CSA Week 10 Haul. August, 2008. photo Jenonymous/Group News Blog.
Veggies with a side of Gynecology
Hello all! Thanks for your patience this week! As per the headline and prior updates, this week's posting was delayed due to Female Plumbing Stuff. However, by way of make-up, I happen to have EXTRA pictures this week (of the FOOD, people, NOT the gross medical stuff). I will address the former first, and then keep the latter until after we get the food business out of the way.
I'm sitting here now, on a gorgeous Friday afternoon. Half of me is telling myself to take a shower and go outside, but the part of me that has a Demerol headache that would fell a wooly mammoth and the bits of me that feel like they've been forcibly worked over with a series of sharp metal objects (because they were) are telling me to sit here and work on my post. Drinking coffee, which I KNOW is doing jack shit for my headache, but as I had none yesterday I'm really jonesing. Drinking Liberally Queens is having a get-together tonight at the Bohemian Beer Garden in Astoria, and part of me wants to go. However, the idea of being in a place with rock-concert-loud background noise, rush-hour-at-Grand-Central crowds, and talking about politics—while drinking beer—just sounds like a prescription for exhaustion-related complications right now.
OTOH I may just take that shower, shave (so that I don't feel like a fucking Yeti) and go take a nice walk to the park. I could bring one of my two laptops along, but I have been remiss in keeping up my Norton. I have a three-seat license and theoretically CAN download and install the remaining two seats on my two laptops, but that would be a massive bitchfest of updating Windows on both machines (since I got my fullsized tower and am not taking any writing courses right now I have turned on neither deck in months), uninstalling Norton (its own nightmare scenario) and then getting each new download to properly install and update. Overall, I predict at least 3 hours of "sitting around with my thumb up my ass" time for EACH deck, and whilst that may seem like an ideal activity for someone who's not exactly about to get up and run the Boston Marathon just about now, I really think I'd rather do any number of other unpleasant chores (which I am also ignoring just now btw) than do that. So if I do go out for fresh air, I'll just grab a book and my magazines.
Okay, on to the food! First of all, about the photos. Some weeks I know they are a little blurry—my camera is prone to heat failure, which I sometimes get a LOT of—the focus goes south and the whole screen gets purple and streaky. My apartment gets very hot in my absence and sometimes the tech just doesn't want to play along. Yes I'm replacing it eventually but not now. In the meantime, rest assured that I'm taking the best pix that I can with what I have.
Okay, so here's the main shot of the haulage, which was most massive. In addition to getting a fruit, veg, and herb share, the first of my four basil deliveries came. That meant four HUGE bunches of basil.
CSA Week 10 Basil. August, 2008. photo Jenonymous/Group News Blog.
The rundown of the haulage:
So, to state the obvious—yes, I made pesto, that very night. Here's the recipe I used, courtesy of Diana's Kitchen:
I realize that the instructions said something about when to add the oil and everything, but I pretty much just eyeballed everything, used a LOT more garlic, and used the olive oil to keep everything going in my blender. I would start by adding some of the basil and all of the oil and garlic, let that paste up, and add the rest of the basil little by little and add a bit more oil to keep things loose. Put in the nuts last, with any more oil needed. NOTE that this recipe calls for NO salt or pepper—the pesto will taste a little flat and that's OK; you should be adding the salt and pepper as per whatever recipe you are going to use it for. I made two huge batches of this stuff, while listening to what's considered one of the best recordings of the DreiGroschen Opera.
That night, I made some amazing pasta with basil and had it just as-is, with some amazing burrata cheese on the side, and some fresh figs (no pic, sorry). For lunch the next day I made up a little caprese salad of the baby tomatoes, mozzarella, basil, and a little oil. As a side I had the rest of the basil pasta, cold, and some fresh fruit.
CSA Week 10 Mini Tomatos. August, 2008. photo Jenonymous/Group News Blog.
The dill went into the freezer for reincarnation as chicken soup.
I continue to just eat up my stuff as fresh salads and fritattas. Right now, I'm going to sauté down some veggies from last week with some of my home-made recaito from last week and make a sort of "New World Fried Rice." The apples are still hanging out OK in the fridge but I have to eat them to make room for other stuff.
CSA Week 10 Japanese plums. August, 2008. photo Jenonymous/Group News Blog.
For your viewing pleasure, also grok these additional food pix. I really like how lush the basil is. The plums are also ultra-fresh, as were the very ripe tomatoes. The carrots are starting to grow on me; they are yellow, sweet, and really, really funky looking.
CSA Week 10 Carrots. August, 2008. photo Jenonymous/Group News Blog.
Most of the past two weeks, however, has been consumed by the gyn issues (yes, folks, that does it for the food part of this post, so if you want to, you can stop reading now). Here's how all that has gone down so far:
Before I say anything else, there is one thing I want to get out of the way, RIGHT away. I have heard a lot of anti-choicers—mostly men—rant about how some women "use abortion as a form of birth control" and seem to think that a D&C is like getting your hair done; something you absentmindedly just squeeze in between (I guess) between having unprotected sex and shoplifting Lee Press On Nails or something. To them I say:
FUCK YOU.
FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK YOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOUUU!
Yeah, scheduling at least 2 weeks in advance (unless it's a potential medical emergency—I got lucky; someone cancelled theirs), no food or water for 18 hours before the procedure, getting up at the crack of dawn, getting the shit drugged out of you, having everything hurt like hell ANYWAY, the bleeding afterwards, having to wear those fucking sanitary pads for two weeks because nothing is supposed to be going in there for at least 2 weeks afterwards (wonder how that works out for abused women who can't refuse sex with their partners?), intense, can't move cramping, and feeling like shit for a few days afterwards. REAL fun. REAL walk in the fucking park, man. Don't need cable TV when you have that kind of fun, no siree.
I'm just so, so grateful that at least I don't live in a state where medical procedures need to be reported to the State, and that I live within easy access of a huge selection of healthcare providers.
I am also really, really, REALLY annoyed with self-described "liberals" who still think that there is room for argument that "well, in theory, if we consider a fetus a potential life, why NOT allow some limitations on abortion?" I actually had to listen to this, while drugged out on Demerol and hurting like a mofo on the way back from my not-an-abortion-D&C from the person dispatched to PICK ME UP after the procedure. This man (of course) insists that he's a staunch feminist, and thinks that while "abortion as a debate has been made redundant by technology, at least in the US", there is still "a real argument to be made that a woman should be required to carry a healthy pregnancy to term." He then went on to say that "I really don't have a problem with balancing a woman's freedom of movement/inconvenience with a potential life's—I think there's real room for debate there."
I snapped back at him that he's just in love with the idea of being able to bring a woman's world to a complete, grinding halt with his dick, and that while yes, being able to automatically disqualify most of half the population from the job pool may make his life easier (he's out of work), that doesn't make it right. I am really really getting fed up with people saying "I'm a liberal, BUT…X." That's like me saying I'm a vegetarian, which as those of you who know me, I am NOT.
It's the same kind of tautological sophistry that you can do with any subject. "Well, if vegetarians are truly defined as people who do NOT eat meat, what about people who don't eat meat at every meal? Are they not vegetarian for the duration of that meal? What about micro-organisms that live on vegetables? By cooking said vegetables or even eating them raw, are they not as guilty of taking an animal life as someone who eats a cow? Why can't someone identify as a vegetarian on certain issues? At what point do we define an animal? Why can't I be labeled a vegetarian then?"
It's the same kind of "I know you are but what am I?" schoolyard logic fuck that people who claim to be Dems but are McCain supporters because Hillary isn't on the ticket espouse. Long story short: If they don't feel like their petty academic hairsplitting brainfarts are validated, then to hell with everyone else.
Now, I'm picking an absurd example, but this is what talking to this guy is like. He insists that "it doesn't matter if abortion is outlawed, people can still get them safely" and that "that's not the issue." Also, he rejects out of hand that men shouldn't have a say in the abortion debate 'because just because I'm not a minority doesn't mean I can't have a concern in the outcome of policies aimed at them, for example."
Now, of course, I don't have the strength to argue ad-nauseum with a guy who insists on trying to win even stupid arguments. Also, I can't help but notice that if you Google "pro-choice arguments" all you get is a huge list of bought-for crap by pro-lifers.
So, if anyone wants to let loose with some good ones in the comments, go right ahead.
