complain once, in fact she grew up to be an actual rocket scientist so the lack of green vegetables did not hold her back in any way.  I have since learned that fiber, not the color green is what is important, but that rule about needing to have at least one green vegetable a day was fairly well ingrained in me.

 

Today, between getting ready to host a party tomorrow, playing Mah Jongg, and doing some much needed Christmas shopping it dawned on me that I still had to find something for my family for dinner.  I stopped at the Whole Foods to get a bottle of milk, and a green vegetable.  Finding a vegetable that both my child and my husband will eat while keeping it healthy is a difficult task.  Russ hates broccoli and Carter only wants to eat green beans that are over-cooked.  Zucchini can work, but I grew so much of it this summer that we all are taking a break from it.  Asparagus is fine, but it is a little tough this time of year.  I am the only big fan of Brussels spouts and I just could not bring myself to make spinach again.

 

I looked at what was available and decided to go with broccoli and hope Russ would not bring up my mother’s myth since he might be forced to eat a vegetable of another color.  The crowns of the green trees looked beautiful all stacked together, florets out, in a giant display; in the way only a high priced market might display them.  I approached the tower and gingerly lifted one tree of broccoli from the pile and along with the dark green crown came a stalk the size of a baseball bat and it was three times as heavy as I thought it should be.  The trunk to branch ratio was so out of proportion that I only imagine some Monsanto Food Engineers invented a hybrid plant that grew extra heavy broccoli so that store could earn more selling it.

 

Despite knowing it was heavy I took the monster-stalked plant to the check out and only after the clerk rang it up for $13.59 did I come to my senses and decline to purchase it.  I think somewhere my husband’s food angel was standing on the scale so he would not have to even smell broccoli at home.

 

I left the store with only my milk in tow and right before school pick-up I ran into the Harris Teeter to see what they had.  While looking at their broccoli crowns with no stalk, but fairly brown ends I ran into my friend Michelle who was on the same hunt for a green vegetable that I was on.  She settled on zucchini and I unhappily on frozen broccoli.

 

That was when it dawned on me that we need some more green vegetable choices.  Somebody invented broccolini in 1994, which is a cross between broccoli and the Kai-lan cabbage so I know it is possible to create new vegetables.  So scientist of the world, lets get on it.  Michelle and I can’t be the only ones who are wandering the produce sections like zombies in search of inspiration.  There is money to be made on a new green vegetable or two or three.


Spectator Calorie Burning Calculator

At this point in my life of dieting I feel like I know the calorie count, the fat content and the recommended serving size of every food on earth.  Just off the top of my head I know that goat cheese has about 75 calories and 6 grams of fat for a one ounce serving while Gruyere cheese has 115 calories and 9 grams of fat for that same size.

 

I also consider myself quite an expert on how many calories different activities burn up and I mean really burn not, not those inflated numbers that workout machines like treadmills and stair climbers reports you are burning up while you are working out.  For instance, if you walk the dog for an hour, with all the stops the average peeing and sniffing dog makes you might burn up about 200 calories.  It sounds good until you consider that you would use up 70 calories just sitting in front of the TV doing nothing.  Just having the blood pump through your veins requires some calories.

 

For the last two afternoons I have participated in an activity that certainly feels like it is burning up a lot of calories, but for which I can find no information on the internet about what the count might be.  What is this undocumented high calorie burning activity you ask?  It is one of mother/spectator of middle school girl’s basketball game.

 

Based on my wide base of calorie knowledge I place watching one of these games somewhere in the range between curling at 280 calories per hour and fencing at 420.  There are factors, which can raise or lower the number of calories burned and I have devised a little chart to help you determine if this is an activity you want to participate in.

 

First let’s start with a baseline for sitting in the bleachers, just having the blood course through your veins — 90 calories burned

If your child is a starter – add 25 calories

If your team is playing a very competitive team—add 35 calories

If the Refs are blind- add between 50- 70 calories depending on the number of missed calls.

For every really great or really horrible play  – add 5 calories

If there are any trash talking opponent parents in the stands – add 50 calories

If there are opponent cheerleaders – add 10 calories

If the opponent cheerleader’s moms’ are sitting near you – add 20 calories

If the opponent cheerleader’s moms’ attack you –add 150 calories.

 

Without any trouble at all being a spectator, cheering, clapping, screaming, heart racing, holding your breath, laughing, holding your tongue, turning the other cheek, being a good sportsman and congratulating the winner can really cause you to lose a lot of weight.  The only drawback is I am just not sure how much of it your heart can take.  So my learned advice is spectate at your own risk and always remember it’s just a middle school basketball game and no lives were on the line for it.


Post-Traumatic Cooking Disorder

I know the Psychiatric community is all over PTSD, Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, but I think I have stumbled upon a more positive disorder I call Post Traumatic Cooking Disorder.  I have self-diagnosed this after years of flash backs about food and cooking.

 

Today while I was buying a head of cauliflower I had a vivid memory of the summer of 1980 I spent living in Nantes, France.  No Nazi’s were involved is my disorder, but I did spend a lot of time that summer walking past bombed out buildings that had sat half demolished for forty years on my way to and from school.

 

I was living in Nantes with a French family.   Marionique and Patrice were the parents of two little boys ages five and three.  Why they wanted a college girl to live with them I will never know.  I don’t remember much about them, probably because my French was so bad that I had a headache all the time from concentrating on trying to understand them.  I certainly know they hardly ever understood me.

 

My cauliflower flashback was from my first weekend with them.  I arrived in Nantes after spending a week in Paris with a group of 12 other American students I was going to school with.  We arrived in Nantes by train and were all met at the station by our new families.  Marionque picked me up and after many false starts at conversation I finally understood her to say, ‘I think we are going to have trouble.”

 

We arrived at her tiny house and after she showed me to my room she told me we were going to get back in the car and go to their summer place on the coast.  I was a little apprehensive because I was going to miss the fun my friends and I had planned for the weekend in Nantes and I was beginning to realize that my personality was dependant on being able to communicate humor, which I could not do in a language I hardly spoke.

 

I was right to be fearful because the “summer place” was the French equivalent of an airstream parked on a perch overlooking a violent Atlantic ocean.  The only thing I remember Marionque teaching me all summer was how to make a steamed head of cauliflower with ham slices and cheese sauce on top, but it was well worth it.

 

Once we arrived at their retreat Marionque and I walked into the little village to buy food.  She asked me to go to the meat counter and order “quatre tranches du jambon,” which I came to learn was four slices of ham.  I was certainly not used to ordering meat by the slice, but I have never forgotten that “tranche” means slice in French and I have never used it again in my life.  No wonder the French are thin when they order meat by the slice rather than by the pound.

 

We walked home with our basket of just enough food for dinner for five people, one cauliflower, four slices of ham, a small hunk of Gruyere like cheese and a small bottle of milk.  Marionque steamed the cauliflower until it was just tender and then draped the thin slices of ham over the top and poured the Mornay sauce she had prepared with the milk and cheese over the top.  I carefully watched her prepare it, helping where I could.

 

It was probably the most silent meal I had ever eaten but so delicious.  I was incredibly lonely being in the middle of nowhere with a strange family unable to communicate, but the food was so delicious and simple.  Now whenever I see a whole head of cauliflower I have a little tug-of-war internally from remembering my feeling of isolation and the divine taste of dinner at the same time.  I’m sure it is already a real disorder, but for now I will just all it PTCD, short for Post-Traumatic Cooking Disorder.


Did I Learn to Cook From My Mother?

New friends who come to my home for a meal often ask, “Did you learn to cook from your Mom?’’  Before my husband spits his food across the table I explain that food has never been my mother’s thing.  Perhaps that is one big reason she has never had a weight problem.

 

Cooking in my family was left up to my father and me.  Everyone once in a while my mother would try and jump in and try to prepare something when my parents were having one of their many dinner parties.  I will never forget one particular party when she must have been feeling guilty about the amount of work my father was doing.  While he was out on the tractor cutting the grass she stopped him mid-cut and asked if she could make something.  He knew this was a crapshoot so he suggested she make a hors d’oeuvre knowing that it was not a lynch pin item in his menu.

 

This being the early 1970’s I’m sure my mother consulted her 1959 version of the joy of cooking, and found a crab and shrimp canapé she thought sounded terribly elegant.  Off she went to the store to purchase the needed ingredients.  Have I mentioned that not only did my Mom not like to cook she disliked spending money even more, especially on food.  Once at the Village Market, our very expensive local grocery she looked at the price of crab and at the price of shrimp, be them both canned, and decided she could substitute something cheaper for one of them.

 

Back at home she busily opened the cans and followed the recipe to a T with the one substitution.  As she was finishing my father appeared in the kitchen ready to begin the real cooking with me.  Proud of her accomplishment she asked us to taste her little canapé.  My father who never met a food he did not like popped the little canapé into his mouth and after a chew or two, rushed over to the sink and spit it out.  “What the #$%& is that?”

 

“It is crab and shrimp,” my mother said.  “Really?” he asked.  “Oh, the shrimp was too expensive so I substituted tuna.”  What was really expensive was throwing way the whole lot of the canapés.  It was a while before she volunteered to cook for a party again.

 

I learned to cook out of necessity, but I hear from so many friends that they never learned to do what their mother’s were good at be it sewing or cooking or some other talent because their mother did it for them.  I count my blessings that my mother could not cook, it made me the cook I am today.  I wonder what my daughter will be good at that I am unable to do now.


Apple Sauce for Dummies

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In the craziness of prepping for giving multiple parties this week I forgot I had to write a blog.  You would think that after doing this for 215 days without missing a day I would remember.  Here is the fastest recipe I can give you.

 

Crockpot Apple Sauce

 

Apples

Cinnamon

 

Peel, core and quarter a dozen apples – I like Fuji, Stayman and Honey Crisp

 

Put them in a crockpot on high for 5 hours and after they have cooked down stir them well to break up ay large lumps.  Sprinkle with cinnamon if you like.

 

Apple sauce is not just for babies.  It will keep in your fridge for a couple of weeks.


A Child is Born

Fourteen years ago today is a day that will live in infamy, at least at the Durham Regional Hospital, for it was the day that I gave birth to my darling daughter, Carter.  But getting her into the world was not so cute.

 

Let me paint the picture for you, in case you were not one of the pregnant couples who were taking the labor and delivery tour that day.  It was a Monday.  I was two weeks over due so my OB/GYN had promised me that he would induce my labor on that day.  Russ and I showed up at the hospital at five in the morning ready to meet our only child.  After waiting a coon’s age for check-in I was finally allowed to waddle up to my labor room by 9:00 AM.

 

Making a giant pregnant woman wait four hours with nothing to eat or drink since the night before was not a good way to start the day.  Once in our room a lovely nurse came in and had me change into a gown that opened in the back, but did not tie shut.  As I lay down on a bed hardly any wider than I was, she attached at least six different wires, monitors or tube to me; mother heart monitor on my finger, baby heart monitor around my beach-ball belly, IV in my arm, some kind of fetal wire inside the place the baby was going to come out and a few other’s I can’t remember.  I resembled a Macy’s Thanksgiving Day float with tethering lines coming off all sides of me.

 

My Doctor came in and said good morning and told me that they were going to give me Pitocin to induce labor and if that did not work after six hours they would stop, give me dinner and try again the next morning.  That was not the news I wanted to hear and you can bet I told him so.  He had made me wait until two weeks overdue and this was going to be the day I had this baby.

 

For the first few hours it looked as if his warning about this taking more than one day was going to come true.  Russ read the newspaper and I tired I looked at the television without actually watching it.  It was the slowest morning of my life.  Next to my bed was the monitor, which showed when I might be having a contraction.  Watching it was like watching grass grow, until all of a sudden things kicked into gear and I went from no contractions to lots with not much rest in between.

