Nut Busters

It didn't occur to me that a little tupperware of cashew butter might be considered with the "liquids, gels and aerosols" that the TSA restricts to 3oz. Oops.

Plane Food

'Dre and me in Portland last summer

I'm taking a red-eye to New York tonight. (My Buffalo-hailing coworker says I shouldn't call it New York, because it's actually Ithaca I'm visiting.) My college roommate and dear, dear friend Andrea is working on her Master's degree at Cornell. I am so excited to see her!

I took my lunch at New Season's Market today. That's a pretty typical Thursday for me. I peruse the weekly sales between patients and phone calls on Wednesday, when they're announced online, and then I go take advantage on Thursday.

Grocery shopping is my guilty pleasure, more often done for pleasure than out of necessity. Cooking for one means that meal planning can be kept to a minimum. I go straight to the butcher counter and stock up on the specials. One for now, one for the freezer. Then I zig zag around and around the produce aisle. If I'm feeling naughty, I'll stop in at the freezer section for some coconut bliss. If I'm feeling indulgent, I'll pick out a goat or sheep cheese from their well stocked (and well labeled, with little animal graphics) cheese counter. Today, though, I was on a mission: plane food.

Avoiding food sensitivities is one thing in one's own kitchen. It's a WHOLE different story on the road, especially in airports where the choice is frequently between burgers, bagels, fruit smoothies and sketchy-looking salads.

I bought two apples, two packs of local jerky, almonds ("never eat those, they'll give you an ICV"), a pound of brussel sprouts, a pound of spicy Italian bulk sausage and a package of--gulp--wheat-free, dairy-free (sugar-filled) Newman's O's. The sausage and the brussels will get cooked up after work and crammed into the glass jars I hoard in the cupboard for transporting hot foods. I have about twelve hours of travel ahead of me, each way. If I can just resist the call of the Snickers bar, I'll be okay!

Fast Lane

During the 15 months I've lived in Portland, I've forgotten how fast 75 miles per hour is. Fast. Crawling along in the slow lane, holding the pedal at a steady 78 and the wheel tightly between two hands, cars whiz by on my left. Five, six, seven lane freeways. 75, 85, 95 miles per hour.

Dang. Welcome (back) to L.A.

I spent the weekend in Southern California with my little sister. She is so intelligent, beautiful, and talented. I wish she'd move to Portland! On Saturday night, I went to see her perform in A Chorus Line.

photo courtesy of? Thanks.
(that's my sister on the far right)

It's a 9-show run, and her first paid performance. When she, as Diana, said " I get this feeling inside because I remember when I used to stand outside of that stage door and watch all these girls come out of there, with their eyelashes and their make-up and I'd think: "God I'll never be that old. I'll never be that old. I'll never be old enough to come out of that stage door", I got this feeling inside because I remember when she, as my little sister Christa, used to stand outside of that stage door. This time, though, it was me standing outside the stage door. Out she came in eyelashes and makeup and I thought, "when did she get so grown up?"

It was a hectic, L.A. weekend. Dinner with the parents, breakfast with the grandparents, a couple hours with the best friend, a show with the brother and his girlfriend. In the inbetweens, though, I got to be with my sister. I wish I could have stayed longer. She's been visiting me places since my first year in college. This was the first time I visited her. Crashed on her floor. Wore all her clothes. Ate all her food.

Ate her food.

Next to watching her perform and maybe tied with taking a Jazz I dance class (It was the first dance class I've taken since I was three years old. I didn't fall on my face. I even got a nod of approval from my little sister. I think it was for her what taking her to see an AK doctor is to me: a chance to share our obsessions, a little taste of our lives, with the other. I'm sore today... but it was so worth it.), the best part was the cooking. And the eating.

Christa hasn't always been able to eat. Sure, she's always gotten food down... but she's never relished in it like I do. The worst was on a vacation in Europe a few summers ago. The markets! The restaurants! We sleuthed out the most talked-about eateries. Grandpa spoiled us with fancy, fresh, French food day after day. One crisp French Riviera morning, we walked to a paneria for breakfast. It was written up in all of my guides, and I was dying to taste all the hype. We walked in, mom, dad, grandma, grandpa, me, Christa. Baguettes, scones, long loaves and round loaves and biscuits. Babs (er, Christa), turned on her heels, shimmied out of the building and promptly threw up the contents of her already empty stomach. It went on like that.

Her blood sugar fluctuated wildly. She was shaky and pale and fainty.

Just a few bites of whatever we were eating would fill her up to nausea.

"Babs! Try this! It's delicious!" She'd take one look and turn green. It sucked.

About a year ago, Christa came to visit me in Portland. She had an appointment with one of the naturopaths at my clinic, who diagnosed her food sensitivities with an EAV machine. She eliminated wheat and refined sugar from her diet. Not two weeks later, she was a whole new girl.

Over the last year, she's further refined her diet. She abandoned her vegetarianism in favor of joint-protecting, blood sugar-regulating, high protein meals. She gave up dairy and soy. She started eating organic butter, olive oil and runny eggs.

The change is unmistakable.

My pretty sister. Eating. And my mom, loving up the sight.

This weekend, for the first time since we were kids, we really enjoyed food together. We spent half of her month's grocery stipend at Henry's Market, and then cooked our hearts out.

Christa lives an L.A. fast lane life. She takes 24+ credits each term, dancing for hours and hours every day, cramming in homework when she's not tapping or leaping or singing. There isn't much time for preparing food. Besides, she never really learned how to prepare food. She didn't want to eat it--it made her feel sick--during her high school years, when mom's ample pantries and her flexible schedule would have let her practice.