And I've already informed my ob-gyn that I am taking my own damn self home after any further procedures, period. Keep me there all fucking day if you want but I am NOT relying on anyone else again (they say it's office policy but fuck it—I don't want Mom along for the ride and I certainly am not dealing with this guy again)
Interesting side note—friend in question was a women's study major in college, and given his on-again off-again employment sitch has been the "babysitter/pickup person" for a LOT of his female friends with plumbing issues. It's the one thing about his personality that really, really REALLY bothers me DEEPLY. He totally denies that he's got some kind of a control wish going on—and this is a guy who despite his major, came out with the great line "but wait…tubal ligation prevents ovulation, right?"
Yeah. He also admits that yes, crime in the US dropped since Roe v. Wade, "but still wonders if that's relevant today."
Anyway, I'm getting aggravated just typing this, so I'll jump to the summary: Too much Demerol, not enough painkiller, needed a full extra hour of recovery before I could tell whether my eyes were opened or closed (had this funky hallucination going on—when I opened my eyes I saw the lights, too bright—when I closed them I STILL SAW THE ROOM but normally illuminated. It's like my brain freeze-framed on pause for the visual input. I still responded to verbal questions, and complained when the pain got really bad, but FLAT FREEZE on the visuals), was a beached whale on the table for almost 90 minutes. Normal breathing and heart rate, but NOT THERE. Then, all of a sudden, I felt better all at once. Sat up, yelled for the nurse, who brought me a juice box of apple juice and a Motrin. I asked her to get the bottled water out of my bag and I did—I drank almost a quart of water during recovery and then I just wanted out. I had my tough cab ride home, went upstairs, ate lunch, and slept for 5 hours. Been babysitting the Demerol headache since then (although it's dying down now).
Still, my new ObGyn is FANTASTIC and I love her. We spoke today and we're waiting for the biopsy results—she did a D&C, a full scoping, and spot biopsies. Thank G-d it seems that the one protrusion into the uterus—and it's a smallish one—is probably a fibroid and not Adenomyosis. My ultrasounds seem to confirm this, as did the visual, but she took a biopsy anyway.
Next step is waiting a few months and seeing if the D&C solves the bleeding issue—in my Mom's case, it did, when she was only a few years older than me, and she has very severe fibroids. In the meantime, we're keeping our fingers crossed RE the biopsy and making sure that everything else is kosher. I see her again in two weeks, once we have the pathology report back, and we can discuss next steps. If the D&C doesn't help the bleeding, the next step is probably Endometrial Ablation. My doc uses the hot water version. I have the feeling that I will ultimately wind up doing this. In one third of all cases, it stops your period entirely. I would so SO love that and a tubal ligation—just get the reins back on my girly bits and getting them doing what I want.
Under the category of "support from family and friends," Mom is NOT at all down with most of what's been going on. It's very hard. We have a strained relationship anyway, and this is NOT helping. She pays a shitload of lip service to being OK with me not having kids, while stringently not wanting to deal with the fact that this involves contraception and sex. She can't really openly just come out and say "you're a fucking freak if you hate kids enough not to want them, and a hideous slut if you have sex otherwise," being as my brother is gay (and she was the biggest homophobe until he came out) and can't give the appearance of playing favorites (OTOH I still think that she thinks my bro is in it for the clothing and doesn't actually get fucked in the ass and suck dick—even though him and his BF have a bound copy of the BUTT magazine collection on their coffee table, which does NOT get put away when she's over). Still, I'll never forget that when she was still working, a rather large co-worker of hers had a pregnancy go undiscovered (I still can't believe that happens, but I guess it does) until it was way too late to abort and wound up having a baby by a guy who can at best be described as a looser. My Mom's response to all this was "you know, Jen, if that ever happened to you, I'd be OK with it and help with the kid" (her unfortunate co-worker's family flipped out). Trying to explain to her that I would kill myself before having a baby—and I used those exact words—were a simple, curt, "no you wouldn't." Her attitude towards all that bleeding I did? "I dealt with it, my mother dealt with it, YOU deal with it."
On top of that you get fuckwits like my OLD ob-gyn. She got my ultrasound results also. So, what does she do? Instead of calling me on my cell—I have tried to get her office to stop using my work number for 5 years—she LEAVES A MESSAGE on my office voicemail: "Hi, Jen, this is Doc A., got your ultrasound results; the fibroids look stable, I don't think that's what's causing your bleeding, let's wait and see—feel free to call me back."
Um, lady, been "waiting and seeing" for about 3 years now and it's getting worse not better.
Anyway, I seriously need to do my dishes and take a shower. I'll end this with a food note—I actually did make that New World Fried Rice. Here's what I did:
I cut up one leek, both of my remaining green bell peppers, two smallish carrots from a few weeks ago, and one of the summer squashes (last one from old batch). I sweated the carrots, leek, and peppers down with salt and pepper, and then added about 2 Tablespoons of my home-made recaito (the last I had unfrozen in a baggie). I continued to let it all sweat down. When it got mushy I added a tad of water and the squash. I let the squash simmer, covered, and then tasted for seasoning. I still had some green hot sauce from my Authentic Navajo Green Chili, so I added some of that in. Once the squash was tender I added one more splash of water and about 2 cups of cooked, cold dryish brown Basmati rice. I stirred and folded until the rice absorbed all the liquid. I had some of this with some smoked cheese from a few weeks ago, and tomorrow I may just heat some more up and put a fried egg on it and call it breakfast. It was wonderful.
Now I'm gonna go take a shower. I swear, I hate pads. I feel disgusting. Now I know why babies cry when they're wet. Now, they are a damn sight better now than the ones that I had to use back in school (I started very young)—I remember hideous things with belts, then ones with glue on the bottom to stick to your panties—but they were both essentially cotton with gauze on them. Of course, Mom had issues with the idea of a youngish girl using tampons (which I started using in high school anyway).
Now they have gone totally high-tech, which I can appreciate. Not only are they longer (if you have a deep pelvis you need something long for coverage, especially at night), but the glue is better and you can get ones with flaps that wrap around the bottom of your panties so that they don't slip or leak. Also, I gotta say, that blue gel shit they put in diapers and pads is amazing—it really DOES keep you feeling drier. Still—and this is another entire post—the confusion of options is astonishing. What really IS the difference between, let's say, Overnight, Extra Heavy Overnight, and Maximum Protection? I stood there in the drug store, thinking, well, it's SURGERY for chrissakes, better go with the biggest option available. Still, despite the packaging and a very cutesy little graph-like code on the box, I never did figure out if Maximum Protection was actually better than Extra Heavy Overnight. I figured I'd better have the best coverage for night-time. So I got two different kinds. So far they seem to be working out. It's kind of gross knowing that they're hanging out in my garbage can.
Either way using ANY of em is still pretty icky. Still, I'm glad that I don't have to use those fucking cotton wad things anymore.
Now I'm going to stop typing, before I gross everyone out, and go take my vitamins while I remember. More next week!
Please keep the recipes, good vibes, advice, and rants coming.
Hugs,
--Jen
Sunday, August 24, 2008
CSA Week 10
Saturday, August 16, 2008
Some Consideration, Please?
This Is NOT Jesse “Doc” Wendel Pictured Above...But That Damn Sure Looks Like His Cane...
It was a little over a month ago when I got the call from my brother. He was at the hospital emergency room after badly—really, really badly turning his ankle in a pick-up basketball game on East 21st Street. He'd for an instant folded the foot so far inward that his instep managed to almost kiss his inner ankle. The sucker had now blown up with swelling, near-radiant heat and of course, pain and immobility. He just knew he'd broken something. But, it turns out he didn't—although the doctor told him he'd have been better off if he had. Grade 3 sprain high and low on the ankle, and a clutter of bone chips discovered via X-Ray and MRIs. Soft cast for two-plus weeks, but no surgery. Just lots and lots of physical therapy and the doc said, “You'll be laying off the basketball from here on out with those chips floating around—unless you want surgery.” Being forty-plus like me, little brother weighed living without basketball—which he only played maybe three times a year these days—or going through the surgery and the longer rehab behind it.
B-ball was ditched, and the therapy and healing was begun.
But...it was going to be crutches for the immediate time he could put NO support on the foot, and after that for a few weeks, he would require a cane for extra support once the swelling had subsided a bit. The crutches were one thing in getting about. They signaled injury. The cane that came later however, was a much different story.