 

Not being one to suffer needlessly I had an epidural, which not only numbed the pain, but slowed down the delivery a bunch.  The monitor, which also had a satellite monitor out at the nurses station became much more important at that point since I was not feeling the contractions.  While Russ and I were just hanging out alone in the room the monitor made an alarming sound, the door flew open suddenly and my Doctor rushed in telling me to roll over on my hands and knees and put my butt in the air and my head down because the baby wire that was running in the birth canal was reporting that her heart rate was going down.

 

On a good day, without six wires and tubes stuck to every part of me I might have been able to do this, but being this pregnant, numb from the waist down on a tiny bed it was almost impossible, but I did it.  My naked butt was in the air as my entire body was exposed, hospital gown that opened in the back lying on the bed beneath me.  Who cares, I just want this baby to be OK.  Once I had assumed the position the monitor stopped screaming at us and my Doc told me to roll back over.  Right.  I needed those six balloon handlers to come in and help untangle the lines as I tried to roll over.

 

Another twenty minutes went by and the monitor screamed again, the door flew open again, I rolled over again, hands and knees, head down, big giant naked white ass in the air again.  Baby fine. Roll on back.  At this point Russ went to find the pay phone to call my mother and report what my status was.  This was still back in the day when you were not allowed to use cell phones in the hospital because you might trigger a heart attack in some old guy’s pacemaker.

 

While Russ was gone the alarm sounded again.  I was already rolling over into the undignified position as my Doctor ran in this time with three nurses, yelling we are going to do an emergency c-section, roll her out.  Now you know these labor and delivery nurses don’t give a hoot about naked women with everything hanging out so no one thought about throwing a sheet over my bare body as they rolled me out into the hall at NASCAR speed to get to the operating room.

 

Right then, out in the public hallway, a tour of at least a half dozen pregnant woman and their baby daddy’s came walking through to see where they were considering giving birth.  In my typical way I said, “Somebody, please take a picture.”  I can almost guarantee that not one of those women chose Durham Regional as her birthplace.

 

My bed/chariot was pushed up against the operating room table and it was so much easier to roll on to it than it had been to roll in place on the first bed.  Within seconds the Doctor was ready to make the incision and he looked up and asked, “Is the father here?”  Russ came rushing in having missed all the excitement because he was on the phone explaining what an epidural was to my mother.

 

In a flash Carter was born and was perfectly healthy, those monitor sirens were nothing serious.  So on this day I like to celebrate not just the birth of my child, but the happiness I feel about not knowing if I caused any heart attacks or early labor inducement to the horrified pregnant woman touring the hospital. It was Pearl Harbor day after all.


Cheney the Dog

Well before most American’s had heard of one of the most disliked Vice President’s in modern times, Dick Cheney my very liberal and big time animal loving Uncle Wilson found a hound dog and named him Cheney.  Despite this poor dog’s name he was well loved by both my Aunt and Uncle.  Signs alerting visitors to the farm where my Uncle lives next to my father warn drivers to “Go slow, Pet animals around.”

 

Cheney and co-dog Georgia rule the farm as the leaders of the animal kingdom.  Marlin, the deaf cat had passed away a little while ago and I recently noticed the sign reading, “Drive slow, deaf cat” has been removed from the tree in the bend of the road leading up to my Uncle’s house.

 

My Uncle Wilson is a retired Episcopalian Priest whose only religious paraphernalia at his house is a statue of St. Francis, the animal loving Saint.  Wilson has never been shy about proclaiming his love of animals, which I think is almost stronger than his love of people.

 

This past year Uncle Wilson has had a lot of serious health problems and has been unable to walk for months.  Recently he has gotten good news that his primary problem is in remission, but he has a very painful broken pelvis which must heal on it’s own.

 

The day after Thanksgiving Cheney, who is mostly an outdoor dog did not come and sleep at the back porch where his bed resides.  Both Cheney and Georgia had been out chasing some smelly animals and they had been banned from coming in the house until the weather warmed up enough for them to be bathed to remove the stench.  Uncle Wilson and Aunt Janie noticed the next day that Cheney was still gone which worried them because Cheney was not known to miss many meals.  Four or five days passed and no one had seen Cheney.  Will was heart broken thinking that Cheney surely had died somewhere out on the farm.

 

This came as quite a blow to him after his year of poor health.  Although he had a great attitude about what might kill him, the thought of loosing Cheney seemed to bring him down to a place he had not gone to so far.  I think that thinking about Cheney’s mortality brought Will’s into focus.

 

On the fifth day after Cheney’s disappearance Will got a call from his Doctor who told him there was no treatment for his broken pelvis, except for physical therapy.  So while Janie was out doing an errand Will, who had not gone out of the house without a wheel chair for months, decided to get up alone and take a walk, with his walker, down the road towards my father’s house.

 

Georgia, one who was always up for a walk ventured part of the way down the road with him.  As my Uncle got a hundred yards from his house he decided that this walk was a very bad idea.  He turned to go back to his house and noticed that Georgia had only come half way with him and was standing on the side of the driveway near a culvert where a pipe that runs under the driveway exits.  Uncle Wilson thought that Georgia must not have felt like a walk either.

 

As Will came back towards Georgia he heard a faint sound coming from the pipe under the driveway.  He recognized the sound as Cheney’s voice.  With his walker by his side, Will got down on the ground and looked in the pipe and could hear Cheney, but was unable to reach his arm in far enough to touch him.  As he lay on the ground overwhelmed with the thought that Cheney was alive, he realized that he could not get up.  Thank goodness he had his cell phone in his pocket and he hit redial calling our cousin George who miraculously was only one mile away, rather than at his house an hour and a half away.  He came right over, calling my father as he drove, who called Rufus and Bill two men who work at the farm, my mother, and Aunt Janie.

 

All these people who are not always around came quickly and gathered by the pipe and realized that they could not get Cheney from the open end of the pipe so they began to dig the pipe out at the other end.  At one point one of the men with a hatchet in hand was banging away on the cement pipe and as he lifted the hatchet high in the air to bring it down hard, my father screamed stop.  Lord knows what made my father stop him, but he did and the crowd or mainly very old people, working together lifted a huge chunk of pipe and there was Cheney right where the hatchet would have hit.

 

That dog jumped up, ran to the house and drank water for what seemed like a day.  How this very old dog had survived stuck in this pipe for five days with no water or food and freezing nighttime temperatures is something to behold.  Having Cheney back is the best medicine Uncle Wilson could ever have.  Neither of those old dogs is ready to give up.  Perhaps Cheney was well named after all, because like Dick Cheney who has survived five heart attacks and a heart transplant operation and still keeps going, Cheney the dog is one tough ‘ole pup.  But unlike the Vice President the dog brings hope and light into the world and might just be proof of some higher being.

 

 


Playing Store

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Today was my filming day for the Food Bank.  First I had to appear on live TV for about 30 seconds.  I did not know what I was going to be asked, but lucky for me I only had to think a moment about the answer.  My second filming was for a video for the Food Bank and it was shot at the Durham Branch.  It was much harder because I did not have a script but I had to talk much longer about how people can help the Food Bank.  It took about 15 takes to get right.

 

While setting of the video shot by putting cans of food on store shelves I had a major flashback to my childhood.  We lived in a fairly isolated house with no girls living nearby so my sisters and I would play together even though there was nine years difference in our ages.  One of the games we loved to play was “Store.”  I had a bedroom with lots of shelves and we would price everything already on the shelves, like little glass animals and piggy banks and then go and take canned food from the kitchen that already had price stickers on it and add that to the shelves.

 

We would spend hours making fake money some of which went into a box made into a cash register and the rest divided between the shoppers.  I was usually the storekeeper because first it was my room, therefore my store, and second I could add the purchases faster than Margaret and certainly than Janet who was probably only 3 years old.  The only problem with store is that the setting up was fun, but neither of my sisters ever wanted to put anything away when they got bored with shopping.

 

Another favorite pastime was playing restaurant.  In my same bedroom I had a board that spanned one side of my room, which we used as a counter.  I had a bunch of flatware that my Godmother had been giving me for birthdays and Christmases so restaurant seemed like the only game a kid could play with forks and spoons.  Just like playing store the set-up was the majority of the game.  We would spend hours writing menus and then we would have to find costumes to wear as the waitress or the patrons.

 

Store and Restaurant were the games I would choose, but Margaret liked to play beauty parlor.  This was my least favorite game to play because she always got to be the beautician and she also had a short attention span.  That meant that she would set a chair up at our bathroom sink and I would have to put my head backwards into the bowl and she would pour a handful for shampoo in my hair and run the water on cold for a minute and lather me up, get bored and walk away leaving me fully clothed with a big wet head full of bubbles and no way to get up without soaking myself.  Sometimes it was even worse than that because she also had my hands soaking in a whole cereal bowl full of Palmolive dish soap.  We had no idea what a manicure was, but we knew that Madge the manicurist told her customers “they were soaking in it” so that’s what we did.  No wonder years later when Margaret was in boarding school with 5 other Margaret’s in her class she took on the nick name Madge.   Was life simpler then?


Come Be on TV With Me

Tomorrow is the Heart of Carolina Drive through day for the Food Bank of Central and Eastern North Carolina.  What does that mean?  It is the all day food and funds collection day for the biggest food drive of the year.

 

I am scheduled to make an appearance on ABC-11 at the 7:35 AM cut in of Good Morning America at the Kroger on Hillsboro Rd. in Durham.  I have made these appearances for years and often say the same thing.  I was thinking it might be fun to have any of my Less Dana supporters come out and be in the background of my shot this year.

 

So if you always wanted to be on TV some on out to the Kroger by 7:25.  I can’t promise exactly how it will happen, but you know somehow I will work you in if you are there.

 

Please pass the word to anyone you know about donating food tomorrow and funds anytime.  I know that if you are reading this you have probably already donated to the Food Bank this year, so bless you.

 

Hope to see you at the Heart of Carolina drive through day.


Don’t Miss the Party

‘Tis the season.  Once you are past the Santa stage, or you are on the permanent naughty list the season is about a lot of celebrating, eating and imbibing.  If you are someone like me who can ill afford the holiday treats you have two choices. You can skip the merriment, parties and get togethers and hide out away from the Christmas cookies, cheesy hors d’oeuvres and bubbly drinks or you can go and be merry, but make a plan before you do.

 

I strongly suggest you don’t miss the party.  As the song says, “What good is sittin’ alone in your room?”   Depriving yourself of the company could cause you to actually eat more alone than you might have eaten if you joined in the fun.

 

Here are my tips for holiday party enjoyment without the guilt.

 

  1. Always eat something before you go so you won’t lose all will power at the sight of ham biscuits just because you are starving.
  2. Try and not drink your calories.  Alcohol in excess breaks down your eating defenses as well as could cause you to lose your panties.  If you really want a drink try and make every other one water.
  3. Don’t even start on the sweets because one bite of pecan pie begets another and before you know it you have begotten yourself into a whole pie’s worth of dessert.
  4. At buffets take the smallest plate you can find even if that means using the teacup saucer.  Fill the whole thing up with salad and top it with one bite of the bad thing you really want.
  5. Sit is the hardest seat to get out of so you will have trouble getting up to get seconds.
  6. Find the most interesting person to talk to so that you don’t need to use an excuse to go get food to get out of a boring conversation.
  7. Tell your friends you are trying to be good about what you are eating at parties and if they try and push food on you spit in their drink when they are not looking.

 

Tonight I am going to my friend Carol’s cookie swap.  She is a really good friend because she offered guests the option of coming and not participating in the cookie part if the cookies are a problem.  Now that is a hostess who knows that the camaraderie is more important than the sweets.

 

So don’t mope around and miss the fun, join in, but stick to your guns.


The Rapture Diet

I am already blowing my chance to make money on a bunch of people who can ill afford it by writing this here, but I came up with a brilliant new scheme today at church.  It’s called the Rapture Diet.  And the slogan is, “Is your body ready to meet Jesus?”  If that sounds at all dirty to you then you clearly are not a rapturist.  You know what the rapture is, that idea that Jesus is coming back and take all the living real believers back to heaven and leaving the rest of us on earth for what is known as the tribulation period.  If you are a rapturist, better name than a rapper, you need to do everything possible to be ready and I am suggesting that being in heavenly shape is really important.

