The Odd Broad

Soyfully yours

In addition to having been abstaining from dairy for the past several months, my bambino's pediatrician recently suggested I go off soy. 

"Oh, I don't even eat soy," I explained to her, "Maybe one time last month I ate a soy yogurt, but that's pretty much it."

How naive I was.  Soy is in everything!  Did you know this, Dear Reader?  I didn't, until I began reading the labels of foods I certainly never suspected would contain it.  Amazingly, soy can be an ingredient in anything from bread, to crackers, to cereals, to marinara sauce, to salad dressing, to chewing gum! 

It's a little dist-soy-bing.

Incidentally, have you ever attempted to purchase bread that doesn't contain soy or dairy?  It ain't an easy task.  Just for shits and giggles, try finding one that doesn't contain high fructose corn syrup.  That'll be fifteen minutes of your life you'll never get back.

Yes, I'm the crazy lady next to you at Stop & Shop who's checking all the labels, shaking her head and muttering filthy obscenities under her breath.  (It's me!  How's my hair?)

Happily, my baby's tummy troubles have greatly subsided since I've given up soy, so I'm going to definitely keep avoiding it, along with anything made from cow's milk.  Physically, I feel fantastic, and aside from those annoying "you poor thing" (or "what the hell is wrong with you?!") looks I get when someone hears I'm not eating soy or dairy, I really don't consider it too huge a sacrifice.  The fact that I'm doing it for my little sweetie pie also takes the sting out of it.  Heck, I'm a working mom; being able to provide my babe with mama milk while I'm gone all day is sacred to me. 

Sure, it's a definite challenge to find products I can actually eat, but Trader Joe's and Whole Foods have some nice options for dairy and soy free stuff.  Larabars are great, and Trader Joe's makes a really tasty chocolate ice cream made with coconut milk.  (Hubby thinks it tastes like a Mounds bar.  Of course...he hates Mounds bars.)  Udi's breads and bagels are pricey, but they're awfully convenient. 

Still, it's a little irritating that soy lecithin is used as a cheap filler in such a shockingly large amount of everyday food items.  Like, what gives?

I'm not usually one to speculate about conspiracy theories, but I can't help but wonder if big business and the government aren't somewhere sipping bubbly in a heart-shaped jacuzzi together when it comes to this rotater crop.  Seriously, the next time you go to the grocery store, check out some of the labels.  Or better yet, go look in your refrigerator and kitchen cabinets.  It might make for a fun drinking game: Drink until you find something that doesn't contain soy!

Can you find anything?  I think you may be surprised.

Your love is better than ice cream...

My Lil' Prince and I were browsing the Frozen Foods section of Stop & Shop the other night when I suddenly saw them.  They stopped me dead in my tracks and for a moment I just stared.  Sweet Baby Jesus, these were ice cream flavors I'd never seen before!  They were beckoning to me, calling out my name...

Odd Broad!  Put me in your shopping cart!  Eat me in one sitting, all by yourself, without sharing!

Honestly, Dear Reader, when in hell did Ben and Jerry's start making an ice cream called Clusterfluff?  I mean, come on.  It describes itself as Peanut Butter Ice Cream with Caramel Cluster Pieces and Peanut Butter & Marshmallow Swirls. 

I didn't know you were out there, Clusterfluff.  I didn't know you were out there. 

How I long to consume you!  But alas, these days I must be sans dairy.  Don't think I didn't notice B & J's Dublin Mudslide or Cake Batter flavors as well, which I had also been unaware of until that very moment.  In the case of these gloriously milky foodstuffs, I'd say ignorance is bliss.  But I'm not ignorant of their existance, not anymore at least.  That is why I feel it is your duty, Dear Reader, to try them for me, so I can live vicariously through you.  Think of it as a good deed.

Giving up dairy so I can breastfeed my amazing little baby gives new meaning to one of my favorite Sarah McLachlan songs.  He just woke up from a nap in his moses basket so I stopped writing to go and sing it to him...

Your love is better than ice cream, better than anything else that I've tried.

...and it's a long way down to the place where we started from...

William's big blue eyes meet mine and he smiles a huge grin in recognition.  He rewards my musical efforts with several happy little coos.  It's such a long way down to the place where we started from.  I almost don't recognize the life I lived before he came along.  Most of the time Hubby and I still can't believe how lucky we are.  Okay, so who am I kidding; I'd never eat ice cream again if need be, for my sweet baby.  But the fact remains...that clusterfluff sure did look tasty.  Clusterlicious!