The doctor wrote him up for the standard, hospital-issue-grey number. Metal-reinforced, with the matte black rubber end.
I got a call from him one night near the time he normally leaves work, asking me to meet him there. So I did, figuring he wanted to talk, and I was right. But my assumption about the talk's subject was, shall we say...unexpected.
We sat down and he talked about how getting around on the cane had altered his perceptions of things. That cane signaled not “injury” to folks, but “infirmed”, and worse yet, “being unable to handle his business” to random people he'd been running across in recent days. Folks who would walk right by a fully-healthy him or not bother him at all he felt were looking at him differently. The unspoken, usual personal space he commanded without so much as a blink was now being challenged because he was moving slower and with less ease. People's patience was shorter as they moved around him with audible sighs and grunts of frustration. “How dare he impede their way and their day?” And then, there were the ne'er do wells who wouldn't think for a second about messing with the fully-able six-foot-three him, folks who now seemed a little more snarly and ready to pounce. He lives in a rough neighborhood, and getting home late a night—never a big deal before, was now an issue for him.
He wanted me to walk him home from the bus stop.
He called the hospital-issued cane a “vic stick”—meaning that to those inclined to do harm and take liberties, that cane screamed “victim” to them. Ouch. So, he posed a question as we traveled. Through my years in TV and theatre, I've accumulated a trove of odd props and things. He remembered I had a couple of really nice canes—in particular, a polished, tapered, cherry-wood one with a horse's head carved out of the curl at the top. “I need something that looks less...you know, like I have a problem.” So, the next day, I brought him the cherry-wood jobbie and he was ecstatic. “They'll think twice about being stupid, now.”, he said.
“You don't know,” he continued. “I'm only gonna be using this thing for a couple a' months. I wonder how people who have to use a cane all the time deal with the fucked-up way people treat 'em. 'Cause people ARE fucked up when you can't get around well. Believe that shit.”
Fast forward a couple of weeks to Netroots Nation. A thing I noticed was that there were a number of folks in attendance who were disabled to varying degrees, whether they were in wheelchairs, or on scooters, or using canes or walkers. You may have read Maggie's tale of getting about with me helping out a bit in her piece, “The Chair Whisperer”. Austin, for all of it's wonderfulness—and it is a wonderful city—is going through all manner of urban infra-and-outer-structural work. A lot of it on the city's streets, which made it a challenge for disabled folks navigating the downtown section without assistance. Curb-cuts gone wild. Ending in drops, or steep, newly-tarred and graveled mini-berms screaming “thou shalt not pass”. Steep inclines—some temporary, and others always there, with not enough care taken as to who might find themselves facing them. Maggie and I managed it, but it was challenging at moments, to say the least. There were no ill words from folks—at least none that I heard—or to me, any evident negativity or stupidness directed our way, as I piloted, balanced and scouted while Maggie rolled proud. But still there was that uncaring insofar as the plotting and implementation of the work around town. Every pedestrian wasn't going to be Bob-fucking-Beamon in 1968 and be able to long-jump a chasm of loose gravel and rocky terrain to cross the damned street.
Yet, there it was. Roadblocks of un-feeling, and a lack of consideration that probably keeps a lot of folks who the world is better for when they can get out among us easily, hemmed up in their homes where we'd never get to actually meet them. Bluntly, that blows.
And what happened to Jesse while we were down there blew like a hurricane roaring up from Galveston Bay.
He uses a cane. But not a so-called “vic stick” like my brother got, nor a carved, polished one that powerful men of the gilded age would thrash a “lesser” with should one offend them. Jesse's cane is a long, knurled, natural wonder—fallen from some huge tree, its edges softened by time and usage, and resembling not a little bit, the staff Charlton Heston's Moses used in “The Ten Commandments”. It ain't a vanity piece, as years of hard physical activity, injuries and the vagaries of the human body have taken their toll on Doc. Lugging a heavy computer bag around Austin, and to and from an airport, along with secondary luggage with a knee screaming “Hi, there's no cartilage here anymore—pay no attention to that grinding bone-on-bone feel / sound you're experiencing now buddy.”, is a bitch-and-a-half. Let me say right here that he and I don't share a nervous system, but I know Goddamned well he was in a world of pain. When you see a guy squinting hard and suddenly with every left-footfall after a certain point in a series of days, or stopping at the bottom of a staircase he'll have to ascend as you hear a barely audible “Fuck.”, that person is hurting. It ain't pretty.
And you might think folks'd be if not considerate, at least not totally fucking stupid when they come across someone who's clearly in more difficulty than most folks. Maybe they wouldn't say patently dumb-ass things, or put the challenged person in the unenviable position of having to defend themselves verbally.
But my God...they do.
It's me and Jesse riding down in the elevator alone for a few floors. Been a long, hard day. From the 26th floor to about the 18th, we're alone—me against the back wall, him bracing himself on his cane, just looking forward. Elevator stops and a few people get on. Young and old. But there's a woman, no identifying tag / lanyard, and clearly not a Netroots-er—in maybe her mid-to-late twenties who gets on with a friend, and as we begin to to move down the floors to the lobby, there's the usual murmuring amongst the various groups. She however, looks at Jesse, looks at his cane, looks at Jesse again, and then with not a shred of shame or a moment's consideration, points at the cane and asks as bluntly as you please...
“Hey...what's that for?”
It was hot in Austin over those days. And plenty warm in that elevator. But son-of-a-bitch if the temperature in that sucker didn't drop fifty fucking degrees when she let fly with that bit of unfeeling stupid. All murmuring stopped. You could almost hear the subtle sound of seven people's lower lips “thwupping” against their chins as their jaws dropped open. I slumped back in the cab, silently screaming at this woman, “What the fuck-what the fuck-what the fuck-what the fucking-fuckity-fuck were you thinking?” Dead silence in the elevator. I don't think Jesse even blinked. Or breathed. He said, in a flat monotone...
“It helps me to walk.”
No yelling. No snarl. Just a flat-ass reply designed to hang in the air as simple words that would point out to all present how the ones that preceded them were so mind-numbingly dumb.
No one else said a mumbling word as the floors ticked by. It was uncomfortable to say the least. The temperature continued to seem to drop as we descended. I looked down at the floor, thinking how the seconds were stretching into what felt like hours and how if we took any longer, Jesse would eventually show this dolt another capacity of a gnurled, wooden cane—namely, its amazing knock-her-watery-seven-ounces-of-brain-clear-out-her-right-earhole feature. But thankfully, it never got to that. The elevator “dinged”, and we were in the lobby—still no one speaking as we went our separate ways, until we were all about forty feet away. I could see stupid-head talking to her friend now, probably asking “Wha' hoppen?”, but I was alongside Jesse twenty feet away and frankly, I didn't know what to say. He sighed. Long and loud as he walked now.
“I cannot believe how fucking stupid that was. I'm just...man!”
It was okay to share now, so I chimed in about how the elevator temperature plunged to “Ice Station Zebra” levels. But Jesse was just getting warmed up. He was shaking his head and his cane was “thoomping” noticeably louder than normal with the woman's offense driving the stabs to the floor that much harder.
“If I'd been as rude to her, and said something really fucked-up about her appearance, do you know...the hell I would have caught? Do you know the hell I would have caught? Jesus! But as far as she's concerned, what she did was her just being inquisitive. Do people even think?”
No. We all too often don't.
These events, my brother's eye-opening injury, getting around with Maggie, and the dunder-headed diss on Jesse all happened within a couple of weeks of each other. And their coming so close together made me think about something that I, as a relatively fully able-bodied person in spite of my trying to be sensitive to people have tended to overlook—namely the way the greater society, those of us able to easily get from one place to another pain-and-disability free make this world an immensely harder place for our challenged fellow citizens. We are too often not patient, and treat these folks like annoying, inanimate speed bumps in our path between here and the places we want to get to. These are people—not potholes or barricades to be growled at and brushed past crudely. And they are NOT hyper-potential marks to lick our chops over and kick in the teeth because they may be less able to defend themselves. Anyone is one step away from being less-abled. Our last night in Austin, I spoke to one of my favorite commenters Preznitgivmeturkee and he told me of a single casual misstep on a ladder causing him to blow out his ACL and MCL in about...oh a second and a half. Depending on your age and physical condition when something like that goes down, you could rebound fully, but you could also find yourself in constant pain, and your mobility lessened because of the physical limitations of the damage. Steps can be a nightmare. High curbs and inclines too. You may need a brace, or a cane—or perhaps a brace and a cane. And if you're under-insured as many Americans are...well, you get my point. The person you chuckle at as slow-moving, or pick on because their self-defense might be hampered could be you with one bad step.
