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vegan envy

Jul2

“As some of you already know, it is Meat Week here on Morning Edition“. So starts Steve Inskeep in a report on NPR last week– which means that a few million people did actually know. But, coincidentally, or as I prefer to think, karmically, it was also Vegan Week here in my little village, and my, what a Vegan Week it was.

For a little background on Vegan Week, visit my post, Be Kind to Animals, which gives the history of this event– which was until recently known to about seven people. However, this time around, the Village Veganistas took on a few new cocktail-concocting guests. One evening we were barely contained in our host’s small home as our table grew to eleven. And, the next night we literally spilled out onto the porch as our numbers increased even more–along with the temperature. The word was out. Our giddiness, fueled by the exquisiteness of the meals–plus the fresh strawberry cosmos and daiquiris–could no longer be contained. The curious fringe came circling, like lions ready to pounce on some new meat–but alas, all that they found was some kale salad with fennel and cannellini beans, vegan egg rolls, and some rice stuffed cabbage. Ah, but they pleaded to stay and begged for more.

As I listened in on Meat Week’s offerings with its stories of the evolution of carnivores in America, my single compartment stomach churned and felt a little queasy. Reported was that Homo sapiens evolved as meat eaters– which apparently accounted for the increased size of our brains. Even so, eating meat was essentially a game of catch as catch can for many a good year. The advent of animal husbandry increased access to and consumption of meat, but for the most part, it was tendered to the reigning aristocracy. It was here in America, due to the vast amount of pastureland plus some good old ingenuity, that meat became amply available–and at a cheaper price– thus elevating meat-eating to a national pastime.

The rest is a mere hundred plus-year-old history that brings us to today and the 30 million cows we now have in this country. Some standard meat factoids are that: it takes 20-30 pounds of feed to produce one pound of beef; it takes 53 gallons of water to produce one hamburger; one-third of all crops grown are fed to animals; two-thirds of the water that we use is for agricultural purposes; cattle raising contributes to vast deforestation and air and water pollution; and, Americans eat 270 pounds of meat, per person, per year.

Two hundred and seventy pounds? Per person? Per year? That is like 10 ounces per day. The world average is 102 pounds and all those people in India are consuming only about seven pounds. Only folk in tiny Luxembourg eat more, but Australians are right up there as well. Though people are eating less beef, chicken has quickly taken its place because of the work of Frank Purdue and others who fostered industrialized chicken production only a few decades ago.

Apparently, though, there is a turnaround trend occurring and people are starting to eat less meat. It seems that this is mainly due to economics but also to concerns about health, the environment, and animal welfare. This news left me ruminating. How primal is this need for meat? Could a week of eating a diet entirely devoid of animal products provide some answers to this evolutionary debacle?

This is about our seventh seasonal celebration of Vegan Week. We are usually corralled to gather when my next-door neighbor Carrie clears a spot on the table of her own busy life to find the space for our culinary, dietary and social intention. I was actually quite surprised then when the summoning email arrived this time, as Carrie is a candidate for the NY State Assembly. She is already busy campaigning around our district, making appearances at various, sometimes hot dog hawking, events. But true to her commitment to community, she did not forget the Veganistas.

This Vegan Week held now the excitement of  Carrie’s candidacy. We sometimes had to save a plate for her as she arrived late due to some campaign work. But that was not the only thing that marked this week. All the meals that we share are incredibly good, prepared by some excellent cooks. However, on Thursday night, unassuming and sweet Danielle, a relatively recent addition to the circle, brought Vegan week to new culinary heights. Her menu began with a vegan version of the traditional Italian soup Pasta Fagioli. She used those adorable little ditalini noodles accompanied by a homemade, perfectly fennel-seasoned gluten sausage. We were just getting over that flavorful experience when we beheld her main course, a Seitan Picatta.

This dish consists of a baked potato cake, topped with a tofu-based creamed spinach and a seitan cutlet with a lemon and caper wine sauce. She obtained the recipe from “Chef’s Table, The Kitchen of Angel Ramos” the head chef at Candle 79, a vegan restaurant in Manhattan. Danielle’s execution was exquisite. She made her own seitan cutlets which were the most tender I have ever tasted. The presentation was beautiful as well. After our first bites–we squawked like happy free-range chickens. Oh, and yes, dessert. A perfect chocolate cake. Our newbie guests were amazed.

Couldn’t this great fare appease us modern Homo sapiens? Exquisite taste with a  slightly chewy bite? Might less meat possibly expand our “knowing man” taxonomy to also include “homo ecologicus, homo amans, and homo poetica”–ecological, loving and makers of meaning?  Let’s chew on that at the Interdependence Day BBQ.

According to Meat Week, 7 billion hot dogs will be eaten in the US this summer. Given that about twelve ordinarily carnivorous individuals consciously chose to avoid any animal-derived products on this last week of June, let’s make that 6,999,999,988.

Thank you for listening, sharing, following and supporting my writing. Please subscribe in the sidebar to receive notice of new posts. Comments and greetings always welcome.

In health, Elyn

Related Resource: LIVEKINDLY

Related Recipe: Seitan Picatta

Danielle’s My Plate Plate

My Plate Haiku

Grasses, grain, fruit, wine

Garden flowers produce joy

Kitchen flours bread. By Gordon

 

 

 

 

by the time i got back from woodstock

Jun18

When last I left off in, By the Time I Got to Woodstock, I was chewing blissfully on arugula while practicing mindful eating in a cafe in Woodstock. Well, right after that little sweet outing, I began working with a new client who had recently had gastric bypass surgery–and so, since, the concept of mindful eating has taken on some new dimensions.

Holding someone’s hand as they enter into an entirely new relationship with food and eating relative to digestive restructuring is a fascinating and fragile task. Recognizing how many people are now undergoing these procedures, makes me realize this is a societal shift as profound as online dating. According to my quick search, more than 200,000 people in this country are undergoing some type of weight loss surgery in a year and the numbers are growing steadily.

My client had the Roux-en-Y procedure, which is currently the industry’s gold standard. It was one of the earliest procedures developed and ensures some of the best long-term success. It can now be done laparoscopically through small incisions in the abdomen thereby further decreasing complications and post-surgical discomfort. In the Roux-en-Y procedure, the stomach is stapled to create a smaller food pouch about the size of an egg and is then reattached to the small intestine further down, bypassing the upper portion. Most people who undergo the procedure lose pounds fast and furiously for the first few months and ultimately seem to shed about 65% of their excess weight–though this number can be higher as well. Additionally, serious medical conditions like diabetes, hypertension, sleep apnea and arthritis that plague this population significantly abate.