               

Non-Dairy? Non-SCHMAIRY!

So I've been off of the dairy for about a month now, which means no milk chocolate.  Dun dun DUN!

I'm a nursing mama and the dairy was irritating my baby's tummy.  I won't lie, at first this seemed a rather dismal diet to follow, especially seeing as I'm already sans alcohol these days, but recently I've discovered a tasty little workaround...

Enter Peanut Butter & Co's Dark Chocolate Dreams, which does not contain dairy (it's vegan and gluten free, in fact), and has been welcomed into my kitchen with open arms.  It has also been the answer to my Nutella dilemma.  (ie: What to spread on my Corn Thins?)

Peanut Butter and Co.  (Insert dreamy sigh.)  How did I not know about this place when I lived in New York?  I've always been a peanut butter fanatic, ever since I was a kid and used to try to surreptitiously try and make my dinner disappear into a paper towel.  Boy was I a fussy eater.  Hubby was, too.  I wonder if we'll be in for it when it comes time for our child to eat solid food?  Culinary karma!  Ha!

In any case, this spread is nothing short of chocolate, peanut buttery goodness.  And it hasn't got a hint of dairy.  (Winning!)

I've also been enjoying a smoothie which again is non-dairy (and vegan, if you're so inclined, which I was for thirteen days last year).  I prepare it in the blender before I go to bed so it's all ready to go in the morning without disturbing my sweet little bambino. 

Here are the fixins: a few cups of frozen mixed berries, a banana, a couple of heaping spoonfuls of peanut butter, (and a spoonful of Dark Chocolate Dreams, if you're feeling saucy), a sprinkling of ground flaxseed, and Rice Milk to thin it out a bit.  Blend until smooth.

I'm pleased to report this comes out tasting like a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.  Which, in my humble opinion, is Heaven in a glass, Dear Reader.

Happy noshing.  xoxo

Have you accepted cheese-us in your life?

Today marks the beginning of Lent, but I'm thinking I won't be giving up anything additional this year.  After all, these are sort of extenuating circumstances: I'm breastfeeding, mind you, and haven't had a drop of booze since (gasp) May.  Yes, that's right, even I can't believe it!  But there you have it.

Abstaining from the sauce is one thing, but at least I still had my relationship with chocolate.  Note the past tense used in that sentence, because recently I've had to give up...dairy.  The Bambino's tummy was getting upset and my doctor suspected this could be the culprit.  We're talking anything and everything with even a touch of dairy, even things you wouldn't suspect would contain it.  The wonderful thing is, it's working! 

Now, I've only known the little guy for six weeks, but it's safe to say I'd already do anything for him.  (As Carlos Estevez might remark, the child is just that bitchin'.)  Gazing at my darling lil' prince, it's shockingly easy for me to make these small sacrifices, and yet...

There is cheese on the premises.  Lots and lots of cheese.  Even as I type, I realize that mere inches away, on the second shelf in the refrigerator, lies a huge, unopened hunk of brie, not to mention cheddar, bleu cheese and pepper jack for miles!  I also possess the wherewithal to make a spinach quiche.  (We're serious cheese eaters in this household; I'm not sure Hubby was joking when he suggested naming the baby Brie if he were a girl).

And it doesn't stop there.  There is a carton of Haagen Dazs Banana Split ice cream in the freezer.  Sigh.  In various kitchen cabinets lurk tantalizing boxes of Girl Scout cookies (Samoas and Thin Mints) and, perhaps most regrettable, two Cadbury Creme eggs.  I don't even like to mention milk's favorite cookie, the Oreo, and how I had to abandon it cold turkey.  (I didn't even get to say goodbye!)

Of course I can't bring myself to eat any of these tasty foodstuffs, knowing how they hurt my baby's belly.  Hubby, being wonderful Hubby, came home the other night with some Newman's Own cookies that don't contain dairy.  If I close my eyes, I can almost pretend they're Oreos.  Almost.

So I'm hoping God will understand if I choose to just run with this whole no dairy and hooch thing for now, in the name of motherhood.  I mean what's left to give up, really?  Swearing?  Being neurotic?  Surely everyone should be left with a couple of vices!  xoxo

Oh no she didn't

I'm nearly thirty weeks pregnant and have taken to stashing a number of different food items in my desk at work.  By this point, I've accumulated quite a culinary arsenal.  Some things are just vital for a preggo to have on hand, both at home and in the office!  Flaxseed, frozen berries for smoothies, whole grain bread...chocolate syrup...Trader Joe's dark chocolate covered peppermint Jo Jo's...