We're also unthinking as a nation in how we plan, renew and re-build our cities. We tear up streets and sidewalks, and callously build anew without thinking about the breadth of who will be traveling said streets and using said buildings and facilities. There was a time when disabled Americans either stayed exclusively at home because of the stigma of not being classically-able was overwhelming or got around in the shadows so as to not draw undue attention. And those well-off and well-connected less-able like FDR had the rare opportunity to cow the powers-that-be into never citing their disability publicly, which helped them in the short run, but damaged their fellow challenged citizens by denying the reality that one could serve the public, or live an open public life while disabled. These days, people with disabilities don't shut themselves away, thank God. They work alongside us in the greater population, traveling, contributing and enriching us all. But we don't make that any easier when we throw literal roadblocks before them via unthinking infrastructure work and after-the-horse-is-out-of-the-barn, slap-dash retro-fitting of structures and thoroughfares. It's stupidly selfish and short-siighted. And yeah...any way you slice it—flat-out discriminatory. It needs to stop.
Lastly, we need to take a minute to put ourselves in the other person's shoes when it comes to simple courtesy and compassion. When you see someone who may even only appear to be disabled, a moment's thought should be enough to figure out whether it's kosher or not to ask odd questions about their wheelchair, or scooter, crutches or cane. If it looks like it might be one of those things, saying dopey shit like “Hey, can you do a wheelie in that?” (I've heard this actually said), or “Shit. I've been walkin' all day. I could use one of those.” (Said to a scooter-user), goofing about “A Christmas Carol's” Tiny Tim, or yes, asking idiotic questions about a device someone is using to support themselves is pretty much fucking with people's dignity. Would you ask a person with vitiligo callous questions about their complexion? Or a woman with a large facial scar about whether she gets dates with that on her face? “Just askin' lady.” No. You wouldn't. Because that kind of shit is not just stupid, but kind of evil when you think about it. And asking people to answer for physical infirmities they have no control over is to put them in an absurdly untenable position, as well as an unfairly defensive one.
But still...people do it. I see 'em do it. I saw 'em do it. And Jesse felt 'em do it. The experience of which just kicks my seeing it happen dead in the ass.
So I ask you the readers of this to have some consideration...please. And as I think the vast majority of you are pretty sensitive to the feelings of your fellow man and are already considering of folks, it wouldn't hurt to expand that circle of consideration beyond yourselves to people you see being less so. Don't prompt confrontations...but do remind those who overlook things that we're all people here, with equal value on this planet. If you see a curb-cut the city has chopped up beyond recognition through street repairs, a call to said city's agencies in charge of that with a well-worded complaint and request to fix it is helping someone out—trust me. If you spot someone singling out a disabled person to be picked on or potentially “jacked”, call for help proactively. And if the situation is already in progress, do what you can to defuse it by calling out or even yelling “Five-O's comin'!”—anything you can to stop the attack.
And lastly, teach your kids, and yes—even your ill-informed adult friends who have no tact—that there are out of bounds questions and statements one should not direct willy-nilly towards disabled people. Jesse half-joked about a thing called “Gimp Etiquette”—where you help a disabled person as much as they request or need, not as much as you deem necessary. You don't touch their cane or wheelchair without permission. When those things are in use, or really, even nearby, they're sort of extensions of their bodies. It's personal space. You ask if a person needs assistance, and if they say “yes”, ask what they want you to do. This etiquette extends to what you may ask them about their issue. If it's not about assistance and is snarky or a pun, or just on the level of “Duh? What's that?”, it's probably an offensive statement—end of discussion. Better to go home and crack wise as you pass by mirrors in the house if you must say something stupid to someone.
Because it beats the holy hell out of finding out “up close and personal” about the amazing knock-the-watery-seven-ounces-of-brain-clear-out-your-right-earhole feature of a briskly swung cane. Which can happen to a person when they think it's okay to insult a disabled person in a crowded elevator—and if said elevator is maybe just a little less crowded.
Take my word for it.
Tuesday, August 12, 2008
CSA Week 9
CSA Week 9 Haul. August, 2008. photo Jenonymous/Group News Blog.
More Food Tales, with Iron Supplements and More Gory Details
Hello all! Typing this Monday night this time around, not day of delivery, as tomorrow night means more CSA-post-delivery food prep and an extra-early bedtime. Have a 9 AM that was scheduled at that hour for no particularly good reason…followed by a 7 PM transvaginal pelvic ultrasound after work. That means drinking half a gallon of water one hour before the appointment, taking a cab all the fuck the way up to the far Upper West Side to the lab (while having to piss like a racehorse), and then arguing with the lab to get my own copy of the results—I never got my LAST set of results that I asked for—for both my mammogram and last TV Ultrasound, but that's another story.
But I'll get to all of that later. First,the food part, for people who are just here for the food as it were.
Not only did I get an herb, fruit, and veg share, I took another delivery of CSA dairy/meaty/poultry/bread goods. To wit:
and…non-CSA but came the same day (finally): Gourmet Balsamic Vinegar from wine.woot.com.
See the picture. Quite a haul!
Pickup this week had its own drama. For those not in the know, beef tongue is quite the hallmark of the Old Skool NY-Jewish table. Go to any proper real kosher fleischig (i.e. serving meat, as opposed to dairy) restaurant and in addition to the corned beef, beef pastrami, and carved flanken, you will be able to get carved fresh or smoked cooked tongue. The famous Junior's in Brooklyn includes tongue in its "carving table sandwich" collection, and in the course of my most recent trip there with The Talking Dog and his family, we both partook of sammies with said ingredient. Mine was a tongue and pastrami Reuben on rye; his was an obscene and delicious combo of tongue, chopped liver, and smoked turkey heaped on thick-cut marble rye. I actually, really DID bite my finger eating my sandwich it was so tasty. Yes I had cream soda. Yes it came with sides of sauerkraut, pickled tomatoes, and three kinds of pickles. Yes we had cheesecake afterwards but I digress. Anyway, as I was saying, it's a classic Jewish thing. So after I pick up my fruit, herbs, and veg, I go to the "cold case" area with my receipt to pick up my cold order. The young lady helping out looks at the order (which had been neatly packed into a paper bag and stapled shut with a copy of my order), looked at me, and panicked.
"OMG you don't keep kosher, do you? I'm SO sorry; I put your cheese in the same bag as the tongue…"
"It's OK, I guess you didn't catch the pork shoulder slices on my last order," I joked.
*relieved sighs all around*
Gilly would have found great humor in this, as my background/faith was never questioned or discussed before, and as noted, I look like Little Miss Viking with a Short Haircut.
Here's what I've done with it so far, or highlights thereof:
See the picture for my own take on Chinese Braised Eggplant, a takeout dish that I love but that usually has way too much salt and sugar.
CSA Week 9 Chinese Japanese Eggplant. August, 2008. photo Jenonymous/Group News Blog.
To make this, I simply sliced both eggplants into uniform slices. They were thin, young, and tender enough so that no presoaking was needed. After a quick fry in peanut oil, I stirred in a heaping teaspoon or two of black bean sauce with garlic and a few cloves of raw chopped garlic. As it continued to fry down and get sticky, I splashed in some mirin, water, and heavy black soy sauce. As it all bubbled down, I stirred in a blob of blackstrap molasses to get in that "caramel" taste. Near the end, as the eggplant got tender and the pan got drier, I stirred in some fresh cilantro. The next day, I packed a lunch of brown Basmati rice, that, and a side salad of whatever greens I had left.
I also made home-made recaito from the cilantro—much better than the stuff in the jar! Just yesterday, I made a frittata of Italian frying peppers and that, with three of the baby pullet eggs. A few days prior, I made a frittata out of some summer squash with a few of my regular-sized eggs and some of the herbed butter that I made from Week 1.
Of course, I also had a few nights where I had my fresh bread with various cheeses, and fruit cut up and sprinkled with that amazing balsamic vinegar.