These surgeries and their aftermath, of course, entail some serious risk (including death) and have many profound physical, emotional and nutritional implications as well. However, highly remarkable are the changes in eating behaviors that these procedures both impose and demand. From the moment an individual awakens from the anesthetic stupor through the rest of their life, the relationship with food is forever changed. Some foods will be kissed a sad goodbye, while others will be reduced to tiny portions of their former selves. Sugary and fatty foods once-beloved will wreak severe and painful havoc on the altered innards; gas-forming foods will even more so make their presence known far and wide; proteins will demand front row seating at every meal and something as innocent as the skin on a tiny blueberry can pose a gigantic digestive problem. But, that is not all. Very big men and women will perforce be required to eat like little toddlers.

The refeeding path will wander from clear liquids to pureed foods and then to very carefully chosen solids. Liquids will be sipped slowly in frequent timed intervals throughout the day to prevent dehydration and they will not be taken at mealtimes. Bites will be teeny tiny, as teeny and tiny as a pencil eraser and sometimes tempted to the mouth on little baby utensils. Each mouthful will be so carefully chewed, quietly and consciously until fully emulsified. There is no room for feeding error as severe pain or vomiting easily can ensue. Portions per meal will be a mere quarter cup, then a half cup and eventually up to a one-cup maximum more or less for good. An ounce of food (or two tablespoons) will require about ten minutes to consume and a full one cup meal greater than an hour. Often fullness will set in before the meal is done.

I have turned to various readings lately to get a deeper appreciation of this extreme and tedious process from people who have experienced it– because it is difficult for me to fathom it on my own. I have taken to trying to eat one, just one, eraser sized bite per meal and to chew it consciously in some kind of solidarity with those who have chosen this path as a means to ameliorate years of physical and emotional pain. The decisions to undertake what these procedures required are not taken lightly.

Exploring this world more fully is challenging some of my own hesitancy regarding these procedures and I have been recalling my reactions to the bariatric conference I attended last fall and wrote about in How Can You Say No to a Brownie? Though there are at least two sides to every story, a recurring theme for many who have chosen weight loss surgery seems to be that despite all the attendant problems and adjustments–and there are many–eventually the new lifestyle is one that they become accustomed to and when the initial difficulties resolve–they feel so much better and have no regrets.

It is difficult but not impossible to imagine. But even in so considering the benefits, I have been struck by a certain irony. Is not the insistence or instruction of these procedures essentially mindful eating? Choosing food with care, approaching it respectfully, chewing it slowly, tasting it thoroughly and giving the body time to say enough and thank you–like I did with my meal in Woodstock? Interestingly, I just came upon an interesting clue regarding this.

“Profound changes in body weight and metabolism resulting from RYGB cannot be explained by simple mechanical restriction or malabsorption. Changes in food intake after RYGB only partially account for the RYGB-induced weight loss, and there is no evidence of clinically significant malabsorption of calories contributing to weight loss. Thus, it appears RYGB affects weight loss by altering the physiology of weight regulation and eating behavior rather than by simple mechanical restriction or malabsorption.”*

Well, I am not positive, but I think that is what mindful eating does too. I don’t know what we will come to find when we look back at this period of extreme procedures for weight loss or review its long-term results. Surely, newer weight reduction methods will be developed that won’t be as invasive and extreme as those that are currently being employed. Hopefully, we will find a gentler solution, but, maybe we will come to realize that there has always been a simpler way.

What do you think?

For an enlightening understanding of the physiology of eating, check out Marc David’s book, The Slow Down Diet.

In health, Elyn

*Nicholas Stylopoulos, Nicholas, Hoppin, Alison G., Kaplan, Lee M (2009), “Roux-en-Y Gastric Bypass Enhances Energy Expenditure and Extends Lifespan in Diet-induced Obese Rats”, Obesity 17 10, 1839–1847. doi:10.1038/oby.2009.207

**It is actually amazing that I don’t write about Chico more. He really is the most remarkable cat as his large fan base can attest to. He does have some food and eating issues yet has actually lost weight through a diet, therapy and exercise program. He enjoys cantaloupe and cucumbers, takes walks with me and waits outside when I visit my neighborhood library. Here he is reading the Count of Monte Cristo upside down!

MyPlate Haiku

Food made joyfully

As a gift of time and self

Feeds body and soul.  Anne-Marie

by the time i got to woodstock

May30

There I was having a mindful eating moment. Though I teach others the importance of this technique frequently, I rarely slow down enough to practice it myself. What it took for me to have my own blissful experience–where you sit in total oneness with a food or a meal fully attuned to the multi-sensory act of eating–was the result of a harmonic convergence between my teenage daughter and not one, but two teenage boys.  

It was a beautiful warm Friday in April when Zena and I found ourselves perfectly aligned to spend the afternoon together on the last day of her school spring break. Easily, the legendary village of Woodstock presented itself as the mecca for our little excursion. Morning obligations tended to, we hopped in the car and headed out. About a third of the way there, Zena decided to see if she could reach her summer camp friends, Ethan and Josh, who live there. Despite the fact that the two had school that day, and were actually in it when she contacted them, in vague teenage boy fashion they arranged that they would meet her somewhere after track practice.

It was the kind of day where you celebrate shedding the cumbersome clothing of winter and first drive with the car windows down. Whenever I go to Woodstock, the songs of The Band drift easily into mind, as I was once fortunate to see them perform there–in their adopted hometown. Little did I know that just a few days later, word of band member and Woodstock resident Levon Helm‘s death would pass a cloud over this sunny musical epicenter. But that day, it was all sunshine as Zena and I browsed the little shops, bought T-shirts and sunglasses and walked our way into that wonderful space where appetite is earned and asks to be rewarded with something special. We checked out a few little spots, yet in Goldilock fashion, it was not until we came to the Garden on the Green did we find the cafe that was just right.

Though the beautiful outdoor garden area was closing down for the afternoon, inside provided just as warm and welcoming a place to please my palate. Every inch was aesthetically charming. Ah, but there was more. The menu consisted of purely vegan offerings created from local provisions. We were giddy. Though I am no stranger to vegan and vegetarian restaurants when available, eating out in most places usually entails rapid eyeball movement over the menu to find the few non-meat selections. Here, every choice was seductively available.

We sat at the table by the large front window overlooking Woodstock’s little village green and ultimately decided to share a warm lentil pecan pate with sage, Tuscan arugula, and white bean salad and a wonderful black bean and roasted corn quesadilla. We settled in looking at all the pretty things that surrounded us. However, just as the food arrived, Zena said, “Oh, there’s Ethan!”  and went running out the door to greet him. I turned to find her in that kind of exuberant silly hug that teenagers enjoy with one of those Skinny Boys. She ran back in and asked if I would mind that she go hang out with him, concerned about leaving me alone to eat. I said I didn’t mind. We asked the waitress for a to-go container and I packed up a little picnic box for her to take outside–complete with the nice silverware–which we returned later.