Nutella.

The other day a friend walked by my desk and asked, "What are you eating?"  Someone else came over for a peek, too.  My snack was turning heads.  Chocolate hazelnut spread has a way of doing that, I find.

Truly, there is no limit to the wonders this foodstuff can inspire.  I was over Sissy's house not too long ago when she asked, "Do you want me to make you some graham crackers with Nutella and marshmellow fluff?" 

Um...yes.  Yes, I do. 

All of the ingredients were purchased from Whole Foods, which somehow makes this treat all the more virtuous.  Seriously, the woman is a genius.  xoxo

The Yankees are in Towne

I was waiting in line for the loo this evening at Towne, when the girl in front of me turned and whispered, "I'm gonna let you in on a little secret...Don't look now, but Derek Jeter is sitting right over there."

He was? 

Jeets!  Jeets!  Over here!

I waited a second or two, then turned my head ever so slightly to the right and saw that it was indeed Derek Jeter.  Jorge Posada was also there.

"Wow, that was very discreet!" the stranger remarked, impressed.  Well, what did she expect me to do, waddle my pregnant self over to the table and ask him to make out?

Come to think of it, I suppose it's a good thing I'm not on the sauce these days, otherwise I may have been tempted to make friends.  Or I might have just yelled out: Derek Jeter, How ya doin'? 

Or perhaps: Hip, Hip, Jorge!

Delicious food at Towne, by the way.  I gorged myself.  I'm still a little full, truth be told.

Happy weekend, Dear Reader.  xoxo

Fall is in the air, Dear Reader!

I wasn't all that disappointed when Hubby told me he didn't really care for apple crisp.  By this time, a large pan of it was already baking in the oven and I just figured...more for me.  (Insert evil laugh here.)

This recipe is as easy as pie.  (Easier than pie, actually.)  It also pairs nicely with the ice cream I've been shoveling down every evening.  Sissy passed this recipe along, but it comes from our auntie Kim...

Preheat your oven to 350 degrees.  Core and peel a bunch of apples (I used a bag of Macintosh and one of those apple slicing tools) and place them into a baking dish.  If you like, toss the apples in some fresh lemon juice to stop them from browning.

In a bowl, combine:

3/4 cup of Sugar

3/4 teaspoon of Cinnamon

1 tablespoon of Flour      

Mix and sprinkle over the apples. 

Next, to make the crumble topping, combine:

1 cup of Flour

1 cup of Sugar

1 teaspoon of Salt

1 Egg (at room temperature)

1 stick of Butter

1/2 pound of Chopped Walnuts

Combine these ingredients together well.  Now, you can either roll this out onto wax paper and then transfer it onto the apples, or (as Sissy recommends) you can also use your hands to flatten out the mixture and place it over the apples.

Bake at 350 degrees for 45 minutes or until golden brown.  Serve warm with vanilla ice cream.  Enjoy!  xoxo

Zen Schmen. Let's eat.

The other day, I listened politely as an acquaintance cheerfully told me I should probably already be on a waiting list for daycare.  Because I'm already to my second trimester and all.  This was right before she asked if I'd be looking into one that apparently cost $2600/month.

What motivation could this woman possibly have had but to inspire me to plot her grisly demise?  Oh, I know...she was trying to be helpful.

To quote a quaint old phrase I remember from my youth: Well, poo on you, and caca, too. 

Tomorrow morning I start my new job.  (I'm staying with the same company, but was recently offered a new position in a different department.)  With all these sudden changes happening in Odd Broad Land, I'm trying my best to stay Zen; but let's face it, these days my mind just isn't able to shut down!  Especially at night.  In lieu of sleep, I'm taking comfort in food.

Since crossing back over to the dark side (ie: eating meat again), I've been revisiting my most favorite recipes with abandon.  Each dish has returned to me, effortlessly, like an old friend.  And, like the best kind of friend, it seems we're able to pick up right where we left off.  Like Rachael Ray's mini meatball and broken spaghetti stoup.