Saturday night was boil-the-tongue night. I had done almost nothing that Friday and during the day Saturday—I'm STILL bleeding and actually felt weak; I hadn't taken my iron supplements yet. I had almost collapsed in the supermarket earlier that day when I went to buy more salt and sugar. Still, around 8 PM, I got my act together and got started.
I did it Old School—big ALUMINUM pot (you want to be able to lift it when full of water, and have a fast hard boil), with a few fistfuls of salt. Yes, that much salt. I simply put the tongue in and boiled, and boiled, and managed boil-overs and added more water as the water level dropped, and boiled it…for 3.5 hours. Really. Until a fork went into the root end up past the tines like melted butter, but before the tip got tough.
Then comes the really fun part. You have to take the steaming hot tongue with tongs. And pull the outer skin off. It helps if you cut said tongue into chunks first. I cut mine into 5 portions—it shrank a lot. Still, I needed to use tongs and a fork to take off the papery, thick outer skin (ones I the supermarket come skinned already). A few second-degree steam burns later, I realized that I had only had fruit and coffee all day. Before I devoured the whole fucking thing right off of my cutting board, I put 3 sections in baggies—two in my fridge and one in my freezer for Mom.
Then I cut a chunk of that 8-grain 3 seed bread, and put two blobs on the board—one of mustard and one of the last of the home-made stone fruit chutney that I made a while ago. I had saved the root end and the tip of the tongue to eat that night.
And I opened a bottle of red wine and went to town. I DEVOURED that tongue. I also ate some of the figs I bought last week and some more stone fruit. It was amazing. I just had another chunk of tongue today in my take-to-work salad (tongue, fennel, cooked kale, the rest of the Roma beans from last week, almonds, and home-made mustard vinaigrette).
You know, I've been writing this piece for almost an hour now. I put up two eggs to boil for my salad tomorrow when I started. I guess they're done now. *Jen goes to turn off eggs, get em under cold water* Shit. Good thing I didn't burn the pot.
Anyway, I did one more Glorious Food Thing this week: I had a surplus of stone fruit, especially greengage plums. So I cracked open my old cookbook from 1945, and made…Greengage Plum Marmalade. All you have to do is take a quart of greengages and pit but don't peel. Cut into chunks. Put into a heavy pot. Add 1 cup water, not more. Simmer until fruit is tender. Dump in 3 cups of sugar. Yes, 3 cups. Boil and boil until the mix is thick and clear, or until you're afraid of burning the whole mess. Pour into heatproof jars.
Friends, this is AMAZING stuff. It set up by itself in the fridge; the plums have tons of pectin (you can do this with any high-pectin fruit). It's amber with chunks of deep golden/brown fruit. It's like someone melted down a tiger-eye gem and poured it in a jar.
I had some of this on my dry-curd goat milk cottage cheese this AM.
Tonight I fried down those pork shoulder chops from a few weeks ago—it turns out that it was 3 very, very thin cuts. Saved 2 and ate 1 (pan fried with good seasoned/smoked salt) with green beans and tortillas. Delicious.
And tomorrow, I get another whole shipment of goodies.
And that, friends, concludes the Food Part of this post. So, you can stop reading now if you want.
I do need to vent a bit though RE my medical stuff a bit more. Yes, after over a week, I am STILL bleeding. Every AM it looks like it may let up but then once I'm out of bed a few hours I start to cramp and there it goes again. The ob-gyn that I had recommended to me still needs to return my call RE an appointment; if I don't hear back from her office I'll call her OLD office off the number I have (for NYU's ob-gyn center) and just pick ANYONE at this point. I am also now taking iron supplements daily, which has evened out my energy a little bit.
In the meantime I'm still worried. This is the worst irregular bleeding I've ever had, and even though I had a Pap smear only a few weeks ago that came back normal, my current ob-gyn is so crappy that I don't necessarily trust it.
Another reason why I may just call NYU and pick one off of their roster is that I know they have on premises MRIs and ultrasound (when I lived outside of NYC for a while, at my old place, if I needed an ultrasound, they just DID it—no separate appointment or other drama).
Either way, I'm getting worried and scared over all of this. Never mind the looming danger of cancer or anything serious—it's the WEAKNESS and near-fainting spells that has me spooked. I'm a big gal—5'7" and a sturdy mix of Viking and peasant Jewish. I can only imagine what it would be like if I had less flesh to buffer the loss.
Also, I am just FUCKING SICK of having a tampon in all the damn time. In retrospect I'm lucky—I don't have to start with pads yet (which just gross me out). And the VERY heavy stuff from the start of the spell seems to have laid off thank G-d. In the meantime, thanks to the power of the Internet I have greatly expanded my descriptive vocabulary for my discharge—according to the Intertubes, what I have going on has ranged from "dog food" and "chicken guts" to "getting a cut wet under water." Either way I am just so OVER MY FUCKING BODY RIGHT NOW. I HATE feeling weak and faint.
On top of it, they just announced that they are consolidating office space in my building and I may lose my (adult, nice, grown-up, tastefully decorated, has-a-closing-door) office to a fucking CUBICLE with no privacy. Yeah, my boss will really groove on hearing my gyn issues in gory detail.
Never mind years of being fiercely underpaid, the saber-rattling, the constant management changes, and mindless policy changes; if I lose my office I am the fuck out of there all the faster.
Did I mention that I hate my body right now? Lots?
I'm tired. I know I should make my salad for tomorrow. I even know what I would put into it—more fennel, those eggs, that green pepper cut up, maybe some raw beans or a small raw summer squash, cut up, and maybe some cashews. And a vinaigrette in the little dressing cup. I KNOW it would take me 15 minutes tops. I know it would be a Good Thing for myself. And yet I can't. I'm exhausted.
My apartment is a messy wreck and I don't care. I have bales of paper recycling to bring downstairs and I just don't want to, never mind try.
In clear, stark, horrid focus, I'm starting to see how cycles of self-neglect can start (on one side of the coin) and how vacuous and fucking STUPID statements like "go get a manicure/your hair done/etc—it will help your self-esteem" sound (on the other side of the coin) when your body starts to flake out in a serious bad way.
And then there's the other stark horror that if I didn't have health insurance, I'd be homeless taking care of this shit right now.
I feel so stuck.
The good stuff (good job change, getting better, getting medical answers) is happening far too slowly, and the bad stuff (bad job change, health going downhill) is happening too fast.
Hate it all. And it's a downward spiral. Keeping my mental energy up has been the hardest thing—just keeping all the pieces together.
And having not my health but my fucking health INSURANCE be the key here is what is making me even more nuts. That has got to change somehow.
Goodnight.
---Jen
Wednesday, August 6, 2008
CSA Week 8
CSA Week 8 Haul. August, 2008. photo Jenonymous/Group News Blog.
Not Entirely About Food this Week, but Certainly Food is Part of It
Hello all. Jen here, and as always, it's past my bedtime, I'm exhausted, and I'm writing to you all ANYWAY because I LOVE talking about all this shit. :) Seriously, thanks for reading.
Right now, I just got done cleaning up from dinner, but ya have to wait until NEXT week to find out what I cooked. After I send this missive out to Jesse I'll pack my lunch for tomorrow. In the meantime, onward I go. I used tonight as an opportunity to pull out yet more of the perhaps 75+ free sample CDs that I got at South by Southwest this past March, and listen to them for the first time. More on that later.
First up, before I get to the food part, let's just say that this week has had its highs and lows so far. I'm going to get to that in a second, because I don't want to hold out on you-all and make you read through the rest of my shit before we get to the foodie part. Having said that, DO grok the one but very good pic of last week's haulage and read da list:
Now here's what I did:
Right off the bat I cut up the wonderful chard and flash-fried it in a teeny bit of peanut oil. No salt, no nothing. I figured it would be cold as an add-in to salads and I was right.
I also steamed the Roma Beans which I will go through THIS week as last week I mostly ate up the wax beans from last week. Made headway into the bread and cheese also.
I've almost used up all my greens, and (sneak preview) NO lettucey things this week, so it's cold shredded veggies this week for the most part and fruit fruit fruit. On top of all this fruitage, I walked past one of my local greengrocers and saw that he was practically giving away entire FLATS of black figs for $10 for 36 count medium-sized, which for here is amazing. Now I actually need to buy more wine to go with all of this fruit, bread, and cheese.