So there I was, alone with this beautiful food. Right away, I knew what I needed to do to fill my time. I had already embraced my surroundings–taking in the other diners, the waitresses and trying to interpret the Spanish conversation coming from the kitchen. I now needed only to address all of my attention to this amazing meal. With each sense engaged, I looked at, smelled, and lingered over every single bite. I considered the textures–the creaminess of the pate along with with the crunchy crust of the bread it spread itself upon, the lovely bitterness of the arugula mixed with the tender softness of the white beans. I chewed incredibly slowly, which is not something I ordinarily do and really appreciated the unique meal. And, yes, as I tell my clients is apt to happen, I sensed my satiety rather quickly. I was actually a little bummed. I could have easily eaten all of the food that was before me while I waited for Zena to return, but with careful listening, my body said it had enough. I was determined to honor it.

Right about then, I looked out to the window and my maternal lens caught a view of Ethan loping away in one direction while Josh came bounding in from another. Zena came heading back into the cafe. She asked for more time, mentioning something about guitar lessons. On most other days or in some other place, my patience might have waned, but not there and not then. As she skipped out again I perused the very vegan dessert offerings and extensive tea listing and chose a Chinese Sencha Tea with which to extend my experience. I had recently read about specially harvested Sencha teas and was excited to try one. I stayed committed to my mindful intention and inhaled the pleasant aroma with each tiny sip.

Not too long after, a parent-propelled car pulled up in front of the cafe and whisked Josh away–and Zena rejoined me. Though the teenage boys had vanished with a cinematic flourish, my satisfaction lingered. Since then, I have been more conscious to calm myself and to eat more slowly when I bring myself to the table.

Time and again in my work I am reminded how important mindfulness is in regard to eating. Mindfulness, or simple but exercised awareness, is essential for a balanced relationship with food. In the big dietary gestalt, we tend to focus the problem on what we are eating and to seek answers in changing dietary content. I myself am apt to tend and mend in this way as well. However, commonly what is revealed in the real story of eaters, is that a deeper conflict exists. Even in those whom I assume must have their inner compasses precisely calibrated and their plates all balanced, I eventually divine the agita, angst, stress, and shame that accompanies how people feel about how, why and how much they eat. This is often more so the problem that is seeking attention and assuaging. These principles are ably addressed and applied at the Institute for the Psychology of Eating.

Slowing it down and paying profound attention ultimately can change the patterns, often dysfunctional, that repeatedly dictate our feeding relationship. From thoughts to actions, mindful eating can be a powerful tool for increasing compassion towards ourselves, helping to reassign food to its proper place and for improving physical health. In its most simple sense, it will increase the ability to truly taste and savor food. More profoundly, it can provide more information than most diets do; affords permission to eat and decreases deprivation feeding behaviors that usually backfire. Ultimately, it allows one to derive more pleasure with less intake. It can be practiced with one tiny piece of chocolate or with an entire meal. It can be explored casually or studied diligently.

Two books that are in my midst these days that address mindful eating are, Eat, Drink and Be Mindful a workbook by Susan Albers; and Peaceful Weight Loss Through Yoga by Brandt Bhanu Passalacqua. I recommend them both. I also invite you to choose a moment this week to eat mindfully. I would love to hear about your experience if you care to share it in a comment. Who knows, you may find that you shall be released and or that you begin to know better the shape you’re in.

Enough with the obtuse song references.

In health,

Elyn

My Plate

My Plate Haiku

Spread peanut butter

On whole grain sweet dark bread

Raspberry jam-yum.    by Barb

if you knew then

Mar26

About thirteen semesters ago, when I was working at a college, I decided to see if I could put my finger on the pulse of the food attitudes of emerging adults. I figured what better group to study than those who were sitting in that precious space between carefree existence and burgeoning responsibility–and whose habits would markedly define the next generation of health and eating. As I had only newly forged my way into being the first nutritionist on the campus, I was also eager to see what the possibilities were for my work there.

42, The Answer to the Ultimate Question of Lif... The Answer to Life in the Universe (image by Wikipedia)

So, I designed a little questionnaire and managed to have it distributed to a subset of different types of students–150 in total. I made sure to include freshmen, sophomores, juniors and seniors; male and female athletes; and, Dance, Exercise Science, Business, Chemistry and of course, some token English majors. I found the first student I could who expressed to me an interest in the field of nutrition and together we collected, and, in a totally unscientific manner, collated the data.

The results were fascinating, or well, somewhat interesting. However, not really being a researcher and without any tools for sophisticated analysis-and, because it was a while ago–I can’t describe what they were. Though the nature of the questions was probably pretty depressing for the young cohort, I  recall being tickled pink to learn that in response to question #42, about 15% of students knew there was a nutritionist on campus. Well, at least the smart ones figured it out when they got my questionnaire. It must have been the English majors.

Recently, I came upon my modest tool of inquiry and wondered would it be interesting for others to ponder the questions I was probing then. So, here, in an altered, abridged and more grown-up version, I present the questionnaire in my continued quest to see what may have relevance for the masses. Or, to perchance find the ultimate answer to the ultimate question of life, the universe and everything regarding how and why we feed ourselves. It may, in the fashion of Douglas Adams’, Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Universe, take 7 1/2 million years to find the answer, which might just as likely turn out to be 42. And, while the ultimate question may likely remain unknown, here is my little stab at it. Ready?

1.  How much do you think about your food choices?

2.  If your diet was a class project, what grade would you give it?

3.  What do you believe are your best/worst eating/food habits?

4.  Does nutrition information interest you, confuse you or bore you to tears?

5.  Do you think that eating better could improve your well-being or prevent certain health conditions? What might inspire or motivate you to change?

6.  Do you follow any special or defined diet?

7.  What health issues are present in your nuclear and extended family?

8.  Do you think that you have any health issues that may be related to your diet?

9.  Do you think your eating habits might catch up with you someday?

10.  What motivates or affects your eating behaviors? Health, weight, performance, pleasure, convenience, finances, cooking skills, boredom, stress, emotional issues?

11.  Do you believe that you have or are sensitive to any of the following addictions?  Caffeine/Nicotine/Alcohol/Drugs/Sugar/Food

12.  Have your parents influenced your food and eating habits? Positively or negatively?  Which parent most influenced your eating habits?

13.  If you have children, or if you may someday, do you think ideas about good nutrition affect how you do or will feed them?

14.  Does anyone else in your life influence or affect your eating habits? Who? Positively or negatively?

15.  Do you feel bad about how you eat? Are you at peace with how you eat?

16.  Do you wish you would care more or care less about food and eating matters?

17.  What do you hunger for? What food(s) is most important to you?

18.  Have you consciously or unconsciously made small or large changes in your approach to eating? How has your eating changed through the years?