 

For the record my dear preacher Chris Tuttle is not a rapturist, based on his sermon today, “Known Unknowns and the Expectation of a Messiah.”  As Chris was talking about the people who see every action on earth, both man made and natural, from hurricanes to the economic downturn as signs that the rapture is about to take place it got me thinking about how some people think so much is out of their control so why bother.

 

Hello people, if you don’t want to get “left behind” then you better get to work on your behind.  I know that I could easily become a millionaire by selling the “salvation diet.” The ad would show a really skinny doorway with a bright white light emanating from it and the announcer would say, “Only true believers are thin enough to fit through the doorway to heaven.”

 

The reason I know I could make a lot of money on this is that those “true believers” don’t want to take any chances on this second coming so they are going to jump right on the rapture diet train.

 

Now to fully maximize the chance to make money off everyone I would create the Rapture Smatchure diet.  The slogan would be, “If you don’t believe you better be in fighting good shape to survive a the world of tribulation that is coming.”  I guess I don’t need to say the “is coming” part, since we have had a lot of tribulation already.  Proof this could work is the amount of survivalist stuff available on Costco.com.  Whole years worth of freeze dried food to go in your underground shelter.  I trust Costco as a world class market researcher and if they have found this as a big market then it is time for there to be a diet for those same people.

 

I think that I need to get two TV shows about these two diets, but I think they both could run on Fox since both of those demographic groups probably watch Fox.  Next look for my line of Jesus loves you compression wear and body armor, both diet groups will love them.


Upkeeps a Bitch

Our doorbell rang at eight o’clock this morning. As I went to the door in my nightgown I remembered that I was getting our windows washed today.  It should have been at the forefront of my brain because more and more dead dried leaves have been obscuring my view as they blew into the cobwebs that were woven across almost every window.  Since Halloween is long past the spooky house bit was looking a little tired, time for a clearer perspective.

 

Quickly it became apparent that some of the 70-year-old windows in our house needed at least two people to try and pry them open.  Russ looked at me and asked if we needed to add new windows to the ever-growing list of replacement needs for our house.  In the past six months I got a new HVAC system, a new tank less hot water system, 15 yards of gravel for the driveway, 10 yards of compost for my vegetable garden as well as the windows washed.  And if you walked in my house you would probably not notice any of it, but it had to be done.  None of this includes the weekly cleaning and landscaping that has to get done.

 

My half-century body is the same way.  I have to go to the gym, the doctor, the dentist, and the hairdresser, take daily medication, use a vat of lotion and that is just to keep my body going at the status quo.  Even with all that maintenance systems still give out.  My left foot had plantar fasciitis for a year; just as I got that solved I had some muscle injury below the front of my left knee, literally the day that stopped hurting I pulled some muscle behind my left knee.  As Rosanna Danna would say, “If it’s not one thing, it’s another.”

 

I am hoping that in the New Year I can do more than up keep and perhaps actually upgrade.  We need to redo the floors in our house, that would be money spent I could see everyday.  I would love to wake up one day and have no pains, maybe for a week or two.  One big goal would be to make a huge dent in the giant list of house things we need to do.  Some things depend on money, but one thing that has been on his list for over more years than I have fingers is for me to clean out the attic.  That is a practically free upgrade except on my knees.  But cleaning out the attic is like adding new gravel to the driveway.  I know it is done, but I don’t really notice it, so why do it?  Jeez, I hate upkeep it’s so unglamorous.


December Craziness

Something happens to me in December.  I think of it as the month of celebrations and I really push back against doing anything non-fun related.  Of course all the fun things are not non-work related.  In fact I bring way to much work upon myself trying to have more fun.

 

I usually tr get a bunch of things like decorating the house or buying the Christmas gifts done in advance of December to free up the actual month for merriment and reverie.  This year the house was done in advance, but I have done a terrible job on actual gift purchases.  Perhaps it is because I have not been inspired by any new gift ideas.

 

My favorite thing to do in December is to entertain, which of course involves a lot of cooking.  I know that this need to spend the month is the kitchen started when I was a kid.  My family used to have a giant, like a 150 people giant, dinner party on Christmas Eve.  My parents invited their close friends with all their kids and any grandparents, aunts or cousins who were visiting.  We had a southern menu to show all our Connecticut friends the best hospitality around.  Country ham from Virginia and Oyster Stew were staples every year.

 

Our house in Connecticut was built for big parties.  It had three kitchens and multiple big rooms so that the kids and the grown-ups could have their own domains.  Prepping for that party is how I learned to be a caterer since my Dad, the only other cook in the family, depended upon me to make a major amount of food.  The days before Christmas were filled with party prep, which really kept the kid’s minds off the impending arrival of Santa.  So now this need for Christmas parties is part of my DNA.

 

The other big December event is that it is also Carter’s birthday month.  It is easier now that she is almost 14 and not in the need of a party for her whole class.  When Carter was four we had a snow princess party that precipitated the purchase of a giant twelve-foot tall inflatable snowman, which we put in the front yard.  It became an instant neighborhood landmark.  Young children would beg their parents to drive them by the big Frosty.  It is so tacky and horrible that we really only thought of using it for that one birthday party, but every year people ask us when the snowman is going to arrive so we have succumbed to being that house with the huge white nylon light up man acting as a beacon for potential babysitting customers for Carter.  Every year Russ and Carter have to do some major surgery to the mechanics of Frosty and miraculously it has survived a decade.

 

So here we are on the cusp of my favorite month.  Don’t ask me to come to a meeting or do any real work.  I have put in double time on doing good the other eleven months.  I reserve December to give parties, go to luncheons, make crafts, shop and wrap presents, cook goodies to give to my friends, decorate gingerbread houses, enjoy libations at friends’ homes, catch up with people I have not seen since last Christmas, listen to the same music I have every December for the last 50 years and hear the same bible stories I have my whole life.  So here’s to the craziness of December.  I’m not going to fight it, but embrace it and pack in as much fun as possible.  Grown up responsibilities can start up again in January.


The right “W’ word is WORK not WAIT

A friend called me this morning lamenting her surprise loss in the Powerball lottery.  She obviously did not read my post from a few days ago “Winning the lottery won’t make you any thinner” since she is already thin she must have thought it did not apply to her.

 

She went on to say, “Well, good things come to those who wait.”  After consoling her, in my “you will think twice about asking for sympathy from me again way,” we hung up and I got to thinking about that advice about “waiting” for good things to come.  I know that it is just a consolation for those who have been disappointed, but it certainly is bad advice.

 

I am here today to suggest we change the expression to “Good things come to those who work.”  I don’t think that encouraging the passive life of waiting is going to get most people to a goal they are hoping to reach.  The only way to increase your odds of winning is to work at something.

 

I have a number of close relatives who have been working incredibly hard and it is paying off for them.  No luck or waiting around was involved, just kept their noses to their respective grindstones, to coin another cliché.

 

The same is true for losing weight.  I have had a couple of people who don’t know me well or see me often recently run into me and ask me how in the world I lost weight.  I tell them I just work at it everyday and they look at me like I am keeping some secret of national importance from them.  Surely I have had an operation or am taking some experimental drug or whisper worthy, worse, I am actually sick an am not trying to lose weight.

 

Nothing as tragic or exciting as any of those things, just work.  But work is satisfying for itself not just for reaching a goal you might have set.  So my advice for today, the day you did not win the lottery, is don’t just wait for good things to happen make them happen by working at it.  Not only are you a lot more likely to succeed, you will appreciate it so much more when you do.  You need to stop reading my platitudes; we’ve got work to get done.


Caffeine Free Hot Drinks

 

One of the drawbacks about losing weight is that I am much colder these days.  I some how have avoided middle-aged hot flash season so far, but now that I have written that I am sure they will begin soon.  I would welcome a little self-created heat because I really don’t want to wear gloves indoors.  One thing I find that does help is drinking hot drinks.  Not only do they warm the inside of me, but I get to warm my freezing hands on the mug.

 

I am not a black coffee drinker, wish I were. I really try to limit coffee because it is not calorie free after I add milk and sweetener, which I also try and limit so the my brain does not get into the “I wants sweets” mode that even sweet ‘n low can bring on.

 

Caffeine after 2:00 in the afternoon can also back fire on me.  So that leaves me with herbal teas.  Yes, I will drink them, but they always seem a little wimpy in the flavor department so I am not running to the tea cabinet in the afternoon.

 

What I really want is something hot, no caffeine, no calories and big flavor so it is satisfying, almost like actually eating something.  My favorite hot drink that fills all these requirements is hot ginger/lemon water.  I drop a knob of peeled ginger root in a teapot with half a squeezed lemon and pour boiling water over it.  I let it sit for at least 10 minutes so that the ginger can let lose its essence in the water.  I pour the mixture in a mug and then zap it in the microwave to bring it back up to really hot. I add a tiny amount of Splenda, to just cut the sourness of the lemon a little, but not enough to spike my brain with some sweet craving.   The best part is that the knob of ginger is good for a couple of pots of hot water before it is spent of its entire spicy flavor.

 

Sometimes if I think I am hungry I drink a mug or two of hot ginger water and it seems to fill me up and provide enough actual taste that my mouth feels like it had chewed something.  Tricking my brain into thinking it had food is my constant goal.  I certainly have enough reserves to live on, which I want my body to go ahead and use up without going into some starvation panic and start becoming more efficient.  Ginger has been used since the dawning of time to settle stomachs so maybe it makes my stomach happy and therefore makes me happy.  Who knows? It is just another tool in the bag of diet tricks — anything to go another day without a cookie.


The Secret Soup Series – Installment 2 – Vegetable Soup

This is more of a guide than a recipe because you can make a broth based vegetable soup with almost any vegetables.  Like Lima beans, add ‘em, hate carrots, leave ‘em out, like oregano, and go for it.  You will get the picture.  The point is to know how to whip a pot of the best appetite cure there is.  I like to have something like this around to eat before I go to parties.  It is so much easier to pass by the baked brie if I have eaten a cup of soup.

As I have written in the past onions are the key to the flavor a along with carrots, celery, garlic and tomatoes.  Everything else is just what you have on hand or like.

Base

1 large yellow onion – chopped

4 carrots – peeled and chopped

2 stalks of celery – chopped

3 cloves of garlic minced

1 can of diced tomatoes- (I just one with chilies in it)

3 cans of chicken stock – or vegetable stock if you want

1 T. white vinegar

Salt and pepper

Additions

Corn cut off 2 ears of corn

1 can white beans drained

Hand full of fresh thyme- tied with a string

1 bay leaf

Other suggested veggies

Peppers, peas, other types of beans, broccoli, green beans, cauliflower, turnips, parsnips, zucchini, yellow squash, spinach …

As usual I spray a soup pot with Pam.  If you are opposed to Pam just put a little olive oil in the pan and swirl it all around.  Don’t write me to complain about using Pam, just don’t use it and keep that information to yourself.

Put the pot on a medium heat and add the onions and cook for 3 minutes, stirring every once in a while.  Add the carrots and the garlic cook another minute.  Add the celery, tomatoes, stock, bay leaf, thyme salt and pepper.  Bring to a boil and reduce to simmer, add the corn and the beans, which are already cooked.  Simmer for five minutes add the vinegar and serve if you are hungry right then.

The vegetables should still be a little crunchy.  You don’t need to simmer soup forever.  That just makes mush.  I like to turn the heat off in the pan and put a lid on it and just let it sit there for a few hours with no heat the herbs will give up more flavor.  You can add some chopped chicken to make it a meal, or some rice or a few cooked noodles.  The rule to follow is if you add raw vegetables try and cut them roughly the same size.  Add them to the pot like this;  if they are hard ones that take a long time to cook like parsnips add them with the onions, if they are short cooking like peppers or green beans add them with the stock, if they are frozen peas, or canned beans or anything that is already cooked add them at the last minute. The basic soup is a blank canvas awaiting your additions.