This weekend I hope to get around to consuming those thin shoulder pork cutlets and more of my eggs for brekky. Speaking of which, I used up two of the tiny squashes to make an amazing two-egg frittata. All I did was saute' the sliced squash with salt and pepper, and poured the eggs over to set when it was almost transparent. Amazing, especially with the parm bread from last week and (yes) still more fresh fruit.
I have a recipe from the 1940's for greengage plum marmalade; may make a batch of that before they turn to mush. Pretty simple really—cook cut-up plums in sugar and a splash of water or wine and spice of your choice until clear. I figure it will go well with bland cooked proteins in winter.
Other than that I've just mostly been exploring my salad options this week. Lots and lots and lots of fruit with cheese for dins, and big salads with tuna or eggs for lunch. Been gradually using down my herb vinegars and winter sage oil. I even have a smidgen of lemon thyme vodka left to my amazement.
And now, dear readers, I'm pretty much done for this week's food part of this post (don't fret; took a HUGE delivery today and will have much more to say next week). Now on to the kind of not food part of this post. You can stop reading now if you want, but if you feel charitable, read on.
The Good:
First of all, and biggest: Despite everything else, due to a totally fucked-up accounting system at my place of (current, tenuous) employment, I VESTED. As in my PENSION is VESTED. As in if I walk in tomorrow and two burly guys from security are standing behind me as I swipe-and-reswipe my key card in vain, and all my shit gets packed badly into a box and sent back to Queens after me, I still am guaranteed a smallish but still difference-making sum once I hit 65. If I'm living on an island retirement community in rural Estonia it may even make a major difference. Still, holding out this long feels like a moral victory if nothing else. It also gets re-assessed every 6 months so that if we get invaded by space aliens/the Messiah comes/Enterprise gets reissued for less than $100 a set new and I get a raise, my pension goes UP.
Next good thing: I said FUCK worrying about my job and health (see below); I'm not going to constantly fear the wolf at the door. I booked for THIS year's SXSW as I had such a blast last year, and it was actually a pretty cost-controlled vacation. BIG SHOUT TO ANYONE PLANNING TO GO AND/OR LIVING IN AUSTIN: Email me and we'll try to get together. A guy who I work with is actually having his band play, and having a record release party. We can all go to Curras' and watch me get totally fucking full/hammered on Mexican breakfast food/avocado margaritas. And bribe people to fill the spare space in their luggage with more of their amazing in-house-roasted Oxacan coffee for me. I'm all set; paid up for my badge, hotel room, etc. and getting my flight tomorrow. Wish me luck all! You know what they say: Man plans, G-d laughs.
Which leads me to The Bad:
Work could be much better. I still feel the knife on my neck every time I go into the office, and my other prospects for staying in the company (which is really what I want to do) are thinning out to nil in the near future.. I also keep getting more worked dumped on me—I know I'm getting set up to fail. I refuse to just quit though. On paper I have only slightly more active projects than everyone else in my group but I turn them over faster and have MUCH higher volume, something which does NOT come out in our metrics that would be seen by anyone inclined to try to help me out. Ouch.
I also got my all-time highest ConEd bill EVER. As in even when my fuckhead landlord was siphoning my line for the month before I moved in, my bill was STILL lower. As in…wait for it…$160. Yes, folks, $160 fucking dollars and I am not running the stove or the A/C more or less than I ever did in my prior 7 summers here. YAY! WOOT! LOVE YA GEORGE BUSH!! I may have them re-check the meter but as my gas cost has gone up also I know it's the price of energy, period.
Speaking of periods, we now move on to…The Ugly.
I always had a tumultuous relationship with my girly bits. Not the front-of-house stuff but the back plumbing. Always had terrible cramps. Over the years, it was discovered that I have both ovarian and uterine cysts. The latter seem to be acting up again. As in I've been bleeding badly, heavily, nonstop, for about a week out-of-cycle. Worst of all, my ob-gyn seems completely unconcerned. Upon my complaints she half-heartedly is sending me for an ultrasound (she's also doing this because at the age of 40 I am now apparently old enough to decide to NOT be a parent and finally talked her into that tubal ligation, which she won't do without the ultrasound). The last time this happened, I bled for 6 weeks and lost enough blood to feel weak, and I can't deal with that now. On top of that, when I'm not bleeding, my breasts are tender for no reason—this is something new. Yes, going for my mammogram soon as well. Yes I'm on the Pill to regulate all this shit but want to go off all together and just see what happens if I let things reset. I'm a mess right now, despite eating healthier and having lost some weight.
To add insult to injury, my ob-gyn is reluctant to explore various fibroid treatment options like ultrasound and infrared "because they generally don't give it to you if you didn't have kids yet." Um, FUCKFACE, I AM IN THE PROCESS OF SCHEDULING A TUBAL LIGATION WITH YOU. DO THE MATH. PS—she's also TOTALLY into the idea of giving me an IUD instead of a tubal, which is SO NOT WHAT TO DO for people in non-monogamous situations. As in it's right on the websites and in all the literature. Because if you get a bacterial social disease, it acts like a wick and can KILL you. A relative of mine actually had this happen; she barely made it out alive, sans uterus, tubes, and ovaries.
My well-meaning Mom has been (alas) rather unsupportive of the situation—her whole line is "well, I bled a lot before menopause, just deal with it." And I say NO. NO, I will NOT live with this when there may be a medical solution. I'm not running to my ob-gyn demanding a hysterectomy (which I actually DON'T want), but to have my symptoms pooh-poohed is just…annoying. I think that part of this is that my (female) ob-gyn just had a baby. Now, I had seen her at various Jewish singles things over the years (fuck me sideways, talk about awkward—you're talking to some dude and you're like, shit, there's my ob-gyn) and I knew that she was really into the idea of getting married before her eggs mutated into the things from Alien or Bad Gremlins or whatever the fuck happens to your ovum the second you start to use Oil of Olay or whatever. Apparently, when I went to schedule my annual exam this year, I had to wait two months "until Dr. X is back from maternity leave." Yeah, she skipped the Getting Married Part and went straight to Baby Part, which I'm usually 1,000,000% OK with …except that I ALWAYS got these "pro-baby/your life is empty if you don't breed/oh yeah a VD test whatever why do you need one why are you fucking if you don't want babies" vibes off of her.
Changing ob-gyns in NYC is a tough thing—most female ones who are part of a larger practice (which is what you want, for coverage and hospital/diagnostics affiliation) have a waiting list. I had to wait to get my current gal. I swear once I get my tubes tied (providing I go through with it), she is GONE.
Sigh. Anyway, I need to go turn off my rice machine and pack lunch for tomorrow. I'm exhausted. I'm looking at a 12-hour workday tomorrow on not enough sleep at this point.
As always, good eating and thanks for listening. HUGS and please keep good vibes and recipes coming!
--Jen
UPDATE FROM JEN: My ob-gyn finally called me back. She's still pushing the fucking IUD on me, but at least now she's talking about doing more than a "wait and see/up my pill strength" solution. I'm specifically posting this update because I would like to hear from any women out there who have had any of the NEWER treatments for uterine fibroids. Specifically, has anyone here had ExAblate or other MRI-based fibroid treatment? How about Uterine Artery Embolization? I also know that there's some sort of infrared treatment in clinical trials right now. Any shared experiences would be very greatly appreciated. In the meantime, I now have to call the ultrasound lab for the 80,000th time and try to get a receptionist who can find my file so that I can get a fleeping appointment.
Thanks all! --Jen
Wednesday, July 30, 2008
CSA Week 7
CSA Week 7 Haul. July, 2008. photo Jenonymous/Group News Blog.
Publisher's note: If you're not clicking Jen's photos and viewing them full size, wow, are you missing out on the good stuff... Big, bad-ass, and beautiful.
My Fridge Runneth Over
To quote the poet laureate Warren Ellis, fuckity-fuck and away we go. Sorry, dear readers, but I am NOT in a great mood tonight, I'm tired, and I have too much cleaning up and lunch prep work to do before bed. However, I can't go to sleep until I finish my updating my work laptop for a 9AM presentation tomorrow, which I am giving largely for the benefit of someone whom I KNOW will skip out on the meeting, as the person who could discipline him for said behavior has already announced that HE'S not attending for sure. So I'm looking at a 6 AM wakeup call for nothing. That's after going to bed at almost 1 AM last night—Sundays are always a "fucked sleep cycle" night for me to begin with. Like an IDIOT, I also thought that I could play Age of Conan for "just half an hour before bed." Yeah. I admit, I'm addicted. What most people would call "MMORPG level grind" I call "stress relief by getting to kill loads of things in very graphic ways, including full-on decapitation and organ removal." I also happen to play a Dark Templer, which adds to the tanking/killing fun and special effects. But I digress.