19.  If you knew then, what you know now, would you have approached feeding/eating differently?

20.  Do you know what kale is? If yes, have you ever eaten it?

42.  Do you know there is a nutritionist asking you these questions?

So, if any of these questions have provoked in you anything new or meaningful, let me know. What else might we be asking?

By the way, it turned out that many students–perhaps inspired by my survey–did take advantage of the opportunity to meet with me–and working with them was a real pleasure. They came to discuss their own issues or to explore nutrition topics in conjunction with a class project or campus activity. They possessed a lovely blend of personal insight, intellectual curiosity, and social and environmental awareness–all necessary and exquisite ingredients in this continued exploration of nourishment–and the future of eating.

In fact, the student who helped me in that little endeavor has already gone on to establish herself quite strongly in the health and nutrition firmament. Check out the incredible work of Sara Eddison. There is hope.

Thank you for listening, sharing, following and supporting my writing. Please subscribe in the sidebar to receive notice of new posts. Comments and greetings always welcome.

In health, Elyn

IMG_1294

John Lennon’s My Plate

My Plate Haiku

Time is an illusion.

Lunchtime doubly so.

by Douglas (Adams)

 

dietary linfluences

Feb20

Linsanity. I am all over it. Jeremy Lin–Harvard graduate, undrafted player, turned New York Knicks phenomenon. Like I just learned that he’s a point guard. And, no, I haven’t seen him play yet–but that’s due to us not having much accessible TV in my home and something about a broadcasting contract between MSG Sports and the local cable company. So then, what do I know? I know he grew up playing basketball at his local YMCA; his other favorite sport was soccer; he does yoga; he has a charitable foundation; and, most importantly–what he eats per day to meet his protein requirements. Oh, and that he has a weakness for In-N-Out Burgers.

English: Turnips (Brassica rapa) Français : Na...

This 6-foot-3 and 205-lb rookie player has come charging onto the scene fueled with 205 grams of protein per day–as recommended by his personal trainer. Regular humans need about .4 to .7 grams of protein per pound depending on a variety of factors which include activity, age, state of health and a degree of imprecision in calculating optimal protein requirements. However, superlative athletes can extend their intake higher, and Lin’s 1.0 gram of protein per pound is probably both generous and acceptable. Sports that involve a lot of impact and pounding necessitate a large degree of repair nutrients which protein delivers–and with the compacted NBA season this year resulting in less rest between games, it seems like the players are taking quite a beating.

This means that to start him on his way each day, Lin aims for 50 grams of protein at breakfast. To reach this amount, he eats five eggs along with a serving of another protein like ham or turkey. The rest of his daily diet includes lean proteins from chicken, fish and milk-based protein powder, lots and lots of vegetables which he derives often from big salads, and a modicum of starchy carbohydrates. I was surprised at the lack of more carbs but I think they were just not clearly described in the plan that I saw.

I did not really intend to write about what Mr. Lin is chowing down–despite my being very interested in athletes’ diets. I enjoy hearing about those who credit their success or long, injury-free careers to their attention to nutrition–and will gladly delve into any Sports Illustrated Magazine that makes me privy to some piece of information about a sports celebrity’s care and feeding of their body. And, with professional sports’  fierce competition, more athletes are turning to such measures to improve their edge. I am also a champion of such stars who use their celebrity to promote healthy behaviors and give back to their communities such as Celtic’s Paul Pierce’s Truth on Health Fund.

I would love to be a sports nutritionist for a professional organization. I did once serve in that role for a college women’s basketball team. When I joined them for a team-building day–which included games and a high ropes course–my life felt a bit endangered. These tall amazon women felt entitled to some payback for my moderating their carefree college eating experiences. They were only Division 3.  Maybe, if they were more assured of a high paying basketball contract they would have better appreciated my input and might have caught me in that game where you stand in the middle of a circle, lean back with your eyes closed and trust that the others will gently receive and carry your weight.

I digress. Anyway, since I am not a highly paid sports nutritionist, my attentions go to the more pedestrian aspects of how the mere mortals are eating. The little tidbit that really led me into this Linsanity was a NY Times article this week about Jeremy’s grandmother, 85-year old Lin Chu A Muen. Though she lives in Taiwan, when Jeremy was a baby and young child, she came here and cared for him in the California home where he was raised. Apparently, one of the budding basketball star’s favorite dishes that she prepared for him was fried rice with egg and dried turnip. For me, right there was the story.

I extrapolated from this one sentence mention a whole message about childhood feeding–and grandmothers. I thought I would just use it to advance my personal theory that the whole ruckus about feeding kids is overblown and that kids will just eat good healthy food if that is what is presented to them–without a myriad of choice and being catered to and if served with love–just as Lin Chu did for little Jeremy–dried turnip and all.

This seemed like a good way to present my adopt a grandmother feeding initiative. I have long observed that there are many from the older generations who really know how to cook–but no longer have anyone to cook for. Connecting these grandmothers (and grandfathers) with households that lack such important know-how would be a brilliant solution to the current childhood culinary and nutritional crisis.

My thesis was advanced when quick research revealed that Lin’s family doesn’t cook much and so he eats out for most of his meals. I assume that this describes the situation when living at home with his parents–after Grandma returned to Taiwan. It seems like once Lin Chu left,  this family of ninth-generation descendants of immigrants from the Fujian province in southeast China, like many other American families, became clueless in the kitchen and In-N-Out Burger replaced the dried turnip dish.

One could probably argue that little Jeremy might not have grown so tall without the addition of such burgers to his diet and that a continued dietary of dried root vegetables, starch and a touch of egg protein could have deprived the New York Knicks of the divine lintervention he seems to be providing. His current protein intake far exceeds that of his ancestors. However, that raises other philosophical, ecological and nutritional issues.

I suppose he is living on his own now somewhere in the vicinity of New York City. Though he can probably afford it, his new-found fame probably makes it difficult for him to frequent the local burger joint, and besides, I don’t think we have In-N-Out Burgers here in New York. Jeremy might just have to take his eating back into the home and to find a grandmother who can prepare for him the sustenance he requires. Unfortunately, it looks like it’s too late for him to draft his own grandma for the program. Apparently, Lin Chu is too busy hanging out in sports bars in Taipei watching her grandson play basketball.

Knicks fans and Michelle Obama, what do you think?

Sunday’s stats: Knicks 104–Mavericks 97; Jeremy Lin 28 points and 14 assists  (7 turnovers–and that doesn’t mean apple)

Thank you for listening, sharing, following and supporting my writing. Please subscribe in the sidebar to receive notice of new posts. Comments and greetings always welcome.