The Hostess Gift Dilemma

 

Now that the house is decorated for Christmas the next thing on my normal schedule of holiday preparedness events is to make or cook my hostess gift of the year.  In my please-don’t-confuse-me-with-Martha-Stewart because I don’t think she has much of a sense of humor, yet I still am very crafty/handy/culinary talented way I like to make a different item from year to year.  Last year I made homemade vanilla, which I put into really cute apothecary bottles I ordered from a bottle manufacturer.  It was not a hard gift to make, but I had to start making it in September so it had the requisite amount of time to age.

 

Since I have been busy writing this blog and trying to create new healthy recipes I have done no advance planning for the Holiday season.  I usually would have my Christmas shopping done by now and I have barely made a dent in that so far.  I clearly have been spending too much time on me this year.

 

So here is my dilemma.  Is it kosher for me to make a hostess gift that is something fattening, decedent and really yummy in a year that I have been promoting weight loss?  I think that I am disciplined enough right now to make something that I am not tempted to eat, so I am not in fear for the number on my scale.  But is it hypocritical to give others something I clearly would not eat myself?  Not that most of the people I might give these gifts too need to lose weight, but I hate to pile on to the holiday calorie mountain.

 

I am thinking about making some fleur de sel caramels, which are absolutely worth every calorie because they are a moment in heaven.  They are a little tricky, but not that time consuming.  I have all the right cute containers, labels, wrapping and bows.  If I give just a few sinful morsels would it be so bad?

 

If only I had started some vinegars a few months ago I could have kept my diet themed year.  But alas I am too late and I don’t have enough free time to sew, needlepoint or cross-stitch enough non-food items.  If only I had not set the bar so high over the last thirty years.  I can’t turn into a total Scrooge and not give gifts.  Or almost worse, give soaps or lotions, which no one ever uses.

 

I also would like to give something from a local producer.  That gives me a really grinchy-Grinch idea.  I could get local bacon and make my famous candy bacon.  It is doubly hedonistic being both a sweet and a fat, but then again I could support a local farmer and pork is one of North Carolinas top products.

 

So weigh in on my ideas and please feel free to suggest others.  At this point I am not beyond trolling the Internet, if only I had the time.


Winning the Lottery Won’t Make You Any Thinner

 

 

While everyone was busy eating turkey and camping our overnight in front of big box stores no one noticed that the Powerball Lottery had gotten up to $325 million.  That is because most of the people who are willing to fight for a cheep flat screen TV at Wal-Mart at one in the morning are the same people who regularly buy lottery tickets.  That means that Wednesday’s lottery payout is already up to $450 MILLION and now that the media has drawn attention to it being the biggest lottery in history it will probably get even bigger because even people with advanced degrees and all their important teeth go out and buy lottery tickets when the jackpot gets to be ridiculously huge.

 

I am not one of those people, although I have all my teeth.  First of all, I only play games where using your brain helps you win, granted I play a lot of those.  But for a one in 175 million odds to win I don’t see any reason to give my money away.  The real reason I won’t play the lottery is that I might win and I can think of no better way to ruin your life than to come into an obscene amount of money for which you basically did nothing to earn it.

 

The downside is so much greater than the upside.  First everyone you ever met would want you to give them some money and no matter how much you gave them they would say it was not enough since you got to keep like $275 million after taxes.  You would never know if anyone liked you for yourself or just wanted you to like them enough to give them some money.  Even though I love the friends I have now I also like to make some new friends and that would just have to stop.

 

Second managing all that money is a full time job and not really the job I want.  Granted I could make some big difference in the world like helping end hunger, but that is another full time job.  All that money comes with too many jobs.

 

Third, it would ruin my child’s life.  I know or knew too many rich kids who never had a reason to work and ended up miserable or dead at a young age.

 

Lastly, winning the lottery would not help me get any thinner.  Yes, I could go live at a spa until I reached my goal weight, but not really since all that money came with all that work of managing it.  I could not continue to grow my own healthy food for fear of being kidnapped while out in the garden.

 

So I think the old saying “You can’t be too rich or too thin” just is not true, especially for me.  I think winning the lottery is just a recipe for unhappiness and obesity.


Christmas Threw Up Today at My House

 

There are two things I can guarantee about Thanksgiving weekend, one was the Mexican restaurant visit I told you about yesterday and the other is that Christmas throws up at our house on the Saturday after Thanksgiving.  With turkey day being so early this year the Christmas stuff will be up almost a whole extra week.

 

I love Christmas and especially decorating for Christmas.  It started when I was a kid and my mother always got a tree that went to the ceiling of our barn big living room.  It was so tall that it had to be wired to the rafters.  I look back at pictures of my childhood trees and think it is a huge mess with its giant colored lights, gold garland rope the large clumps of Styrofoam ornaments not more than four feet from the ground that my mother let us put on.

 

When I was in boarding school I was a Christmas cadet.  That meant I was one of five girls who dressed in red and green elf-like clothes and would stand up at dinner and announce various holiday related information.  I was often wrapped in lights and my math teacher Ruth Elmore always let me plug in and blink during class.  I also was the countdown cadet.  I had index cards numbered from 100 to 0 on a ribbon and every hour I would flip a card and at a glance let anyone who was interested know exactly how many hours we had until we were able to go home for Christmas break.  I don’t remember a lot of studying for exams, but I do remember the hour cards.

 

In college I got a tree for my off campus house and began collecting ornaments, many of which I still have.  Christmas ornaments are my souvenirs of choice whenever I go on a trip.  It is so fun to talk about all the places we have been while we decorate the tree.  Consequently I have to have a very large tree to hold so many memories.

 

We built a special place in our house just for the tree.  Up until the time Carter was about 8 we had a live 14-foot tree.  That last live tree year as we were decorating it we got a call from a good friend of Russ’ from business school, Sylvia.  She had been diagnosed with late stage lung cancer at the age of 39.  It was devastating to us.  A few hours later after the tree was all decorated it fell over and many of my most beloved ornament we destroyed.  I stood looking at the tree on its side with all the lights hanging off and the shards of broken colored glass strewn across the floor and burst into tears.  Carter had a special ornament that had been signed by Christopher Radko, the maker, especially to her that had been broken.  She came up and saw it and put her little hand on my shoulder as I cried and I was sure was going to be upset.  Instead and said, “Mommy, at least we are not sick like Daddy’s friend.”  Talk about putting it all in perspective.

 

The next year we got a 14-foot fake tree and have never looked back.  Every year as I put the tree up I think about Sylvia who we lost that year.  The ornaments lost in the fall have been replaced by new ones, this year by the many ones I needle pointed as a new Christmas obsession, but the friends and family who have passed away can never be replaced, just remembered.

 

I hope that whatever your tradition, you take some time to think about those you love and those you miss.  If you come to my house, and you are welcome to visit anytime, don’t think about how much Christmas has thrown up all over my house, but instead about how many memories all those decorations represent.


Our Black Friday Tradition

 

For so many people the day after Thanksgiving is about shopping, or decorating the house or going to the movies so they have a few hours of being with family without having to talk to each other.  Our family tradition is for friends to come up to the farm and after some outdoor wilderness time we go into the thriving metropolis of Danville, Virginia to have lunch and support the local economy.

 

For so many people the day after Thanksgiving lunch is about a really good turkey sandwich made with all the leftovers, cranberry sauce, stuffing, mayo and as much turkey as they can keep on two slices for bread.  For us our day after Thanksgiving means one thing, Mexican food, more precisely El Vallarta.

 

See my Dad is a preferred customer at El Vallarta so going there with him is like getting into the VIP section of studio 54 back in the day.  He has a regular table and all the waiters like him because for Danville, he is a really big tipper.  So whenever we go there we get exemplary service and the Mexican food is not bad too boot.

 

But today things were a little off.  First, our friends the Toms were in Florida for Turkey day and they were missing their annual trek to the farm.  This caused quite a bit of dissension in their family since Logan would rather be at the farm than almost anyplace and it was sad for my Dad who is particularly fond of all the Toms.  Second, when all 13 of us arrived at El Vallarta we discovered at party of 25 at my Dad’s regular table, who had made a reservation.  We were shocked that it was taken but, even more so that anyone had ever needed a reservation at El Vallarta.

 

The worst thing about our Mexican food tradition is that I had to sit through the large chips/salsa/queso consumption prior to the arrival of lunch.  But the good news is that El Vallarta has many healthy options if you just tell them to substitute salad for all the rice and beans.  I was thrilled to have a yummy cammerones Cancun, which was grilled shrimp and pineapple — nothing resembling a turkey or potato on any of our plates.

 

After our lunch and a touch of shopping it was back to the farm for games and children driving any number of recreational vehicles all around the farm while my Dad tells stories about the farm, both historic and current day. It’s a tradition that’s hard to beat.


The Secret Sponsors of Thanksgiving

I hope that you and yours had a happy turkey day. That everyone around your table got along, that no politics were discussed, that your Aunt brought her traditional sweet potato casserole with the pecan crunch on top and that no children spilled anything on your mother’s heirloom tablecloth that she insists on using, but then holds her breath through the whole meal as gravy and cranberry are dipped upon it.

Our Thanksgiving was small with my sisters staying in Washington, too busy with work to make the drive. My father invited his cousin Rose and her brother and a friend. Although all my cousins, their many children and my Aunt and Uncle were right next door, so we had a great time visiting with them, walking dogs back and forth between the houses, as children who just learned to ride their bikes rode on the farm road free of any cars or tractors to run them onto the verge.

I had made my Thanksgiving meal contributions at home before we got here. I want to report that my crust less pumpkin pie was a huge failure. Since I have made it many times before I am not sure what was off about it. I will attempt it again and update the recipe if I figure out what went wrong.

My father made all the fattening things that make Thanksgiving so happy, like stuffing, mashed potatoes, gravy and green beans. If you asked most Americans who the sponsor of Thanksgiving is, I would venture they would say Butterball or the Turkey Producers of America. Watching my father cook I would say that the secret sponsor of Thanksgiving was Land O’Lakes or the butter producers of America.

My father’s only butter measurement is sticks. “How many sticks of butter should go in the mashed potatoes?” “Should I put just a stick of butter in the green beans?”

Between the butter in pie crusts and pie filling, the butter unnecessarily rubbed on turkey skin (hint, the skin is all fat already, no extra fat needed for it to brown, just high enough heat), the butter in casseroles, vegetables and potatoes and lastly the butter on the table to be slathered on rolls, biscuits and bread I think that butter is the star of the meal.

Really the turkey is just bigger and flashier, but the butter is stealthier in its omnipresence. I am sure that I consumed more butter today than I have in the last three months combined and I only had one small serving of everything, except bread or pies with crusts, just my really poor crust-less pumpkin.

If you ever wonder about conspiracy theories consider this, Thanksgiving is really promoted behind the scenes by big butter business. I would not be surprised if Dick Cheney was the majority stake holder in Butter Inc. Christmas cookies are right around the corner and make my words, Hot Buttered Rum promotions are coming.


It is NOT the Eating Olympics

Here we are on the eve of the biggest eating day of the year. My childhood memories of Thanksgiving is about watching the Macy day parade on TV, not having any breakfast because we are told we are about to eat a giant meal and waiting and waiting and waiting until about 3:00 to eat what has been promised to be the best meal of the year.

By the time 3:00 rolled around we were so hungry and actually so bored from the waiting that it would not have mattered if we were being severed cardboard as long as it had gravy on it. And everything had gravy on it.

In truth I think my sisters and I liked the pillsbury crescent rolls almost the best since it was a treat reserved exclusively for thanksgiving and our parent’s dinner parties. We never got to eat at the dinner parties, but we got to have the crescent rolls for breakfast as we scavenged for food while my parents slept late after late night partying.