I'm also mad at myself for feeling wimpy for whining about the effort required to pack lunch as opposed to eating the expensive, high-fat crap that I usually buy at the office. I always love my salad come noontime but I am so damn tired at night. Also, today I had crap I shouldn't—had some Death Wish Cake at an office party, two small chocolate cookies, and a peach smoothie for dinner tonight. Oh well. Can't be too too hard on myself.
At the same time, though, people at the office are starting to comment that I've really trimmed down. I know that's not a goal in and of itself but damn it's nice to start to try to get a little bit of my "fit" shape back. On top of that, my nails have gotten a LOT harder, which is just weird. I take vitamins already; I guess this is one of those "unknowns" that the macrobiotic crowd talks about. Can't put every last little mystery organic compound in a pill I suppose…
Having said that, I have a BIG listing for you guys this week. Last week I took possession of:
CSA Week 7 Sugarplums. July, 2008. photo Jenonymous/Group News Blog.
Enjoy the total food porn. Pay special attention to the cuteness of the innocent sugarplums, all coyly huddled together, and the purple carrot action.
CSA Week 7 Carrots. July, 2008. photo Jenonymous/Group News Blog.
Let me wax rapturous over the lavender crotini for a minute. Crotinis are little soft cheeses, which are not too aged. This one was small—about the size of the bottom half of a small cupcake—and rolled in lavender. It has a light, floral taste—like an herb garden whipped into the freshest unsalted cream cheese. Imagine a fine chocolate truffle, without the chocolate—just pure milkfat, whipped up with field-fresh herby goodness. It melted in my mouth and on the parm bread.
On delivery night I had that (crotini on bread), two smallish carrots (which didn't make it on to the cutting board—ate em while prepping other stuff), some of the Frer Fumant, a few TEENY sugarplums (the ones in the pic are very weensy—use parsley leaves for reference) and a good grip of broadleaf parsley, which was mild enough to eat as-is, washed. I also cracked open a good bottle of white wine and had some of that.
CSA Week 7 Dins. July, 2008. photo Jenonymous/Group News Blog.
Another item that I made during the week (and still have much of) is quick no-cook stone fruit chutney, stolen from Bon Appétit Magazine. The recipe:
--3 cups (after chopping) of mixed stone fruit, stoned and sliced (I used the last of my cherries, peaches, the red plums, and sugarplums).
--3 Tablespoons of mild white vinegar of some sort (original recipe called for white balsamic vinegar which I just can't be bothered with; I used my lavender vinegar)
--6 Tablespoons white sugar
--1/2 teaspoon of mild curry powder (I used a mild Mughali one with a huge saffron content).
Mix. Let sit out at room temperature for at least an hour, covered, for everything to meld/macerate/get over itself. I have already used this on chicken, and on yogurt. It would make a brilliant BBQ sauce also. Just do it.
I also made a small experimental batch of lemon thyme vodka. AMAZING, especially when mixed with a mild iced tea (enjoying a cold glass of English Breakfast Tea from Harrod's and this in it right now in fact).
One memorable dins that I made this week was my Savory Summer Simmer from last week, re-heated, over radicchio, with some high-quality Italian canned tuna on top and a whole-wheat flatbread on the side. Amazing.
Otherwise, this was the week of Starting to take Salads to Work in my Little Salad Box Thingie.
I also took delivery of my Amazing yet Somewhat Bulky (but very utilitarian) Lunch Box.
It's a pain in the ass having to prep something every night, but the results are worth it—not only is it better for me and a hell of a lot tastier once I actually sit down to eating, but it uses up the CSA stuff faster—otherwise half this stuff would rot.
Anyway, I need to go wash out the blender, clean up from dinner prep, make my salad for tomorrow, and continue working on my presentation for work. When I'm done I may play Age of Conan—but for only half an hour. I swear. :D
--Jen
Wednesday, July 23, 2008
CSA Week 6—More hot, uncensored, amateur food porn with action shots!
CSA Week 6 Haul. July, 2008. photo Jenonymous/Group News Blog.
Exhausted and Ready for Bed
Back once again, dear readers—and true to form I'm exhausted and ready for bed, except that this week, I am going to make a major jump and try to start bringing my lunch to work at least a few days a week, especially during the peak produce season here. Yes, it means lugging Tupperware and those stupid little ice pack thingies to work and back, but I carry so much crap with me that taking all that stuff home with me each night won't be a huge stretch. I think for tomorrow I am going to use up all the greens left from last week, along with what's left of my sugar snaps and some other stuff. I've already ordered a totally overpriced-but-well-designed salad keeper thingie from Amazon, along with a lunchbag (yeah, I know they make cheapass ones available at Duane Reade for $4, but I figure I'll buy one good one and use it forever). Whilst at the drug store buying my liquid load weight in Kaopectate this past Monday (more on that later) I also scored some of those re-usable hard-sided Rubbermaid blue-ice thingies for only 75 cents each (I don't trust the softsided ones NOT to break), and they allegedly will fit in a little pocket in my lunchbag or something like that.
Anyway, so when I'm done with this posting, I'm going to go figure out a salad option of some sort. Having said that, last week I took delivery of:
This week, my cup truly ran over as I was due for an herb share, we got triple fruit to make up for an eh fruit showing the past few weeks, and my CSA meat/cheese/etc order was due in.
Today I got:
Now, you'll have to wait until NEXT week for the money shots on those. In the meantime enjoy the explicit, uncensored story of what I did with LAST week's share (but please DO send along suggestions as to what to do with this week's huge, freaking enormous bounty—running out of space in the fridge AND the freezer).
Okay, as I hinted last week, the fava beans were destined for immediate greatness. Now, some of our readers have correctly complained that fava beans are a pain in the ass, and they usually are. Fresh, you have to first take off the outer shell, and then freakin' peel a SECOND skin OFF OF EACH INDIVIDUAL BEAN. Bought dried, you have to soak them to get the stupid skins off. That automatically put fava beans in the "not in my lifetime" and "only if Goya puts em out ready to go in cans" categories for me. Until about a pound of them showed up with my CSA share.
So, my homework project for that night was to find a way to prepare them that took as little prep time as possible. Did I mention that I've been working fucking nuts hours these days? All hail Teh Power of Teh Google and its progenitor Teh Intertubes! Behold the best recipe ever for fava beans; meant for the grill but I used my broiler and an aluminum pan (my version here):
Fire up the broiler pan. Wash off the fava beans, whole, real good. Dry. Pour some high-grade olive oil in the pan and swirl to coat. Add more oil. Toss in fava beans in a single layer. Add lots of kosher salt and toss. Put under broiler. After they start to blister and blacken on one side, use tongs to turn over each pod and do the same to the other side. When the pods are soft and blistery, take the pan out and cover lightly with aluminum foil until beans are cool enough to handle. You can pick up the whole pod like giant edamame and pop the huge beans out of the pod right into your piehole, or you can take em out with your fingers. NO NEED to take off the inner skin—it will be soft enough to eat and TASTY.
Sinful confession: I ate ALL my grilled fava beans and half a bottle of white wine while prepping the next recipe. That pretty much became dinner that night along with some greens from the prior week. And a smidgen of peach ice cream. I was naughty.
Next up: What to do with the cabbage? I still had a few small golden beets from before, and some of the feathery fronds from the fennel, so I concocted the following stew/cold salad (see picture):
CSA Week 6 Veggie Saute. July, 2008. photo Jenonymous/Group News Blog.
Cabbage, Beet, and Onion Earlyish Summer Simmer
Take some olive oil (I used the winter savory oil from a while ago) and heat up. Sautee a few of the spring onions, sliced thin. Add cabbage, lemon juice, salt, and pepper and let wilt. Deglaze with white wine (come to think of it I went through a lot of that on that particular night also). Put in the sliced beets, cover, and let cook down for a bit. When it's about ¾ there, put on some fennel frondage and a few branches of dried winter savory. If you want, sprinkle on a little lemon thyme and lavender. Add more wine or water if necessary. Cook until done.