In health,  Elyn

(Update 2020–The Real-Life Diet of Jeremy Lin 2017)

 

swept away

Feb12

Arch of Cabo San Lucas

I don’t work in the easiest of places. I often dream that I have a job–well, I wouldn’t even call it a job because it would be so pleasant–working in a spa in Cabo San Lucas in Mexico–pushing the little buttons on the blender at the organic juice bar in the crystal waters of the pool. My own Vitamin D needs amply fulfilled by that luscious warm sun as I dispense my little quinoa pearls of wisdom to my very well-heeled clients. My muscles are toned by long walks on the sandy beaches and I teach mindful eating classes using the freshest and juiciest mangoes just picked from a nearby tree to seduce my students’ senses.
Such imaginings deepen my own diaphragmatic breathing and soften my gaze until that little bubble on the electronic medical record program on my computer informs me that my first or next patient has arrived.

I do not wish to complain. I consider it a privilege to do what I do. I believe I sit in a rather unique position as far as seeing the magnitude of the health crisis that is upon us and the consequences of our communal diet and way of life. So often, when I am following the story about food, diet, weight, etc.–no matter where– it seems either abstract and haughty in that scientific or academic way, or judgmental and blaming. The sensationalized situation becomes very up close and personal and takes on a different hue in my little office–where day after day I receive a fair amount of clients– often in quick succession. Sometimes, I wish I could give the scientists, academics, and critics a peek in.

Most people don’t ever get to see a nutritionist. It is unlikely that you have. It is not like going to the dentist–which is a prescribed semi-annual event (except for the millions who unfortunately don’t have access to dental care) the doctor or the therapist. Perhaps it should be. It would be a lot more fun to come to see me twice a year than the dentist. Access to nutritional services is usually reserved for those with a few types of medical conditions or for those with enough money and energy to fine-tune their bodies.

Interestingly, nutritional services have historically been provided in-house in the Community Health Center where I work, along with some other ancillary services like podiatry, ophthalmology, social work, and dentistry. This multi-service type facility is actually rare in our health care environments. Its purpose is to facilitate access to care for patients–and access indeed they do. My clients do not have cars parked in warm and dry garages that they hop into. Instead, they walk, trudge, take a bus– or two, or call and wait for medical transportation. I am continually shocked that so many arrive at my door to discuss this abstract concept called nutrition. Though any patient is eligible to see me, my schedule is padded with the extreme cases that the doctors are more apt to refer. Extreme becomes a relative concept–and many nutritional concerns are overlooked.

As I navigate the raging waters, the intensity increases imperceptibly at some times and quite obviously at others. Like natural phenomena that are categorized by a numerical rating system–hurricanes, white water, etc.–I think our health issues may require something similar. I wonder if my office chair should indicate what kind of conditions it can endure and if it should come equipped with life jackets. Some of what I encounter has to do with sheer weight but not all of it–though I rarely have a day without clients over 300 lbs.

Off the top of my head, let me see if I can briefly describe somewhat what cast upon my shore just within the last two weeks. The 19- year-old male–366 lbs; a 29-year-old woman, 5’2–378 lbs; a 35-year-old male with extremely elevated cholesterol levels; a 7-year-old boy with compromised growth due to ADD medications; a 13-year-old boy with gastric reflux; a 28-year-old male with a blood pressure of 160/110; and, a 23-year-old male-390 lbs who barely leaves his home. This is a very tiny sampling. It excludes the middle-aged diabetics and hypertensives, pregnant teenagers, and folks with mental health and substance abuse issues whom I see regularly.

Then, there was the 15-year-old girl with triglyceride levels of 442 (which I would have not believed except that she had a prior lab with a similar result)–when normal is less than 150. She entered my office at 3 PM with her parents. When I asked her what she had eaten that day, she told me a bottle of Mountain Dew, a granola bar and a Snapple Iced Tea. She had bought all of this just before her appointment. She had not gone to school that day. She had already finished the soda and the granola bar–showing me the wrapper. Her dad was holding the iced tea that they were still sharing. Within six minutes of our acquaintance she informed me in no uncertain terms, that no matter what I may say, she was going to have Burger King on Friday. The mother challenged me on why I was asking her about shopping and cooking. This was near the end of an already very long day–my late day. It took me about fourteen minutes to discover that this child drinks close to twelve cans of soda on many days. Diets high in sugar are a cause of high triglyceride levels. Though I was grabbing onto my chair, and despite the fact that finally the mom smiled at me–it was too late. I capsized.

Though this family seriously challenged my inner buddha, for the most part, I find my clients present themselves authentically– and that their eating behaviors and nutritional problems are consequences of many various conditions that they did not know how to or did not have the resources to control. Like most of us, they are living the hand they were dealt and eating the food that they can access and afford. They are generally unaware as to what could go so terribly wrong. Despite my sympathies, I still feel like a shipwreck survivor. Some serious stuff is going down and people are hurting.

However, the universe works in mysterious ways. Exactly one week after my encounter with the girl with the dangerous triglyceride levels, another family presented–this time a mom, dad, and their twelve-year-old son. This family had recently awakened to their capacity to make better food choices. They joyfully filled my tiny space and shared the amazing changes they had made. They described how they felt, how their bodies had responded and the new foods they were eating. The boy was pleasant and confidently told me that he no longer drinks soda. He plays some sports for fun, loves to move and is in a dance troupe with some friends. They have made some videos on youtube. As they spoke, I crawled onto the dock, shifted the lever on my chair to the lounge position and laid back to bask in the afternoon sun. There was nothing for me to do but listen and affirm. Now, this I can do.

Please drop or throw me a line!

Thank you for listening, sharing, following and supporting my writing. Please subscribe in the sidebar to receive notice of new posts. Comments and greetings always welcome.

In health, Elyn

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Grandpa’s My Plate image by falco/pixabay

 

 

 

 

 

 

My Plate Buddhist Saying

Drink tea and nourish life

With the first sip, joy; with the second sip, satisfaction; with the third sip, peace;

With the fourth, a Danish.

by Jewish Grandpa

faur faur away

Jan17

Recently, I read about someone who was working on an environmental project in the Maldives. After a day of difficult fieldwork, the writer said the group enjoyed kicking back by relaxing on a boat and enjoying a snack of faur. Ah yes, faur, that local favorite made from betel leaves, cloves, and nuts.

Now, of course, we here–here being the US of A–do snack on some natural foods like fruits and nuts. But in thinking about the Maldivians floating in those beautiful turquoise waters of the Indian Ocean, and about other cultures as well, I got to wondering, what would be our native snack if one day all of the giant snack food manufacturers just got so sick of themselves they just fell down belly up.