The big mistake about those childhood Thanksgivings was the not eating breakfast part. It was a long time from waking up until bird time and that made us throw down the stuffing like we had never had a meal before. I think that there was so much concentration by the adults on all the holiday food that they actually forgot to calculate how much more milk or eggs we needed and did not want us to consume them and thus be short for the sweet potato casserole.

This year we are having Thanksgiving at 2:00. That is a long time from the dinner I will eat tonight. My plan is to try and sleep in a little so I can eat my daily high protein Special K and raspberries at about 10:00. That will give me a four hour window before the main event. If I limit myself to one serving of the good stuff, hold back o. The potatoes and bread and eat a slice of crestless pumpkin pie I should be OK.

The potential pitfall time will be the 8:00 PM leftover-a-rama. It will be too soon for me to have made some healthy turkey soup so I’ve come up with a plan to have an arugula salad with sliced turkey and cranberry on it. Still in the theme of Thanksgiving leftovers but not button popping. The key is for me to have a plan so that I am not tempted by a new food idea. I keep reminding myself that Thanksgiving is not the eating olympics. Friday I will report if I am able not to medal in Thanksgiving.


Crust-less Pumpkin Pie

 

I’m not much of a piecrust lover, especially in pumpkin pie I think that for the most part it is soggy and bland and does nothing to enhance the pumpkin filling.  So the answer is to leave out the crust.  I also lighten this recipe up by substituting Splenda for sugar.  If you don’t want anything artificial or you don’t need to watch all those sugar calories go ahead and use the sugar.  What you do in your kitchen is your own decision.

 

3 eggs

1 15 oz. can of pumpkin puree

1 12 oz. can of evaporated skim milk

2/3 c. Splenda – for baking, measures the same as sugar

1 t. vanilla

2 t. grated fresh ginger

1 t. cinnamon

Dash of all spice, nutmeg & cloves

½ t. salt.

 

Preheat oven to 400º

 

I do this all in my stand mixer, but you can do it in a bowl with a hand mixer or whisk.

 

Beat the eggs first, add the pumpkin and the milk and mix well.  Add everything else and beat for 30 seconds.

 

Spray Pam in a Pie pan.  (If you are opposed to Pam, lightly grease the pan with anything you want, just keep it to your self.)

 

Pour the pie mixture in the pie plate and place in the middle of your preheated oven.  Bake for 15 minutes and then turn the oven down to 325º and continue baking for another 40 minutes.

 

Chill.  Serve and be happy you had a lighter dessert.


Raw Fruit Slaw

I went to make our Thanksgiving cranberry sauce and had a memory of a raw cranberry/whole orange chopped salad I made last year, but never wrote down how I made it.  What a mistake, since my mouth started watering for it even though my brain did not know exactly what was in it.

 

I looked at what I had in the fridge and made this recipe and although it is different I really like it.  It has the added bonus of being high fiber.

 

1-cup fresh pineapple

1 granny smith apple

1 whole orange

1-cup fresh cranberries

3 packets of Splenda (or 2 t. sugar if you want)

2 T. chopped Pecans

 

Cut the apple into quarters and the pineapple into like sized chunks and put in Cuisineart with regular chopping blade in it.

 

Cut the peel off the orange leaving some of the white pith on the flesh.  Put the peel in the Cuisine art.  Cut the pith off the orange and cut it into quarters.  Remove the center membrane from the quarters and put the flesh in the Cuisneart.

 

Add the Cranberries and the Splenda.  Pulse the Cuisnieart about 8 times until the fruit is chopped, but not pulverized.

 

Add the pecans just before eating because you don’t want them to get soggy.


In Praise of a Supportive Husband

 

I really have to give it to my husband Russ who has been a fantastic sport through this whole “Less Dana” thing.  He has endured not having his favorite or even much food around the house, and never complains when I suggest he eats some leftover for the fourth time during a week.   He runs out early in the morning to the Harris Teeter to buy milk when I discover that my morning staple has gone to the dark side.

 

Russ has not once complained about something potentially embarrassing that I might have written in the blog.  Nor has he suggested I skip a day of writing when I remember that I have not posted anything right before we are to go out for the evening.

 

Today he posted on Facebook the link to my television appearance on the Heart of Carolina Perspectives show and gave another plug for Less Dana.  I was on TV in support of the Food Bank’s Heart of Carolina Food Drive.  The only way I am able to devote as much time as I do to trying to feed hungry people is because Russ works his A** off at CMG Partners to provide for me and Carter.

 

He never complains about my lack of earning and often steps in to drive Carter to some appointment when I have a charity commitment.  Not once has he said that anything I am doing is less of a priority than what he is doing, when in fact it is.  Without him I could do nothing and I am eternally grateful for him and his always-generous ways.

 

So today I would like to publicly thank the best husband on earth.  I would not be where I am today without you.  Your constant encouragement, support and love make life much more fun.  I know you are the best human on earth because our dog Shay-shay loves you the best and we all know that dogs are much more intuitive than people.   I just want you to know that I love you more than Shay-shay does, I just don’t show it by jumping into your arms when you get home like she does.

Not that I wouldn’t want to, but I am thinking about protecting your back.


Sacred Thanksgiving

 

The biggest eating holiday of the year is coming this week.  I know that it is a day about giving thanks, but for most of us it is about eating and trying to get along with those you are eating with.  No one likes Thanksgiving more than my Dad.  He loves to cook and he loves to feed people so this is one of the days he really looks forward to.

 

The yesterday he called me up furious over an article in his local, no-prize-winning paper entitled the “Healthy Thanksgiving Plate.”  It was written by the “community dietitian” whose mere existence I fear for if my father ever meets her.  She espoused filling half your plate with low carbohydrate vegetables such as green beans, carrots, greens, broccoli, cabbage, you get the picture.  Then she allows you 3 ounces of white turkey meat, no gravy, no skin, no flavor.  Lastly you get half a cup of either potatoes or stuffing.    She wanted you to have some apples or pears for dessert. And forget the wine.

 

The idea of this being a celebration made my father crazy.  He got the wicked idea that I should read this menu to Carter and tell her this is what we were having for Thanksgiving, but include the good news we were not having oyster dressing at her request.  With a maniacal laugh he said, “The idea of this being our meal will make Carter almost as furious as I am.”

 

For me I certainly don’t want to gain an ounce after working so hard to get it off, but even I think this menu is an invitation to the depression zone.  Turkey, even the better tasting dark meat is not that bad for you.  If you can stay away from the skin go on and eat double what this prisoner of war camp guard dietitian is suggesting.

 

Yes, eating healthy veggies is your best route, and frankly my stewed tomatoes are almost my favorite part of the meal, but apples or pears for dessert is no celebration.  Later this week I will make my crustless pumpkin pie and put the recipe on the blog.  You can still have things with the flavors of thanksgiving while not over indulging.

 

So don’t worry Dad, no one is expecting us to have a spa Thanksgiving, but I am going to have to bypass the Thanksgiving-meal-on-bread late night repast.  One leftover-turkey sandwich for the rest of you is fine.  That Gestapo dietitian didn’t mention anything about leftovers.


Get Locally Smitten

Many women find shopping to be their sport of choice.  One of my sisters even had as her high school yearbook quote, “when the going gets tough, the tough go shopping.” For most women the idea of having to buy a new smaller sized wardrobe excites them.  I am not most woman.

 

I have never found strolling through stores looking at stuff very much fun.  The older I get the worse it is.   I am getting to be more and more anti-stuff.  Early on in life I identified one the reasons I hate to shop is that many of the people who work in big giant corporately owned chains are not really interested in my business.  I like it when someone is glad I might buy something from her and does not look at helping me as a burden.

 

I am glad to lose weight, but the finding clothes to wear part is completely draining.

Yes, I like being able to shop in “regular” sized people clothing stores rather than “giant” sized but for the most part I really don’t give a hoot about new clothes.  Almost more than my dislike for shopping is my dislike of spending money on something I see as temporary.  I need clothes to fit me now, but I am hoping that the clothes I buy now won’t fit me next winter.

 

This week has been a killer on the clothing front.  I had to be in a TV show, go to two luncheons; a press conference, a board meeting and now I have two cocktail parties this weekend and church.  I should have had a wardrobe department to help me out.

 

I realized when I got an instructional email about the “Festive” attire for one of the parties that I needed to step up my game and broke down and went to a store.  I picked the store strategically so that I could not get arrested because a clerk infuriated me, keep my sense of humor and still find something to wear in less than two hours.

 

I went to a local boutique called Smitten owned by Nancy McKaig and hit the jackpot.  First, Nancy is great at making sure you get the help you need and the people who work there make it fun while still being helpful.  Second, she has different things than you see in every store in the mall so you won’t see yourself coming and going.  The bonus was that she had two artists, Amanda Davis and Baba Berthe setting up their jewelry and accessories for a weekend show and if you bought something from them you got 20% one thing from Smitten.

 

Well I found a great scarf from Amanda, which was practically free because I got 20% off a dress for the “festive attire” party, cha-ching!  I also feel great about supporting a local business that means the money I spend here stays here and keeps local people employed.  Why didn’t I think to go to Smitten at the beginning of the week?  I’m not changing my attitude about shopping, but I am a lot happier to have another dress in my closet that fits.


Hearts, Livers and Kidneys, They Just Aren’t All Equal in the English Language

American Idioms are what has got to make learning English really tough.  One of my favorite people whose native tongue is Chinese thinks the phrase is “When push goes to shovel.”  It makes more sense to her especially since she did not know what a shove was to begin with.

 

I was having lunch with someone whose English skills are still developing when another person at the table said, “Bless her heart, she was trying to lose weight and then covered her salad in blue cheese dressing,” about someone who was not there. My non-American friend asked me if blue cheese dressing was bad for your heart.  I tried to explain that yes it was, but that was not why the other woman was saying, “Bless her heart.”

 

That conversation led us to the idiom, “Her heart was in the right place, but…” This phrase also confused my foreign friend.  “How do you know where someone’s heart is?” she asked.

 

After explaining that we were not really talking about peoples’ actual hearts, but their intentions we just made things worse.  It really got me thinking about how Southern women feel perfectly comfortable saying something nasty about someone by including “their heart” in the conversation.

 

There are so many wonderful idioms using “heart” such as “to win someone’s heart,” “take heart,” or “to warm the cockles of someone’s heart.”  But saying ones “Heart was in the right place,” usually means something did not go well even though that was not ones original intent.

 

Since I am not fluent in any other language I am wondering if other cultures bring people’s hearts into the conversation or are other body parts mentioned?  Really our liver is almost as important as our hearts, why does it not get any play in the catch phrase lineup?

 

Somehow our hearts were associated with love and therefore won out in the organ Olympics, but our kidneys are pretty darn important and most of us have two of them.  You would think that because of sheer number they would garner some respect, but I have never heard anyone say, “Cross my kidney and hope to die.”

 

One thing is for sure if a Southerner is Talking About Your Heart It Might Be An Insult.  Really, if I wanted to talk badly about someone I am more likely to discuss their colon or prostrate, at least it might sound more polite than calling them an outright ass.

 

For me, I would be happy to accept your blessings if I sneezed or something, but please leave my heart out of it, especially if you are southern.


As Seen on TV

 

More appropriately I should say, “As will be seen on TV.”  This morning I recorded a TV show at WTVD, ABC -11 with Angela Hampton called the Heart of Carolina Perspectives that will air on this Sunday at 11:00 and again the following week at the same time.

 

The show is about the Heart of Carolina Food Drive that ABC-11 sponsors for the Food Bank of Central and Eastern NC and the Fayetteville Food Bank.  It is our largest food drive of the year and is running now until December 5th, which is drive through day to drop food off at Kroger’s in our local area.

 

I want to take this time to thank all of you dear friends and family who have donated to the Food Bank of CENC through Less Dana.  Your generousity has been overwhelming.  230 families made pledges.  28 pledges came from people who do not even live in North Carolina.  Thanks to my friends from Ethel Walker’s and Dickinson College who have supported me in this effort from afar.  Thanks to my old friends spread out across the country and to all you saints in North Carolina.  A number of children also made and paid off pledges with money they earned, what an inspiration you are.  Thank you.