Hello, old friend.  xoxo

Preggo riding the chuck wagon

For the past year I've been playing first fiddle in the vegetarian bandwagon, and honestly, I can't remember ever feeling better!  My diet consisted of whole grains, complex carbohydrates, fruits, vegetables...processed food was out, and whole foods were in.  I laid in bed with Kittie and cried during PETA films.  Dinners were usually colorful vegetable kebabs served over whole grain couscous or brown rice, accompanied by a nice salad.

These days, when it comes to vegetable kebabs, I'm reminded of a phrase my two year-old Wonder Nephew is deeply fond of:

I can't want it.

I suppose I should just come right out and say it: I've fallen off the vegetarian wagon and landed face first in a vat of ground beef.

It began innocently enough.  My gateway drug was chicken broth.  One afternoon in late May rendered me quite down for the count, and there I was: lying slug-like on my bed with a set of rosary beads across my forehead, in the hopes for divine intervention (flair for the dramatic is sort of my specialty, and this was certainly no exception.)  Hubby was desperate to bring me anything that would be of some comfort.  The only thing I could even think about eating?  Chicken broth.  Sigh.

From there I moved on to the harder stuff, like chicken salad sandwich lunches with my friend Gregg, until I was a full blown user again.  The day I ate the steak and cheese sub from Alfredo's I knew it was all over.  (Peppers, onions, lettuce, tomato, pickles and mayo, please!)

I didn't enjoy it.  (Well, yes, actually I did, but not that much.)  It's true I spent the first thirty years of my life being a carnivore, but I'd really dived into this meatless lifestyle; I'd funneled the Kool Aid, so to speak.  My brain had retrained itself to be repulsed by animal flesh, afraid of it, even. 

Like a good Catholic, I chastised myself after every beefy bite, unable to stop visualizing those two big, gorgeous cow eyes I stared into during my company's volunteer day at the farm.  I was eating the animal's pain, and I knew it.  In a last ditch effort to spoil my appetite, I forced my mind to replay the horrific PETA images I'd seen, and still I chewed.  In between ravenous bites, I conveyed all this to Hubby, who began giving me one of those looks he gets when he feels his life partner is channeling her inner lunatic. 

The midwife assured me it's not uncommon for a pregnant vegetarian to crave meat.  She encouraged me to eat whatever I wanted, but also said there are other ways to get the iron my body is probably wanting, by choosing spinach, kale, lentils, beans...

"If you can get those things down, by all means, you'll be fine.  But it could be your body will want the meat."

Beans...kale...lentils...spinach...

I can't want it.

Triple decker chicken sandwiches, cheeseburgers, steak tips (sniff)...I can want those things.  I really, really can.  Sweet Baby Jesus and Ingrid Newkirk forgive me.   

Revisiting the meals I've denied myself for over a year is like coming home again.  Today, despite the soaring temperatures and smoldering humidity, I stood over a hot stove and prepared two individual chicken pot pies, and ate them both in rapid succession.  (Well?  A friend had given me fresh thyme from her garden.  I owed it to her to take those herbs and combine them with bacon, chicken, garlic and mushrooms!)

I'm sorry, Dear Reader!  I hope I haven't let you down.  I was loving my veggie lifestyle!  I'm certainly hoping to return to it, once my body becomes my own again.  In the meantime...I'm just another bastard carnivore. 

Sharing is Caring

(Odd Broad is going retro this week and bringing you one of her earliest posts.  This was written in January 2007, back when I still resided in NYC...and ate bacon...)

Okay, so I've gathered over the years that good deeds lose some of their natural goodness when you tell people about them.  Seriously, if you want your deeds to count as really really good ones, you're better off zipping your mojito-hole.

But how about an accidental good deed that mistakenly gets noticed, or a deed that stems mostly from being mildly neurotic and ends up earning unwanted praise and misdirected admiration?  Is this type of deed not only considered not good, but double bad?

Generally I'm not a wasteful person, so I don't make a habit out of this...but there have been occasions when I've waited in line for ages, received terrible service, and have watched in dumbfounded stupor as the person behind the counter does something so questionable that after I pay for whatever it is I'm getting, I find myself compelled to either give the thing away or throw it out.  Does this sound insane?  Perhaps it is.  But truly, a strange man blowing on my breakfast sandwich kind of spoils the moment, wouldn't you agree?  Allow me, if you would, to elaborate:

For starters, I think being a crackhead must be one of the prerequisites of being hired at the Au Bon Pain near my work.  Not that there's anything necessarily wrong with being a crackhead, but...