What soothed and satisfied us before a certain Mr. Herman W. Lay began hawking his wares? Around here, I suppose we had products made of maple syrup like maple cream which is yummy; and, had apples and pumpkins made into pies–and beef made into jerky. And, what about the potato chip? A nice tuber scrubbed clean of its earthen sod, sliced thinly and cooked to a crisp in a pot of oil. Could that not count as native fare?

Legend has it that the potato was first chipped by a Native American chef quite close to where I live. I could bike to that sacred ground–or walk there in pilgrimage if really gastronomically inspired. The story goes that George Crum, annoyed by a customer’s complaint about the dinner potatoes being cut too thick, responded with a plate of very thinly sliced, translucent, barely-there taters. The rest is history.

It turns out that the first product Mr. Lay began to sell was the potato chip–about sixty years after that restaurant mishap. So, one could argue that the potato chip–along with the corn chip–were indigenous snacks until they were co-opted by Frito-Lay. They may, in fact, have originally had some nutritional benefits as might faur– though my brief research suggests that betel leaves are not without their own significant set of problems when consumed in excess.

Somehow, with the mass introduction of packaged snack foods, we began to seriously stray from our more nut, seed, and fruit-eating behaviors. While families in Afghanistan still relax–if they can–with pistachio nuts and dried apricots, things here have never been the same since the arrival of  Bugles. I remember seeing my first bag of Bugles at my childhood friend Susan’s house. Once trumpeted onto the communal palate it seemed there was no turning back. I suppose the same could be said for all of our modern snacks including the once seemingly indomitable Twinkie which is eighty years old already.

Surprisingly, I don’t encounter the Twinkie much on my nutritional beat. It is either so ubiquitous that it doesn’t register on my radar screen or it does not command valuable prime shelf placement anymore. And, amid the thousands of diet recalls I demand from my clients, I hardly ever hear mention of them. Little Debbies seem the more popular portable snack cake these days. Now that I think about it, the Twinkie despite its iconic reputation is rather tame and boring in comparison to more obscene or more seductively marketed snack newbies. I guess this explains why it may be on the smush-ing block–and not because it has 37 artificial ingredients.

However, it is the chemically-laden nature of most of our snack foods that have granted them predominance and permanence in our lives. If you doubt this issue of purposeful manipulation by the food and flavoring industry, take a look at this 60 Minutes segment, or, at this dissection of a Twinkie by Fooducate.

But, getting back to my original query, if just say, Bugles, Twinkies and all the other thousands of products that dominate the snack manufacturing world were suddenly to go extinct, what would we do? What could we reach for that would be grown from our regional environments and get the nutritional seal of approval? Could a chomp on some Eastern White Pine needles substitute for pretzel sticks? They are an excellent source of Vitamin C and can be made into a tea as well. Would we dig our teeth into some bark which was actually a food source for the native tribe for which the glorious Adirondacks that tower nearby was named? Adirondack literally means bark eater for the sustaining dietary practice the tribe was known for.

It turns out my musing about what we are munching on is not without some precedent. Recently, I was so glad to reconnect with a college friend, Roxanne, who was in my nutrition program. Even way back then, I knew she was a wise woman. Now, she works with a company called, Real Wild Foods, Inc. As part of the wild foods movement, the company promotes the preservation, tasting, and enjoyment of North American indigenous foods and is dedicated to sustainable harvesting methods. The assortment of these micro-nutrient rich foods include preserves, jellies, syrups, mushrooms, teas, vegetables and vinegar made from some familiar and many unfamiliar but common vegetation. It presents possibilities in how we could be deliciously nourishing ourselves with nature’s natural snack foods.

Neither is it without some prescience. I have just seen some writings of Mayan elder, Carlos Barrios, a ceremonial priest and spiritual guide who is learned in the interpretation of the Mayan calendar. In his clarification of the 2012 prophecy, he states it portends a time of transformation rather than an end of the world– and that we need to be prepared for this by focusing on acts of unity. Amid his recitation of a few required actions, I was a bit surprised to see him advise, “Eat wisely–a lot of food is corrupt in either subtle or gross ways. Pay attention to what you are taking into your body.”

Sounds wise to me. Sometimes I wonder if just like peak oil will we reach peak adulterated food which will necessitate that we find our way back to what the native Hawaiians call Aloha ‘Aina—the love of the land that feeds us.”

In health, Elyn

Related Post:  The Twinkie Affair

      MyPlate Plate

         My Plate Haiku                                                                                           

          Lagoon Watercress                                                                           

          Peppers my tongue                                                                               

         With spring joy.   By Roxanne

Update: November 12, 2012:  Faur Faur Away Liquidated

With the story in today’s news of Hostess Brands threatening liquidation of its company and the future of the 500 million Twinkies that are baked–I mean manufactured–each year at stake, I refer again to this post about our snack food lives. I wrote this in January 2012 when Hostess filed in bankruptcy court for Chapter 11 protection. On the surface, the story is about labor costs, unions, workers’ rights, and the economy, but mixed into the batter are issues about our health care costs (once again) and changes in American food consciousness and its effects on the industry and the economy. However, it still remains to be seen if Ding Dong, the Twinkie is truly dead. I dare to say I doubt it, but still, Carlos Barrios’ interpretations of the 2012 Mayan prophesies deserve heeding as the calendar is shortly set to begin its next cycle.

Comments:

Beautiful article about the interpretation of the Mayan calendar. –Anne Marie

Popcorn! as simple, native, and easy as can be–and a whole grain! –Lisa Nicholson                                            Dear Lisa, Oh, yes. Absolutely. –The Nutritionist’s Dilemma

Perhaps for Thanksgiving, we should experience at least one dish which features bark or pine needles. That could not have been fun. I like “smushing block”. –Peter S. Glassman
“Smushing block” is funny, isn’t it? Love you. –The Nutritionist’s Dilemma

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The Twinkie Affair

Jan11

Today, I was about to sit and write about a little train of thought that had been following me around this week. I thought I had some more serious things I wanted to discuss, including returning to the subject I raised in To She Who Loves Us Before She Meets Us, on the consequences of taking away women’s power in the birthing of babies. But, I figured I would just tap out this other idea first even though I was questioning its relevance, significance, and general cohesiveness.

I had planned on talking about the very interesting work of an old friend of mine, whom I had recently reconnected with. Quite coincidentally, just as I had cleared away my other duties of the day and was gearing up for a mid-afternoon snack to fortify my writing, I got an email from this very friend, asking if I had seen Mark Bittman’s tofu recipe in the NY Times today. She sent me the link.

After returning from snacking, cleaning the cat litter box, emptying the compost and bringing in the spring water, I curled back up on my computer and found myself in the Dining and Wine section of the Wednesday Times. I did not see the tofu recipe but was quickly sucked in by a few other articles.