 

Sharing your gifts and treasures with others who have less is a noble thing to do.  I want you to please take credit for your contribution to your fellow man, woman and child who appreciates the food you are providing them.  You worked hard to earn that money and yet you still shared it.

As I gather around my Thanksgiving table this year I will be giving thanks for you, especially as I try and eat only what I actually need and not all that I have available.  As anyone who reads this blog knows I am always one who is going to try the funny in any situation, yet my passion is making sure that no one goes hungry which is just not a laughing matter.  Forgive me this serious blog posting today.  I want you to not miss my sincere gratitude for you and your help in providing food for those who in need.


For the Love of Ugly Shoes

 

The other day I visited the shoe show room, otherwise known as her new closet, of a friend who is shoe obsessed.  It was like visiting a great museum, perhaps one owned by a Medici in Florence Italy.  Each pair was a beautiful sculpture, all heels, terribly high, some with platforms making them even higher, in a rainbow of colors, textures and adornments.

 

I was overwhelmed with their elegance and at the same time thrilled that I did not have to wear them.  There I was, standing in the holy grail of shoes wearing perhaps the ugliest pair of shoes I have ever owned feeling like I was on cloud nine.

 

I had recently visited a store dedicated to comfortable shoes that my friend of high heel heaven would not be caught dead in.  I was looking for the winter equivalent to my Dansko sneakers I had been wearing all summer.  The sales person showed me Dansko’s newest black leather slip-on that without a doubt looked like something that Valerie the wife of Miracle Max would wear.  What, you don’t know who Valerie is?  She was the character played by Carol Kane in The Princess Bride movie that was married to Billy Crystal’s character.  She is clearly at the bottom of any style scale.  That is how ugly these shoes are.

 

The best part about being middle age is that I finally learned not to judge a book by its cover, or a shoe by how it looks, but by how it feels.  So without a moment’s hesitation I tried these clodhoppers on.  AHHHHHHHH.  Such nirvana and chocolate was not even involved.

 

Without asking the price I told the sales person I would be wearing these shoes out, and off I went.  These shoes have practically cured me of the plantar fasciitis that has plagued me for the last year and they add a spring to my step that encourages me to walk faster and farther.  My feet actually feel better in these shoes than out of them.  I am trying to figure out how I can sleep in them without soiling my bed linens.

 

So I may not be in fashion, but boy do my feet feel good.  I am happy to admire the gorgeous foot wear my friend sports, but I can’t imagine going the distance in it.  To me ugly never felt so good.


Why George Jetson and Fred Flintstone Were in the Wrong Bodies

If you are of a certain age you know exactly who George Jetson and Fred Flintstone are so you can skip down three paragraphs. For the rest of you here is what you missed in your childhood.

 

George Jetson was the cartoon dad of the space age future.  He was relatively thin, he did not have to lift a finger because his whole world was automated to the point that his dog, Astro, could walk himself on a treadmill and he ate overly processed space age food.  George worked a desk job at a computer in an office and commuted via flying car.

 

Fred Flintstone was the cartoon dad of the caveman past.  He was big and fat and did a lot of manual labor.  Fred ate brontosaurus ribs and other giant chunks of mammoth meat; he commuted to work via foot-powered car and had a long climb into his dinosaur rock mover at the quarry he worked in.

 

If George Jetson and Fred Flintstone were actual people George would be fat and Fred would be thin.  Here are the reasons:

 

  1. Overly processed foods will make you fatter than food that comes closer to its natural state.  Water is much better for you than artificially flavored, over sugared Tang.  A piece of actual unadulterated meat, even if it was T-Rex is healthier than the space food sticks of the sixties ever were.
  2. A foot-powered vehicle provides exercise that a flying car could never match.
  3. A desk job encourages backside spread where manual labor burns more calories.

 

As far as I am concerned Hanna-Barbera, the creators of both George and Fred, have done a great disservice to my entire generation.  They portrayed Fred’s lifestyle as one that would make you fat and George’s as one that would make you thin when all evidence is to the contrary.  Of course all their wives were thin, but then again all women on TV must be thin, even in cartoons.

 

If I ever have to choose between a space-aged life and a cave man life I think I’ll take the later, I just think it is healthier to be a Fred than it is to be a George.


Dried Pineapple

 

I love pineapple.  I usually buy one or two a week at Costco and for $2.99 I am one happy camper.  Usually the pineapples there are big and ripe, but last weeks was not quite as good as most.  It was a little too green and after cutting the whole thing up I found it too bitter and hard to eat.  Rather than throw it our I decided to slow roast the chunks in the oven and that was like putting it back on the plant in the sun to come to full ripeness.  Now I have a great treat that also is more portable.

 

Since I have not tired this with a perfectly ripe pineapple I have no idea how it would turn out.  If you try it let me know.

 

Pineapple

Pam

 

Set oven to 225º.  No need to preheat because you are going to leave the pineapple in a very long time.

 

Cover a cookie sheet with foil and spray with Pam.  I am also not sure you need to do this step, but this is how I did it.  I did not want to take any chances for sticking.

 

Lay the fruit out in one layer and put in the oven.  How long you cook depends on how big your chunks were to start. Mine were about 1 inch square so I kept them in the oven for 2 ½ hours, then I turned the oven off and left it in another hour with the door closed.

 

The pineapple was not totally dried through, but was at least twice as sweet as they were before cooking them.

 

I think it will taste great on cereal and with Greek yoghurt.


Live Your Dream

Last night I had the thrill of watching my wonderful friend Megan Ketch in a guest staring role on CBS TV’s Blue Bloods.  Megan was Carter’s baby sitter for five years and became a very important member of our family.  As Megan was graduating from high school she started as Carter’s Nanny and continued all her years through UNC.  Megan had a singular dream of becoming an actress.  She was a drama major at Chapel Hill and we had the pleasure of going to all her college performances.

 

Carter was a fixture at the Paul Green and the Kenan theaters when she was two to four often accompanying Megan to rehearsals.  I can remember walking down Franklin Street with Carter when she was about three and having some college boy scream, “Hello Carter,” from across the street.  When I asked her who he was Carter said, “Oh, he’s Hamlet with Megan.”

 

After UNC Megan moved to New York City to pursue her dream.  She went to NYU’s prestigious graduate program in acting and graduated last year.  Today she is a working actress.  Her role as Detective Kate opposite Donnie Wahlberg on Blue Bloods will run for a few more weeks, but I will predict is just the beginning for Megan.

 

Megan had a dream that started in fourth grade when she wrote a play about Harriet Tubman casting herself as the lead role with little care that she was white.  Becoming an actor is not an easy job, but that never deterred Megan.

 

After leaving North Carolina Megan found other families whose children she would care for and love as she was learning her craft.  It has been many years of hard work but that is what someone who is passionate does.  Hard work is what it takes to achieve success, especially in something as hard and competitive as acting.

 

Megan has the advantage of having a wonderful family who believes in her, is emotionally supportive and a large number of friends and ardent admirers, but she still has to do the work.  Megan is an inspiration to me all the time.

 

I tell you this story because I want you to think about what your dream is and consider how close you might be to attaining it.  We all have dreams, but most people don’t really think they can reach theirs.  Megan is proof that you can.  So dust off that dream if you have left it on a shelf for a while.  Make a plan about how you might make it come true and take a baby step or two towards it.

 

And watch out for Megan Ketch, no matter what she does in her life she is an inspiration.


The Secret Soup Series – Installment 1- Red Lentil Soup

The real secret to making good soup is to have some opposite flavors.   Almost every soup starts with onions, which provide an undertone of sweetness and ends with a bit of tartness, which is provided by either lemon or vinegar.  What goes in between is what makes the soup the kind it will end of being whether it is tomato, chicken noodle or corn chowder.

This Red Lentil soup was inspired by a recipe in the New York Times that my friend Judy gave me, but it needed a little something.  At the time I made it I was on a smoked Paprika kick and when I added to this soup it added a new complexity to it that raised this recipe up to craving status.  You know what craving status is, the kind of food you dream about having again and can almost taste it in you brain when you are making it.

The other great thing about this recipe is red lentils are very quick looking and lighter than other lentils.  I buy mine at the Indian grocery store because they are much cheaper there.

2 big yellow onions chopped

3 cloves of garlic minced

Pam

1 T. tomato paste

1 ½ t. Smoked Paprika

1 ½ t. ground cumin

Dash of cayenne pepper

Salt and Pepper

1 1/2 quarts of Chicken Broth (or veggie if you want vegan)

2 carrots chopped

1 ½ cups of dried red lentils

Zest and juice of a lemon

Cilantro leaves – small handful

In a big soup pot spray the Pam and add the onions and garlic and cook over medium high heat for about five minutes until they start to brown.  The browning develops the flavors, so make sure they get some color before moving on.

Add the tomato paste and all the spices and cook another couple of minutes.  You always want to cook tomato paste to take the tinny taste out of it and toasting spices brings out the best in them.

Add the liquid, lentils, and carrot and bring the whole pot to a boil and reduce to a simmer and cover the pot.  After about 20 minutes remove the lid and cook another 10 minutes.  The lentils should be soft by now.

You want to partially puree this soup and the easiest way to do that is with a sick blender you just put in the pot and whirl up for a bit.  If you don’t have a stick blender you can put half the soup in a blender and puree it and add it back to the other half that has more solids.

Add the lemon juice, zest and taste to see if you need more salt or black pepper.

Serve with chopped cilantro added at the last moment.  Don’t put the cilantro in the whole pot because it changes in taste after a while, so if you have leftover it won’t be as good.

Let me know if you dream about this soup.  Invest in smoked paprika you won’t be disappointed.


The Secret to Diet Success is a Four Letter Word

When anyone asks me what the secret is to losing any amount of weight I tell him or her it is a four-letter word.  For those of you who know me, you know I know a lot of four letter words which I use often and with gusto, but none more than the “S” word.  Before you think laxatives are involved the word is “S-O-U-P.”

That fact has not been evident during the last few months in the blog because soup is not most people’s go to food in the warm weather, but as the days are growing shorter, (Can you grow shorter?) and our part of the world has less light you need to add more soup to your meals.

Not all soups are equal so don’t get excited about jumping into a big bowl of broccoli cheese or New England clam chowder, that is unless that is all you are planning on having.  I am talking about broth based, mostly vegetable soups or creamy ones made with fat free condensed milk.  My strategy is that as long as I have one or two homemade soups in the fridge I have the best defense against hunger.

Starting a meal with a small cup of hot soup or having one as a four-in-the-afternoon-I-think-I-need-a-cookie deterrent some how sends a message to your brain that you have had real food and tends to turn off or at least down the hunger pangs that seem to attack you like “Twilight” wolves.

Making homemade soup is so easy, but if you really don’t want to cook you can use canned, just get the ones that are lower in calories and make sure you know what the serving size of the can is.  It is easy to read the calorie amount and only after you ate the whole thing find out you just ate three servings.

In the spirit of teaching you not just my recipes, but how to think like a chef and try and make things up I am going to post three or four different kinds of soups over the next couple of weeks with notes on making variations to them.

As the eating holidays are approaching having soup around is your best weapon to party food.  No matter what kind of event I am going to I have a cup of soup at home before I go and then I am much less tempted by the “This holiday only comes around once a year” food being pushed my way.

So save yourself from those four letter words that come out of your mouth when you stand on the scale and stock up on SOUP.


I Miss My Fat Blanket

 

I really did not time this whole weight loss thing right.  Just as my challenge ends the weather has turned suddenly cold, like forget about fall and jump right into winter cold.  The problem is that as I have lost weight I have also lost the ability to produce a normal body temperature.

 

As I was freezing at Mah Jongg this morning a friend told me she thought that the body burned more calories when it was cold to try and keep warm, but so far I have not proven that theory.  I am just down right cold and not appearing to lose any faster.  My poor thin dog is cold too.  She sits snuggled up beside me with her head on the keyboard trying to steel the warmth my computer is creating.