This was great both hot and as a cold antipasto item. Yes, it's very seasoned but there's also a LOT of cabbage and beet in it. Adjust to your liking and use whatever fresh herbs you want.
More on those fava beans though. I remember reading some translation of a ribald Italian writer from the Renaissance and he referred to the head of the, um, (METAPHOR TIME!! SHARE YOURS IN COMMENTS!!) aroused male appendage (as seen on an uncircumcised unit) as the "broad bean" aka fava bean. Well, when you get a fava bean out of the pod with its little skin on, it really does look like the end of an uncut dude's padoodle at playtime. Just saying. On a more, uh, culinary note, I think I'll try smoking the fava beans in the smoker that Gilly got me next time. We'll see if they make an encore.
Saturday I caved in and got some Bisquick to make peach pancakes with. Ashamed to say that in my efforts to halve the recipe, I fucked up the milk quantity and made the batter too thin. So, I made a slow-cooked one-pan-sized pancake in the Dutch style. It still came out great and the fruit cooked up to be most gorgeous!
Otherwise I didn't do much too special; lots of salads and using the various vinegars, oils, and a tiny jar of savory and thyme vodka (amazing very cold, as-is).
Oh, so back to why I was buying Kaopectate. After spending Saturday doing absolutely nothing except sleeping in my gloriously air-conditioned bedroom and sweating in front of the computer, I got motivated on Sunday. Unpacked and put away two loads of laundry, turned in my sheet and towel laundry, and decided that I was going to make a recipe from my signed copy of Gordon Ramsay's latest cookbook—Sticky Lemon Chicken. It's actually an amazing recipe. So I even got off my duff to go shopping on a very hot day; I even cooked that recipe and my previously-listed oven-roasted potato wedges. In a heat wave. Dinner was delicious. I had sugar snaps to round out the plate, and it was all good.
Having said that, not only did Gordon NOT come over to my place after dinner to make me dessert and carnally gratify me, but I came down with a hell of a case of food poisoning. About an hour after eating I felt more exhausted than usual. Around dawn I woke up out of a deep sleep, two hours before my alarm, with severe cramps. Then I was jolted out of that deep sleep further by that horrid sensation of…must…get…to…toilet…NOW. We're talking projectile shitting, folks. Now, when I had cooked the chicken, I DID notice that the chicken had leaked right through the plastic bag I had the guy put it in at the store and had gotten on some other stuff. My guess is that I had cross-contamination on something. So, after a very rude awakening (thank G-d I made it to the john; remember, my other main set of sheets was at the Laundromat), I waited for the cramps to pass, spent the next two hours pooping, and had NO breakfast except for some Kaopectate left over from last year when I thought I might be getting an ulcer (I was). I went to the office as I had a shitload (all puns intended) of work and teleconferences and let's just say I want to keep an eye on the place right now. I lasted through the subway ride and the trip to the office, and figured, hell, if I made it here without crapping my pants I may as well make a full day of it. I DID warn my boss that I may have to leave early and why. After another pit stop I went to one of the 8 zillion Duane Reades in Midtown and got a big ol' bottle of Kaopectate and those ice packs. Drank about half the bottle at work. Lunch was a SunnyField Farms yogurt drink (acidophilus is good) and soy milk. I forgot that I had a thing of orange juice in the fridge also; someone probably stole it by now. Anyway, as the day went on, my colonic dry heaves died down. I went home and was actually hungry.
My Mom of course phoned in with grave warnings to only eat rice and bananas, but I didn't want to set up the rice spaceship and no bananas. So, I followed my craving and took a whole-wheat flatbread, coated it with fat-free cream cheese, added a pile of clean Italian parsley (of COURSE I bought two bunches and I get more this week. Go figure), added salt, pepper, and a squeeze of lemon, folded it in half, and ate it. With a shelf-stable acidophilus chaser for good measure.
All that chlorophyll must have done me good, because today I was…fine. Thank G-d.
Preparing my food tonight, I was grateful that I was healthy enough to eat the great spread in front of me, and grateful that I am able to participate in my CSA. I did get sad though when I looked at this week's huge haul and though, I should bring some of this over to Gilly's. And then remembering that I can't. It's too late to tell him to eat his vegetables. But I'm glad that I can eat mine.
EAT HEALTHFULLY AND BE WELL. Take care. Until next week,
--Jen
Wednesday, July 16, 2008
CSA Notebook Week 5
CSA Week 5 Haul. July, 2008. photo Jenonymous/Group News Blog.
Delivery Day
Okay, once again it's delivery day and I'm nearly psychotic (and tipsy) by the time I sit down to write. You have to realize, readers, that when I get home with my haul, my first order of business is to break down, cook, preserve, dry, store, or otherwise make best use of my weekly share. This week it turned out to be rather time-intensive, but I'll get to that next week. Then I finally get to eat, usually with some wine worthy of the produce, and then write.
Also, apologies for the double-lateness. It's Tuesday PM as I write this, and I realize that anyone with admin privs to post this is busy either networking, enjoying nom-noms (hopefully), networking, or writing at The Convention. Having said that, it's 9:30 PM, and I'm full, cranky, PMSing, and writing. I'm also fighting off the urge to ditch my duty and go play Conan: Hyborian Adventures so that I can level up my Dark Templar to 40 so that she can use the War Mammoth and War Rhino that I won on Ebay (got the Collector's Edition so I already have the drinking cape and the ring, as well as some other crap that I got from a magazine code and my geeky Zboard, but I digress. In fact, the only item I don't have is the lame-ass Amazonian Bow from guess which vendor. Actually, now that I checked Ebay, I got ripped on that fucking rhino—how could the mean price go down $10 in two goddamned days? OTOH I seem to have made up for it with the War Mammoth, which at first was somehow deemed Less Useful and Cool, but now is apparently more desirable. Anyway….).
Back to food. Last week, I took delivery of:
Yes, last week was a little paltry, but that's the risk you take when you join a CSA. Apparently they sold out all of the promised fruit share before we got any, and promised us double fruit this week OTOH, it gave me a chance to "eat down" the prior week. Anyway, here is a rundown, with recipes, of what I chomped last week that was CSA-related:
Once again, Minstrel Boy wins top billing in this post for his amazing suggestion of roasted fennel. Here's how I did it and what I did with it.
Preheat oven to Really Damn Hot. I used 400F about (I say about because I have a flakey gas oven, and my oven thermometer is fogged over). Take an ovenproof (duh!!) pan and grease it good with medium-grade olive oil; I used a mix of Greek "best eating grade" and Greek "best cooking weight." If you're in an apartment, cover over your smoke detector 'cause it's gonna smoke a little. Trim feathery bits off of fennel bulbs and save for later use. Cut cleaned bulbs in half. Drizzle balsamic vinegar on cut surfaces. Toss everything with more olive oil and drizzle on more vinegar. Stick in oven. For the first hour leave it uncovered and stir once in a while. Then when the edges of the smaller pieces get brown and you start to get scared, cover with foil and give it at least another hour until the bulbs are fork-soft. Eat hot with bread, and/or cold as part of antipasto or as a salad item.
I also made winter savory olive oil (heavy grade for dipping/dressing) and lemon thyme vinegar.
That night, after having the fennel on whole-wheat flatbread, I had some of the prior week's cherries with lavender vinegar sprinkled on them — a riff on the overdone strawberries-with-balsamic combo. Perfect.
I also used some of the snow peas and made a frittata with them (using the next to last of my eggs from the Harvard-educated CSA chickens), which I put over saute'd tatsoi.
Another standout item was an amazing salad that I made the other night. I was in "use stuff up from last week" mode, so I started with a bed of the last of the lettuce. I snipped on chives and some of the cleaned fennel tops. I then put on raw snow peas, some of the roasted fennel, salt, pepper, lemon juice, and some of the oil from said roasted fennel. For protein and carbs, I put some high-quality aged bleu cheese on a whole-wheat flatbread and threw it under the broiler. When it was almost totally hard/crispy, I took it out and ate it with the salad. Perfect.
Oh, yes, and as mentioned last week—the rest of the cherries and the strawberries made it into a Cherry Berry Smoothie. Cherries, strawberries, milk, honey, and nothing else. In a blender. In your tummy. Summer in a glass.
I also seem to remember huevos rancheros over greens at some point, with my dried herbs.
Oh, and I hung up the rest of the winter savory and lemon thyme