One was about a spontaneously created cafe in the Hurricane Irene flood-ravaged town of Schoharie, NY. My life was touched by the hurricane so the story of survival in nearby Schoharie is meaningful to me. Miraculously, food prepared and provided by angels from near and far has swirled its way into the town, first amassing under a cluster of trees and then with the coming of winter at a local DAR Hall. These offerings give those whose homes and lives were affected a free lunch and a sense of continued community. Just as spontaneously as this epicenter of nourishment created itself, so did a sign that named the cafe, Loaves and Fishes.

Next, was an amusing piece about a vegetarian New Yorker on assignment in the Midwest–the meat capital of the country; and, also–though still no mention of tofu–a Mark Bittman editorial on the decrease of meat consumption in the past few years. Of course, those would speak to me.

Just as I was about to get back to work, one more thing caught my attention. By the time I hit the publish button tonight, this may already be old news to you, but apparently, Hostess Foods is declaring bankruptcy and the fate of the Twinkie is in serious jeopardy. Before my eyes, I could tell the food world was in a tizzy. The article, musing about a world without Twinkies, actually interviewed a renowned baker and pastry chef who I know from my own little community. That seemed silly. What would he have to say about Twinkies?

English: Hostess Twinkies. Yellow snack cake w...

Image via Wikipedia

But for me? Don’t I have to say something academic, relevant or amusing about the Twinkie affair? And, don’t I have to say it really soon or my writings will be considered as fresh as a stale pastry? Unlike Twinkies, my words do not contain the ingredients that will ensure their shelf life into the next millennium. Instead, they will be moldy by Monday. Well, here it is. You have heard it here probably second, third or fourth. I have no quick or witty assessment of the situation and I will probably defer to those who do. Like to Michael Pollan discussing Twinkies vs. Carrots.

It is a dilemma that stories from the food, nutrition and eating world amass very quickly. My queue of articles that I want to address or reference gets longer and longer every day. Pete saves podcasts for me or reads me articles straight from his Kindle; friends from afar send me links to interesting or absurd articles; radio stories infiltrate my driving commute; my professional networks post really relevant material; and, blogs I follow are deserving of mention. On top of that are the real-life stories that I am privileged to hear from my clients every day. No story is purely personal. There is always a larger cultural context such as explored in this powerful and sensitive NPR story about a woman’s struggle to lose weight. There is much to react to. I cannot keep up.

So, for now, I must continue at my own small-town pace. I thank you for your patience. I’ll get back to the piece that includes my old friend, a Mayan elder– and, actually, now that I think about it, it may have everything to do with Twinkies; back to the mommas–and, as I have promised before–all the menopausal women. Time for dinner.

In Health,  Elyn–A once upon a time Twinkie eater. How about you?

Related Post: Faur, Faur Away

my plate

My Plate Haiku

Spread peanut butter

On whole grain sweet dark bread

Raspberry jam-yum.

by Barb–who is currently doing an Ayurvedic cleanse and dreaming of this.

walt whitman and mark bittman

Jan3
Pete and I went to New York City last week–or as we nutritionists call it, the Big Apple. It was the day after Christmas and things were really quiet down there on the usually bustling island. Walking from Grand Central Station to the water’s edge below the United Nations we hardly saw a soul.
Hoping to catch the East River Ferry we waited on a deserted dock. Pete loves alternative modes of transportation, so we’d been excited to learn one could now take a commuter ferry across the river to points along the shore of Queens and Brooklyn.

DUMBO Archway

Soon enough, we watched as an adorable little ferry-boat tooled across the river to retrieve us.

On an ordinary weekday, it would have been very crowded, but instead, it was so empty that the ferry boat driver was making small talk with us. I am pretty sure he would have let me steer the boat if I just asked. He seemed like that kind of guy.
We walked outside onto the deck. It was a pretty cold day, quite freezing actually, and the wind on the river was strong. But, it was exhilarating to take in the views from that vantage point. There we were under the Williamsburg, Manhattan, and finally the Brooklyn Bridge with the city surrounding us on all sides. We were like tiny seeds in the core of that big Pyrus Malus.
Our first destination was DUMBO, the Brooklyn neighborhood Down Under the Manhattan Bridge Overpass. Debarking from the ferry, I was surprised again to see so relatively few people–but was more struck by the surroundings and the sensation of being under the massive structures that I had only previously experienced from above.
We quickly came upon a massive stone edifice with a large plaque on its front wall. I think it said that Walt Whitman had worked there as an editor for the newspaper, The Brooklyn Eagle. I am certain about the Walt Whitman part, but not positive about the other details as my attention was quickly distracted. Across the street, breaking the flat topography of virtually empty sidewalks, was a line of about sixty people–like they were stuck to some invisible flypaper that had lured them and trapped them. My nutritional antenna was quickly activated and I had an idea of what was going on. These people were standing outside–in the freezing cold–in a line that would move glacially slow, waiting for pizza–Grimaldi’s pizza.
To be honest, I didn’t know about Grimaldi’s fame but I do have some basic DNA intelligence about NYC pizza. How good could this pizza actually be that one would stand outside for that long when frostbite was a possibility? I mean this was the epicenter of the pizza universe–not someplace where it would be really hard to come upon a decent slice. Maybe all the other pizza eateries were closed, exhausted by holiday festivities.
Ready to move along, my dilemma suddenly appeared out of nowhere and tugged me by the sleeve. It rattled off a series of questions in its frenetic way. How deep is the desire of my planetary co-eaters? Would they risk losing a digit or two to frostbite for something that could extend beyond the definition of good pizza by only so far? Aren’t opposable digits necessary to even properly eat pizza? Did Dionysus himself twirl that dough and stir that sauce? Should we inquire and obtain some anthropological data for a study someone would pay me good money for? And, could we get some?
I informed my dilemma that we were only observing and not undertaking a research project. It was a vacation week and I did not need to assess if these food passions were bona fide expressions of life’s pleasures or surrogates for other unfulfilled desires. Besides, I was developing a good robust ‘been out on the water in the cold air’ hunger that would not abide such a wait, so, no, we could not get some. We turned the corner only to find a little pizza place with no line, empty tables and oven-generated warmth. The pizza there was pretty good and appeased both my dilemma and my appetite. Requiring no wait nor sacrifice of blood flow, I wondered, how much better could that Grimaldi’s pizza really be. Interestingly, my later online search revealed some rather disappointing Grimaldi reviews.
Refueled, we returned to the still empty streets and wandered about. We passed through a plaza under a beautiful archway right beneath the Manhattan Bridge Overpass. The only other people within sight were a man and woman being guided by, I swear to God, I am pretty positive it was my pretend best friend in food, one of my Three Good Mark(c)s, Mark Bittman!  Well, I’m not really sure at all. It could have been any other tallish, baldish, vegan-ish guy from NYC.
Still, I got that starstruck feeling. What if it was actually him? Would I tell him I’ve adopted a Middle Eastern culinary theme for Hanukkah returning the celebration to its geographical and spiritual origins? Or, that I’d been thinking about Christmas dinners and what would Jesus eat–kind of a WWJE existentialist question. Surely, Mark would be interested in this kind of holiday food discussion. Better yet, he’d know what was up at Grimaldi’s! I’d have to ask him. But, just as quickly as the trio appeared, they vanished in a Twilight Zone DUMBO kind of way.
So, there it was. One quick trip to DUMBO and two passing literary encounters–Whitman and Bittman. For Bittman’s take on local and global food issues, have a look at what he’s writing about these days. As for Whitman, it turns out that wonderful spiritual naturalist was really quite the urbanist.
Happy New Year. Deep and awe-filled blessings. And, if you have ever eaten at Grimaldi’s or have an amazing pizza place, let me know.
In health, Elyn
Update 2020: Big news. There is a Brooklyn Pizza Tour that includes a visit to Grimaldi’s with skipping the long lines.