 

Not even hot tea is helping; in fact it is hurting because it makes me have to use the restroom more often.  If I were a man it might not be so cold to have to use the facilities, but alas I have to pull down my pants, which is not helping me keep what little body heat I have.

 

Of course I am wearing many layers of clothing, which is hiding my somewhat thinner body.  I had one friend stop by the house to bring me a check to pay off her pledge.  I heard her at the front door asking my daughter if I was home so she could actually see what I looked like 53 pounds thinner.  I know it was a disappointment to her when I came downstairs in two shirts and a sweatshirt and big fluffy socks.

All I can say is I hope she didn’t feel cheated.

 

Maybe this can be my spring surprise.  If this lack of body heat keeps up I will have to keep adding layers of clothing as I continue to lose weight.   Perhaps by the time warm weather returns I can emerge from my cocoon a thinner butterfly.  What am I thinking?  Never in my loud life would I be considered a butterfly.  Right now I just want to be a firefly and have my butt be able to warm me up.

 

I am not advocating anyone being fat in order to be warm, but I am wondering how you really skinny people make it through the winter.  I still have a good layer on me and I am this cold I can’t imagine what it is going to be like in another 30 pounds.  Let’s hope I can find out before I turn blue.


Bourbon Mushrooms

 

Mushrooms are like the meat of the forest, as long as that forest does not have any deer, wild boars or squirrels and possum if you are one of the Clampets.  You know what I mean, mushrooms can be down right meaty.  There is nothing better than Bourbon and meat and mushrooms go perfectly with that truly American elixir.

 

To top it off what is better than a two-ingredient recipe?  OK, a one-ingredient recipe.  (Just remember that Pam, salt and pepper don’t count in my mind because they are like the air of cooking, you can’t live without them.)

 

1 lb of Mushrooms

2 T. Bourbon

 

Spray a non-stick fry pan with Pam.  Put on medium high heat and place whole mushrooms in pan in one layer cook for five minute uncovered then cover and cook another five minutes.  Flip the mushrooms over and cover, continue cooking for five minutes.  Uncover and add bourbon and cook uncovered until all the liquid is out of the pan and the mushrooms are a golden brown color.  Sprinkle with course salt and pepper.

 

I am having them in an arugula salad with a little blue cheese and grilled salmon.


My Life as A Hybrid

 

We recently got a hybrid car.  You know the kind, sometimes it drives on a gas engine and sometimes it drives on a battery engine.  The crazy thing is that the car charges the battery itself when I drive it or when I break.  How do it do it?  Don’t ask me.  But I really love to watch the gauges that tell me when I am driving for free on battery and hate when I use gas.  I probably should turn that feature off in the name of keeping my eyes on the road.

 

As I was driving to Raleigh today watching the dial move from gas to battery power I realized that for the last six months I have become somewhat of a Hybrid.  I put food in, which is akin to gasoline and sometimes I am running on the food I have eaten and sometimes I am running on my battery of fat storage.

 

If I take in more food than I burn then it goes into battery storage as fat, but if I am smart I take in a little less fuel than I need to run thus moving into battery back-up and burn up fat.  The dial I have to use is the scale so I am only finding out after the fact that I was efficient or not.

 

What I really want is the real time indicator that registers when I have depleted all the food energy and have started in on the long life fat stores.  Before I started this diet I could have been considered a strategic energy reserve site, like the government keeps for emergencies.  Now, I am about half a reserve, not enough to be considered strategic, maybe just a tactical reserve.

 

I know children who are such excellent hybrids that you can actually see them completely run down when their food energy runs out and they have no fat reserves to switch over too.  I don’t know many adults who live that close to the edge and I am not anticipating ever running that low on fat back-up, but it sure will be fun to see if I can get to be that efficient.

 

I have learned some lessons from my car, which I need to reverse for my hybrid body.  First, driving up a hill at a normal speed almost always requires gas to be used.  Going really fast or speeding up suddenly also requires gas.  Driving at a steady pace is battery friendly.  When I take these insights and apply them to my body it teaches me that in order to burn more fat I need to go up more hills, faster and more erratically.  So if you see me out running up the hill by my house and I look like I might have been drinking know that I am just pretending to be my car.


Kale Caesar Salad

 

In the spring I made a full fat kale Caesar salad for a charity dinner I was one of the chefs for.  It was a huge hit with the guest, most proclaimed kale haters.  Unfortunately it was at the end of the spring kale season so I did not get a chance to recreate it in a healthier format.

 

This week the kale in my fall garden is something the garden steelers (and I am not talking a football team) have not discovered they liked so I decided to make the Caesar Salad in a lighter way.

 

I planted the curly version of kale, but I think the flatter type would work fine too.  The key is to strip the leaves from the stalks and cut it up into very fine bits.  This will make four servings as a starter or two giant meal sized salads.

 

12 big kale leaves – stripped from stalks and minced

2 hard boiled eggs – finely chopped

½ cup shredded Parmesan Cheese – a little less if you are using grated cheese

 

Dressing

Juice of 1 lemon

2 T. sherry vinegar

1 t. anchovy paste

1 t. Dijon mustard

Pinch of salt and pepper

2 T. olive oil

 

Make the dressing by putting all the ingredients except the olive oil in small bowl and mixing it together well.  Using a whisk, start stirring the dressing and dribbling in a little oil drop by drop.  It is not going to be a very creamy dressing because it uses a smaller amount of oil, but it will be perfectly thick and delicious.  You will not have a salad drowning in dressing, but the strong flavors all work well together.

 

Put the kale in a large bowl and pour the dressing over it and toss to coat.  Add the egg and cheese and toss and serve.

 


Facebook Ads are Stalking Me

I wonder how much weight I have to lose for Facebook to stop making all the ads they post on my page about weight loss?  Granted I write a diet blog but I am not interested in what Dr. Oz says about dieting or how green coffee works to speed up your metabolism.

My trainer Tom told me a story about a diet pill manufacture that came to his University and hired a bunch of cute, in shape college athletes.  They took their pictures and then asked them to gain 25 pounds each and then took their pictures again.  Afterwards they gave them the weight loss pills and said good luck losing weight.  They never came back and took their pictures again and never inquired if they lost the weight.  When the ads came out the girls before pictures became their after shots.

One ad on Facebook appears to not have even gone to that much trouble.  They just stretched the picture sideways.  In the time it has taken me to write this the weight loss ads have changed three times on my page and none are believable.  I know that everyone wants a simple answer or to be able to just buy a thinner body.  I wish I had something to sell.  Think how many hungry people I could feed with the ill-gotten gains of promising a thinner body the quick and easy way.

Well I have nothing to sell, but I do have advice.  If you need to lose weight, you have to really want to do it because, and I have said this before, it starts in your brain.   Your brain has to make the commitment, first and foremost.  Trust me, losing weight is exciting and sexy.  Maintaining weight loss is the real job.

Any diet will help you get pounds off, but you need to find something you can live on to keep it off.  If you do something like Jenny Craig where someone else is making your food and portioning it out and that is all you eat you will lose weight.  Unless you plan on buying that food the rest of your life you eventually will need to learn what you can eat and not gain.

It is the same with going the surgery route.  You may make your stomach smaller, but you still need to change what you are eating.  You need to eat a healthy balanced diet so you might as well go ahead and try and do that before you have surgery.  You may find you can do it without going under the knife.  I do know people who changed their eating because of the surgery, but I am just not fond of unnecessary hospitalization, there are just too many things that kill people at the hospital.

I guess as long as I write about dieting I am destined to ads for “Three veggies for belly fat” and “the live healthy woman.”  What is the alternative, “The dead healthy woman?” The only good news is that at least I am not inundated with political advertisements and that is great for the next four days.


The Day After

Yesterday was e-mail hell and heaven all in one.  The hell part was that I had to send out almost 250 personalized e-mails to all you generous supporters who pledged to the campaign.  I hope most of you did not feel like I was sending you a bill.  I am truly appreciative of how generous you are.

Yesterday was taken up by meeting with a friend to ask them for money for something else, writing my blog which took extra long because I had to figure out how to put all my pictures in side-by-side so you could see a change, going to workout and then spending over seven hours sending out the “end of campaign” e-mails.  In between I read so many kind messages from so many of you.  Please forgive me if it takes me a while to respond to you all.

Today I went to visit my Uncle who has been undergoing cancer treatment.  I had a wonderful visit with him and had a bowl of soup with he and my Aunt.  On my way home I was hungry.  I pulled into the McDonalds and although a cheeseburger sounded really good I ordered a cup of coffee at the drive through and went on down the road.  I felt a little triumphant at that moment.  I was alone in the car, with a good 45-minute drive ahead of me and my weigh in tomorrow would not count for anyone except me.  I made the right choice and I did it just for me.

I was rewarded when I pulled into the parking lot at Carter’s school.  When she got in the car she told me how a substitute teacher at school today, who is not someone who was one of my supporters or a registered follower of my blog, called her name in the role stopped when Carter said, “here.”  Carter said that the sub then said, “Class, did you know that Carter’s mom just lost 53 pounds.”

I looked at Carter and said, “Sorry, was that embarrassing?”   She looked right at me and said,  “No, Mom.  I am proud of you.”  It was a little slice of heaven for the mother of a thirteen year old.


Your Final Number, But Not Mine

Today is November 1, the end of my weight loss challenge to raise money for the Food Bank of Central and Eastern North Carolina.  Before I give you the number of pounds I lost I first want to thank all of you who supported me by pledging money, reading the blog, writing comments, posting encouragement on facebook, cheering me on, asking me what I was eating for lunch, working out with me and just generally being the best kind of support I could ever imagine.

I have never had so much fun not eating in my whole life.  Even though I am about to tell you good news I am a little sad it is over.  I am thrilled with the 226 individuals, families and couples who pledged to the campaign, especially the teenagers who surprised me with their generous pledges.  Such self-sacrificing inspired me everyday.  That is what I am going to miss.

See, the campaign may be over as far as how much weight I can lose that people will pay for, but my personal weight loss must go on.  Today I will eat nothing different than I ate yesterday or last week.  I still want to lose at least 35 more pounds.  So the blog will go on and I will continue to chronicle this journey and write recipes.

The only thing that will change is that now I begin the money-collecting phase.  As of today I have pledges totaling about $679 per pound give or take a little depending on how some individuals did on their personal weight loss wagers. I set a crazy goal to try and raise $50,000.  So far I have not met that goal, but I am very hopeful to get close.

The great news is that I surpassed the weight loss goal I predicted and I lost a total of 53 pounds.  Good for you people who pledged I did not pass it by much so your payment is not wildly more than I had forewarned.  A couple of people worried I would game the system by cutting off a limb, having liposuction or just plain starving myself.  I can honestly report I did none of those things.  I did not even weigh-in completely naked just to make the number lower.

Thank you for being there.  Thank you for helping feed hungry people.  Thank you for keeping me laughing.  If you pledged you will be receiving a personalized e-mail giving you your pledge amount and campaign total.  If you did not pledge it is not too late to give.  I have a personalized web page at the Food Bank at http://www.foodbankcenc.org/goto/lessdana, or go to the pledge tab on the blog.

So I toast to you, my benevolent supporters.  I do it with my unsweetened Ice Tea as I go out to the garden to harvest my arugula to have for lunch before I go to the gym…just another day.


I’m Going as Superwoman for Halloween

If I were dressing up for Halloween I would go as Superwoman.  Before you even think, “That Damn Dana is so full of herself,” here is my reason.  Halloween is all about sugar, candy corn, mini snickers, resses peanut butter cups, skittles, junior mints, rolos, heath bars, hershey’s chocolates, milky ways, nerds, butterfingers, M & M’s I have gained two pounds just writing these things.

See, sugar is my Kryptonite.  Superman was powerless around the stuff and just like him sugar can bring me to my knees.  When I am away from all things sugar I am fierce.  I have will power and can leap tall bakery counters with a single bound.  But just one bite of a brownie and my resolve is weakened.