Little is more frustrating than knowing what you should be eating, what you want to be eating... but feeling like you can't do it because you don't know how.

This weekend, though, we cooked. We made Chicken Tortilla Soup in the crockpot, and cranberry muffins entirely out of flax seed. We rediscovered sloppy joes. We made pizza, on Namaste's rice crust (we ate a whole, huge pizza... and then froze single serving-sized crusts for easy access). We discovered that she doesn't mind sheep cheese if it's manchego or reggiano, and that Alta Dena makes a raw milk goat's cheddar she can enjoy with turkey slices from the caf. We made corn tortillas from scratch, and ate them as tacos the next day. We had so much fun.

None of our meals took more than a few minutes to prep or to clean. None of them required more than a couple of ingredients. None of them need any skill she doesn't have. They all freeze in single-servings, have adequate protein, and are completely void of wheat, dairy, sugar and soy.

Slow Cooker Chicken Tortilla Soup
I rarely follow recipes these days. Unless I'm baking, I ad-lib according to

what's in my fridge and who's eating. When Babs and I made this,

we went light on the spices; for now, she likes her food bland.
It's awkward for me to name quantities for most anything other than baking.
Please, improvise at will!

1 to 2 pounds boneless, skinless chicken breasts, thighs, whatevers
1 quartish chicken broth
5 cloves garlic, chopped
4-5 carrots?
One small can of hot or mild green chiles
and/or 1/4cup black olives, diced
and/or the remainder of whatever open salsa you have in the fridge
1 14.5-oz can fire roasted diced tomatoes (I like Muir Glen)
1 15-oz can beans (I use red, usually)
1/4 to 1/2 cup corn (or rice) flour mixed into a slurry with a half cup of hot chicken broth to make a slurry
A generous pinch of salt
A glug of apple cider--or other--vinegar
Spices.
(as in...cumin, chili powder, ground pepper and paprika, maybe?
or a couple of table spoons of your favorite taco seasoning.)
1 -2 teaspoons agave syrup or honey, if desired

Put everything in your slow cooker. I always put the chicken in first, then half the broth... the tomatoes, beans, the rest of the broth. Sometimes one quart of liquid isn't enough. Just add more.Then I stir in the slurry and add the spices. Don't taste just now, though. You can adjust the seasoning later.

Cook on high or low, depending on your time line.

Four or six or eight or twelve hours later, fish out your chicken with a slotted spoon. It should melt into shreds as you play with it between two forks. Add it back into the pot. Taste and adjust your seasonings. Bring the soup to a simmer... then serve hot.

Serve as is, or with avocado, manchego cheese, cilantro, crisped corn tortillas....

Mayo

The other night, I stayed up past my bedtime.

It was almost 11pm when I found myself whirring together golden egg yolks with lemon juice, salt and cracked pepper, and slowly drizzling pungent, new, greeny-yellow organic olive oil into the bowl of my food processor. Quarter-sized, gluten-free shrimp cakes sizzled on the stove behind me, first defrosting--then warming and crisping.

The cakes were my muse that night. They were on sale at New Season's for $2.99/box. I bought two boxes, then went back for four more. "Serve with aoili" read the back of the Mediterranean-Shrimp-with-Garlic-and-Oregano box. I had to have it.

I poured my oil straight from its new green glass bottle. Until the slurpy squishy sounds of emulsification sang from the plastic container, I worried I'd poured too much. Or too fast. But, as always, the mixture thickened up. It stopped spattering and started squishing, sucking, under the spinning blades.

Different housemates came home at different stages of this easy process. They knit their eyebrows together and shook their heads a little. I know I'm a little strange. Not many 22 year olds make homemade mayonnaise on a whim. They don't know what they're missing out on.

I ate my shrimp cakes. All eight of them. With lots of mayo. (It always used to gross me out when people dipped things in mayonnaise. Kinda like when people dip things in Ranch. I'm not talking turkey slices or baby carrots, but french fries, pizza, corn dogs--you name it. I think I'd probably have grossed myself out, if I'd had to watch me and my shrimp.) I didn't have any garlic in the house (!!!), so I was going to fake the aioli with garlic powder... but I opted out and enjoyed myself immensely anyway.

Homemade Mayonnaise

I've used different recipes at different times, for more or less the same result. Now (it's what, my third time?) I freestyle it. My mayo went something like this.

Note: Using Extra Virgin Olive Oil results in a mayonnaise that tastes a bit like, well, EVOO. Some sources recommend lighter oils... I don't chance them.

One whole, organic egg
One organic egg yolk
(egg white reserved, to be dropped by fork tines
into boiling broth for breakfast)
a generous pinch of salt
a few grinds of pepper
a splash of vinegar
(white rice? apple cider? I think I used red wine)
and/or a squeeze of lemon

Combine in the food processor, running in the ON position until the yolks are slightly lightened and a little foamy, about 30 seconds. I'm told that blenders and Kitchen Aids work, too, and that hand whisking has the best results. But... I use my beloved Cuisinart.

Slowly (sloooowly) drizzle in, drop by drop

1-2 cups Organic, Cold Press, Extra Virgin Olive Oil.

Keep the motor running, and the oil drizzling. I think I used about a cup and a half of oil for this batch? With enough patience and oil, the mixture should thicken right up.

Try it. You probably won't ever go back to Miracle Whip--or whatever the hydrogenated sandwhich spread of your youth was.