my plate

My Plate Haiku

Give me the splendid silent sun, with all his beams full-dazzling;
Give me juicy autumnal fruit, ripe and red from the orchard;
Give me a field where the unmow’d grass grows;
Give me an arbor, give me the trellis’d grape;
Give me fresh corn and wheat–give me serene-moving animals, teaching content. by Walt

visions of sugar plums

Dec24

When I arrived at my office on Monday morning, a bag was hanging from the door handle. My first glimpse through the plastic made me think the bag contained cucumbers, maybe small pickling ones. I was a little puzzled as I did not think December was the season of the giving of cucumbers, but even so, I was all for it. I put the bag aside and started my day. I figured the answers to the questions the cucumbers posed would present soon enough.

Sure enough, a short while later, Marie, my hallmate, friend, and partner in the quest to nourish the needy, came by to tell me that a mutual client of ours had brought me some bitter melon. Bitter melon? Oh yes, of course. My East Indian client had told me months ago that he would bring me something. I reached for the bag and untied the knot. Staring me in the face were five of the strangest cucumbers I had ever seen. I suddenly felt like the gamekeeper of little tiny crocodiles.

Article featured image

Bitter Melon Food Republic

A quick google search informed me that I was now sharing my office with five Momordica charantia, the most bitter of any fruit, and though they come in various shapes and sizes, I was in the company of the sub-continent phenotype. Moments later, Marie, who is a nurse and thus always quick to action, was back in my office with a red plastic plate and a white plastic spoon. She grabbed one of those emerald babies and took immediately to its dissection. With the red, green and white color palette, it seemed like some ancient Christmas ritual. I was not sure she knew what she was getting us into. This was not your momma’s ordinary cucumber and I was still not convinced it was vegetable, not animal. I winced as she made the first vertical slice.

As she did, an intense, I suppose bitter odor filled the room. I would not say it was completely unpleasant, but now I was more afraid we might be dealing with a controlled substance. Eviscerated, the dear little bitter melon did not look dissimilar to other members of the squash or melon family. As it was pretty narrow, the insides were filled mainly by the seeds surrounded by a little flesh. Marie went right for the seed and then wondered if she should have exercised more caution. I dabbled in the skin and flesh. Little tiny ‘microbites’ seemed sufficient for now. We then googled how one was to prepare these things, which I was determined to do in honor of my client who had gone to the trouble to bring them to me. I considered regifting but thought better of it.

The amazing Internet proposed a multitude of recipes for my little warty friends. Teas, sauces, curries, stir-fries, and cocktails were all possible. Even desserts apparently–though I wondered if they would be deserving of the extra “s”. Marie, who was not yet hallucinating, left me alone to ponder. Shortly after, as luck would have it, my other hallmate, the psychiatrist, who is from India, happened by. I invited him in to show off my gift. Of course, bitter melon. He was familiar and well-versed in this botanical wonder. He gave me a few suggestions including stuffing the little buggers with any nice savory filling. He said all parts could be eaten but some people don’t enjoy the seeds. Further research did inform that some types of these seeds can indeed induce difficulties in susceptible individuals.

As the day proceeded, the sacrificial fruit lay exposed right next to me on my desk. Though I had been aware of bitter melon’s powerful anti-diabetes properties since it increases insulin sensitivity–which was why my client and I had even discussed it –my experience with it had been seeing it used in various glucose support supplements. Spending a day with one was a different story. Just seeing it, touching it, and most potently, smelling it made it obvious that this was a powerful healer–like many plants are. Maybe not too dissimilar from hot chili pepper, its acrid scent wafted into my lungs, blood, and brain.

Bitter melon contains many biologically active substances and has many medicinal uses. Its benefits are quite impressive. Besides its role in diabetes, it has anti-parasitic, anti-viral, anti-malarial, cardio-protective, anti-dysentery and anti-cancer properties. After a short time in its company, I would not doubt any of these. So informed, I carried these big green pills home with me. To be honest, visually they gave me the willies and I was cautious about their use. I enjoy the taste of bitter to some extent and gladly ingest all types of bitter greens but my lack of experience with this incarnation of bitter gave me some pause. Still, I jumped right in and sliced one thinly into that evening’s dinner of a seitan stir-fry. As my family sat to eat, I gave fair warning. Blended on my fork with other foods it found some welcome in my mouth. I am open to a future relationship though I may leave that to other Asian cooks. And, if I ever do have a nematode worm or diabetes, I would gladly consider its use.

Due to my nutritionist vibe in my work settings, I am often excluded from excuses for food excess events. Just the other day I was walking down the hallway with a co-worker. A nurse approached us and said just to my co-worker, “I have coffee cake back in my office. Go have some.” Years ago, this obvious slight would have stung, but now I am rather used to not being invited to play in all the reindeer games. Someone did give me some lovely little Ghiradelli chocolate squares but besides the bitter melons, those were my only holiday treats. Oh, but Miss Henry from my post, Lose 14 Pounds in Three Years did tell me she was bringing me some Sweet Potato Pie.

Well, anyway, so it goes. In the spirit of this holiday season, I wish you both peace in the world and in your hearts, and wonderful visions of sugar plums–which it turns out were once sugar-coated coriander but now seem to be a confection of almonds, dates and dried apricots (see recipe) and the gift of health.

I would love to hear from you and could use some new holiday Haikus.

In health, Elyn

Sugarplums recipe

My Plate Plate

My Plate Haiku

The children were nestled all snug in their beds                                                                   

While visions of sugarplums danced in their heads. by Clement Clark Moore