Today is the last day of my weight loss challenge.  What was I thinking?  Ending on Halloween – my day of greatest challenge. Tomorrow I will get on the scale and report how much weight I have lost since May.  I will be sending personalized e-mails to all my supporters to let them know how much money to send the food bank.

But tomorrow is not the end of my healthy eating.  With all that candy around I am going to have to double down.  The challenge has been great at doing for me what I needed it to do — break the grip that sugar and white flour had on my life.  I still have about 35 pounds I want to lose so I have to continue doing exactly what I have been doing, just without any money on the line to keep me motivated.

Even though my accountability will change from those who have pledged to just myself I am going to have to resolve to not be weakened by my personal Kryptonite, sugar.  To me, Superman is powerful because he knows his weakness and does everything to stay away from it.  I think for many women sugar is their downfall, so we all need to become Superwomen and do our best to steer clear of what we already know cripples us.

Like that mild manner reporter, Clark Kent, I am going to keep blogging.  I know that this forum has given me strength to be faster than a speeding bullet or more powerful than a locomotive or maybe just a strange visitor from another planet, as long as I am a skinnier visitor.


CRIME ALERT- The Swiss Chard Murders

While one third of America was ravaged by the monster storm with the innocent name of Sandy the middle of North Carolina was spared.  On opposite ends of my state flooding and hurricane a force winds destroyed part of the outer banks to the east and a huge blizzard is overtaking the western end.

The tri-state area around New York, and all the mid-Atlantic states are without power and flooding is just subsiding as the storm whips up winds and rains as far west at Chicago.  While all this devastation and human suffering abounds some criminal picks this time to lay waste to my garden.

Not all the garden, this four footed assassin chose to take out the practically perfect, unsuspecting, innocent Swiss chard.  Said chard was murdered in its own home.  Tender green leaves ripped from their proud magenta stalks, left shredded and ravaged by this unnamed butcher.

Collateral damage was a large family of romaine lettuce trampled during the invasion.  Many gave their lives to try and protect the young greens known as “Swiss” to their friends.  The Swiss Chard had a bright future ahead, now cut down in its prime.

No one will ever know the chard and white bean stew that it was destined for.  The White Beans were asked to comment but were too dried out from crying to comment.  A bunch of leeks have sent their condolences and now await their own chard-less future on a tart made bland without the tangy greens.

Swiss Chard’s neighbors Chinese Cabbage and Cauliflower are worried for their own safety in their war torn neighborhood.   Only peppery Arugula stands fearless to protect its turf in this green versus beast bat down.

As our hearts go out to those who are suffering in Sandy’s real devastation please keep a look out for this opportunistic murder who chose now to destroy our sweet Swiss chard whose full potential will never be realized.


Inside of an Apple Pie

 

It is cold out and grey out today.  This kind of weather gets me in the holiday mood and what better fall Holiday is there than Thanksgiving?

 

Lot’s of Thanksgiving food is just too fattening to eat prior to the actual holiday, so I made the inside of a pie just to get the smells and the essence of the holiday.  For me, I don’t really care much for piecrust anyway.  So you might just call this baked apples.  Throw in some raisins or pecans if you want to jazz it up.

 

This recipe is adjustable by the number of apples you use.  Three large apples made an almost full soufflé dish.

 

Apples – peeled and sliced thinly.  I used granny smith

2 packets of Splenda for each large apple

½ t. cinnamon per large apple

A couple of dashes of lemon juice per apple

 

Preheat oven to 350º.  Put all the ingredients in a baking dish sprayed with Pam, mixed together.  Cover with foil.  Bake for 45 minutes.

 

Good hot or cold.  Wonderful on oatmeal or Greek Yoghurt, day or night, Just smell!


Putting It Out There in The Universe

I am a fairly practical person.  Although I have a faith, I also like the tangible and scientific parts of life.  I don’t believe in living life by luck.  I do think some people get lucky, but most of the time things happen to us for a reason.  That reason is not always of our own making, but more times than not we need to be masters of our own universe.

Yesterday I complained of my scale moving up a pound, today it went down by two.  It was not luck or an uneven floor.  I put it out there in my blog that it had gone up.  That caused me to be extra vigilant in my food choices yesterday and thus the pay off.

Writing about my struggles, or putting it out in the universe, has helped me not hide from them.  Once a problem is uncovered I have nothing left to do but face it head on or just be some whining bore.  I would prefer to laugh at my problems than have them control me.

Now I am not so naïve to think that gaining a pound one day is really a problem, but ignoring the trend could be.  All I am trying to suggest is that no matter what issue you carry around, doing it alone makes it far more heavy than sharing it.

I am going to continue writing, and most of the time I hope what I write is more entertaining than serious, but I want to encourage you to put things out in the universe too and see what happens when you share your burdens.  Perhaps you will find the strength you need to fix them, or you will be able to change your perspective on them.  Just don’t be controlled, be your own master.


Body Sabotage

The count down to the end of this weight loss challenge has really begun.  I have five more days to earn as much as possible for the Food Bank and the pledges are still coming in.  I am a long way from $1,000 per pound so the only way to get to $50,000 is to lose as much as possible without doing anything insane like the previously discussed limb removal.

The last two weeks have been very successful, thus giving me hope to bring in the big bucks.  That was before I got on the scale this morning.  I know that no matter what I eat, even when I eat the exact same foods and amounts of food everyday it does not mean that I will decrease.  What I really get furious about is how I can go up despite my best efforts.

Does not my scale know that I am working to feed hungry children?  Why does my body decide it needs to retain something, I hope its water, right at this vital point?  For true confessions, I did eat two corn chips yesterday.  I looked the calorie count up on those and it was 15 calories at the most.  That alone should not cause a weight gain of 1.2 pounds.  Or should it?  Has my body become so virginal that the slightest violation of its purity and it goes into full on whore.

Perhaps I am not praying enough for weight loss.  Not that I would waste my prayers on that, there are many more important things that need some divine intervention.  And my praying is not that inspirational, but perhaps yours is.

I ask that you pray in any way you do whether it is to a god or your dog, that the world becomes a better place, that those who are sick can feel some relief, those who are lonely can find a friend and those who watch TV can get a phone call right as all the political ads are running.

Paraphrasing the words of Evita, “Don’t pray for me, North Carolina.”  But instead, watch me, watch me like a hawk.  Don’t let a chip, or a cookie or a bite of coconut cake near my lips.  Keep me busy, too busy for even water weight to build up in me.  It’s just five more days, five more days to change the world, at least for one small hungry child.


Evelyn Henderson’s Brussels Sprout Farm

When I was younger I hated Brussels sprouts.  The only way I was ever served them was boiled with butter or sometimes with sour cream and a dash of nutmeg.  Of course growing up in the 60’s the Brussels sprouts we ate come from a small frozen square box as most of our vegetables did.  I know I thought all vegetables grew in those frozen squares.

I am not sure if it was the taste, the texture or the smell of those tiny mini cabbages that I hated the most, but there was nothing appealing about them.  When my mother would give them to us she would say we had to eat at least two.  Thank goodness two was all she picked, because that was the exact amount my paper napkin could hold.  I would pop a whole Brussels in my mouth and then immediately bring my napkin to my mouth and pop the little ball into my paper covered hand, as I appeared to be wiping my mouth.  There was no way the napkin could hold three and not have them spill from my lap before I was able to deposit the napkin in the trash under the auspices of helpfully clearing the table.

The summer I stayed in my college town I had three friends, Marilyn, Randy and Bill who also had mistakenly thought Carlisle would be a great place to summer.   We spent most hot evenings together after we had finished our boring day jobs.  Being poor college students in a sweltering town we would spend most nights at Marilyn’s apartment in the one room with air conditioning.

After eating our communal meal we would watch TV.  Don’t ask me what shows we watched because it was not the programming we were interested in.  In the pre-QVC, infomercial days we watched for the one minute ads from places such as the Franklin Mint or Columbia Record House that had ads with 800 numbers to call to order what ever was being advertised.

Calling poor unassuming telemarketers was our evenings’ entertainment.  The four of us were somewhat theatrical so we would assume different characters to make a call and entertain the rest.  My favorite character was Evelyn Henderson, of Henderson’s Brussels Sprout Farm.  Think of me with Vickie Lawrence’s southern voice as Mama, just talking much faster.  I would dial up the 800 number of the Franklin Mint and could go on for at least 20 minutes about my love for the “Miniature Chinese Vases” they were selling.

I would begin each call the same, “Hi, this is Evelyn Henderson of Henderson’s Brussels Sprout Farm.  Please tell me you still have those darlin’ Chinese vases…”

Sometimes my friend Bill would play the role of my husband and pretend to call me from the other room.  He would say things like, “Evelyn, you aren’t trying to buy anything from the TV are you?”   That would be my out as to why I could not purchase right that minute and would have to call back, keeping those poor telemarketers ever hopeful for a big sale to me.

After a while in the pre-caller id era, the operators began to recognize my voice and would call me by name before I could announce, “This is Evelyn Henderson.”  That was when I began to learn more about Brussels sprouts so I could more convincingly carry on conversations with my new telemarketing friends.  Sometimes I would get carried away talking about chocolate covered sprouts, but really I was already so far gone discussing commemorative coins and collectable spoons that no one seemed to want to call Evelyn Henderson out as the fraud she was.

Today I actually like Brussels sprouts, at least roasted and I guess I owe that to Evelyn Henderson and those long hot nights in Carlisle and all the operators at the Franklin Mint.


Love Jeans, Hate Jeans Shopping

I don’t care who you are or how thin you are; I think most of us find shopping for jeans a real pain in the ass.  Well, maybe those guys who really only wear their jeans as an accessory to their boxer shorts don’t have trouble.  They just go in a store and hold the pants up and if they look like they fit their whole body in one leg they buy them.

Fortunately most of don’t purchase jeans on an approximation, but it does require dedication, time and more energy than I like to spend shopping.  I remember the olden days when I bought my jeans at the Wilton Department store.  They all were Levi’s and I don’t care what Levi’s advertises now about 505’s or 501’s or all these other 5’s.  We only had one kind.  It had a zipper, no buttons and there was one kind of blue, dark and rough and had not been washed yet.  All you had to do was figure out both your waist size and inseam and buy the pair that had that printed on the leather tag on the back of the waist band.  Of course there were two other brands, Lee and Wrangler, neither of which were sold at the Wilton Department store and thus deemed inferior.

Granted I would have to estimate the shrinkage amount since those Levi’s were made of virgin denim.  Once purchased, you were not going to wear them for a few days because they required multiple washings to remove the extra dye and not make them look so new.  The worst thing you could wear would be a brand new pair of unwashed blue jeans and a new white pair of tretorn sneaker together.  You would look like someone from Russia who did not know that you never wore “new” things off your property until they were broken in. or scuffed up.

Granted considerable work went into new jeans back in the 70’s, but most of the work was done at home.  Then Calvin Klein and Jordache had to get in the game opening up the jeans world to everybody in the rag trade.  That was the beginning of people wanting jeans to actually fit their body.  Granted the number of styles was limited.  When high waisted jeans, (Now called mom jeans) came in, almost all of them were high waisted.  During bell-bottoms heyday the smallest leg you could get was still a fairly wide boot cut.

Today the choices are overwhelming, from skinny to boot cut, curvy to straight leg, dark wash to distressed, ankle to floor length, zipper to button, plain pockets to flap pockets and on and on.  All these choices and then you still have to figure out your size, but it is not as easy as your waist and inseam.  The worst part now is that you have to really make sure they look good.  No longer are jeans that utilitarian pant.

So after my “hitcher’ up” episode at the State fair I finally went to find new jeans.  What a god awful waste of my life because they may fit today, but as long as I keep losing weight they too will get to be too big, or I will get to be too small and I am going to have to go do this all over again.  My only promise is I won’t wait until these become “pants on the floor” like the boxer short guys.