The other morning I stopped in to pick up a bacon, egg and cheese sandwich on a croissant. "Do you want me to to try toasting this?" The man behind the counter asked with a skeptical grin. "Um, okay, I guess?" I answered.  "Well, if it catches on fire then it's your fault, not mine," was his reply.

Well, this certainly had all the makings of a disaster.  I checked my watch: one minute to go before I was officially late for work.  Why had I come here again?  Mama Mia.

The man went into the back for a suspiciously long time, I'm guessing to fetch my croissant.  He returned and put said pastry into the toaster and then watched as it eventually went up in flames.  That's when he grabbed it and proceeded to blow all over it to put out the flames.

He inspected the burnt croissant and for a horrified moment I thought he was actually going to put my eggs and bacon on it.  That's when I asked, "Um, do you think I could get another one please?  You don't have to try toasting it this time, it's okay." 

"You don't want me to toast it?" he asked.

"No, that's okay, you don't have to toast it." (Don't effing blow on it either, I wanted to say.)

This interaction reminded me of the time I went into Hale and Hearty on my lunch break.  The surly girl behind the counter slopped some chicken noodle soup into a cup and started wiping the sides with her fingers and, well, to be honest, I don't remember the exact details of whatever disgusting thing I imagined she'd done to my soup.  I only know I decided then and there I wouldn't be able to eat it.  Even as I was paying the five bucks and change for it, I knew I would not be having soup for lunch.  No soup for you!

I went outside and stopped in front of the homeless woman I'd seen sitting outside of the abandoned YWCA.  "Would you like some soup?" I asked.  She said yes and I gave it to her.  It wasn't a big deal because I had some leftover pizza in the fridge at work, so I would just eat that instead.  See?  It had all worked out nicely.

I entered my building to go back into work and got into the elevator with a crowd of people.  One of them was a co-worker from the Human Resource department and he asked, "Hey, Sarah, did I just see you talking to that homeless woman out there?  What were you guys talking about?"

He'd caught me off guard.  I babbled, "Oh, nothing, I was just giving her my soup..."  He looked at me admiringly and said, "You gave her your lunch?  Wow, that was really nice of you!"  Of course now everybody in the elevator was staring, trying to sneak a peek at the Mother Theresa wannabe who'd given her lunch away to the homeless.  Little did they know my actions had stemmed more out of twisted obsessiveness than selflessness.

A lady turned to me before getting off of the elevator and said, "That was a really nice thing for you to do."  I could feel my cheeks begin to burn.  Well, what was I supposed to say?  That the girl at Hale and Hearty had gotten her dirty fingers all over my soup so I gave it away to a homeless lady because it was too nasty to eat myself?

This wasn't the first time I've been the recipient of undeserved praise and fanfare.  There was that time in Kindergarten when my friend Stephanie had forgotten to bring a snack in for snack time.  Do you remember Zingers, those creme filled pastries with the yummy frosting on top?  I was a big fan of Zingers.  I used to peel off the frosting layer first and then eat the cake part second.  Anyways, Stephanie was sitting next to me and I noticed she didn't have a snack, so I neatly peeled off the chocolate frosting and offered it to her.  You know, no big woop.

The next morning I was surprised to find a small package waiting for me in my cubby at school.  Inside I found two beautiful barrettes with my name on them, a gift from Stephanie's mother.  These were some really good looking hair clips.  But...what was the occasion?

I went home and showed the gift to my mom, feeling slightly guilty.  Ma phoned Stephanie's mother to thank her and listened as she gushed: "Stephanie forgot her snack yesterday and Sarah shared hers and we wanted to say thank you!"

Now this was a conflict of morals.  I had really mixed emotions about the whole situation.  I mean, let's face it, I'd given her the frosting off of my Zinger.  This wasn't a beautiful, rainbow-colored-barrette worthy deed, was it?  Apparently it was.  Even at the tender age of five I knew something had been lost in the translation, but even so, I decided to wax philosophical.  After all, the chocolate frosting on the Zinger could very well be considered the most coveted part...

I guess being wrongly labeled a generous do-gooder is better than not ever having been mistaken for one at all, right?

In the end, I suppose all good deeds are probably counted: the neurotic ones, the accidental ones, and even the not as good as people think they are, but still nice all the same ones, too.  So there.  Stick that in your soup and eat it.  xoxo