The Odd Broad

It's chili weather in Odd Broad Land

For what it's worth, I've been vegetarian (and mostly vegan) since September 2nd.  (I can scarcely believe it, but it's true.)  My last carnivorous meal was chicken picatta, prepared by my sister.  Today marks day twenty-five, though it somehow feels longer.

Being completely vegan has proven to be a challenge for this broad.  But I really adore the way I feel sans dairy, and jeans that haven't fit me in years are suddenly sliding on without a struggle.  I wont lie; this is a bit of a thrill.

Oh, there have been a few stumbles: spanikopita was my first queso downfall, though entirely accidental.  The eggplant parmesan I encountered last week, however, was purely premeditated.  As in, I made it.  (In my defense, I did go to three different stores in search of a local mozzarella.)

But I've eaten no meat.  None!  Zilch!  Nada!

Initially, the thing that frightened me most about this endeavor was my deep love for all things food related: The Food Network, foodie magazines, my cookbook collection, my nightly trips to Trader Joe's, the moments spent puttering around my minuscule kitchen...

I'm the type of person who starts thinking about dinner before 10 am.  And at first, I really didn't know what to cook.  Everything vegetarian felt like such a side dish.  But here's something tasty, meatless, and very much an entree.  I found this recipe in my Ellie Krieger cookbook and simply omitted the beef and added some garlic.  Vegetarian Chili!

WHAT YOU'LL NEED:

1 onion, diced

1 red bell pepper, diced

1/2 cup thinly diced carrots

1 1/2 cups frozen corn kernels (Trader Joe's fire roasted corn works nicely)

3 cloves garlic, minced

1/2 of a chipotle chili in adobo sauce, seeded and minced, plus 1 spoonful of the adobo sauce

1 28 ounce can of crushed tomatoes, with their juices

1 can black beans, drained and rinsed

1 can red kidney beans, drained and rinsed

1/2 teaspoon dried oregano

2 teaspoons ground cumin

1 tablespoon olive oil

1 teaspoon ground coriander

2 cups water

salt, freshly ground black pepper to taste

WHAT TO DO:

Heat the oil in a dutch oven or large pot over medium heat.  Add the onion, bell pepper, and carrot; cover and cook, stirring occasionally, until softened, about 8-10 minutes.  Season with salt and pepper.  Stir in the garlic and cook for about a minute.

Add the cumin and coriander and cook, stirring, for one minute.  Stir in the tomatoes, water, chipotle and adobo sauce, and oregano and bring to a boil.  Reduce the heat to medium-low and cook, partially covered, stirring from time to time, for 20-30 minutes.

Stir in the beans and continue cooking, partially covered, for 20 minutes longer, until chili is thickened.  Stir in the corn and cook until heated through.  Season with salt and pepper to taste and serve.

Notes: If the chili seems too dry towards the end, add a little water. If you like your chili a little smokier, add the other half of the pepper and another spoonful of adobo sauce.

Hubby and I ate our chili with cornbread (NOT vegan, I realize, but it was made with whole grains, and I slathered it with vegan butter.)  Very tasty!  I didn't miss the meat at all!

Trying new things

Rachael Ray's recipe for Chicken, Biscuits 'n' Gravy Casserole is...sniff...just heavenly.  Truly. 

I am currently fifteen days off of meat and dairy, and all of the websites I visit suggest I "cook what is familiar."  And so I decided to do just that.  How different could it taste, anyway?  I would simply omit the chicken and make a few minor substitutions:

Cow's milk = Rice milk

Cheddar cheese = Vegan cheddar cheese

Chicken stock = Vegetable broth

Butter = Earth Balance "buttery spread"

White flour = whole wheat pastry flour (the only whole wheat-y thing I had on hand)

I worked furiously, my hopes higher than high.  As the gravy mixture began to waft up to my nostrils, however, my hopes slowly began to deflate.  I could really smell that rice milk, and it didn't seem to blend well with the veggies.  All the same, I popped the casserole into the oven and waited.  

The consistency of that vegan cheddar kind of gives me the willies.  I reflected on this as I waited for my casserole to bake.  (Stay positive, goddammit!  It's time to baste the biscuits with the garlic butter buttery spread!)

Reader, I'd like to tell you my Tuesday night experiment was a glittering triumph; that I polished off half the pan, the way I always used to.  In reality, this dish...made me weep.  And not in a good way.  Hubby came over and sat down next to me, having just eaten a BBQ chicken sandwich, and brushed a tear from my cheek.  It was the rice milk, he suggested, or perhaps the vegetable broth; we'd buy a different brand next time.  It would be okay. 

For a moment I remained inconsolable.  "I just miss...my flavors."  I do, indeed.  Everything is so unfamiliar.  Giving up the meat was hard enough without also forgoing milk, butter, eggs and cheese.  Faced with this challenge, one has to be creative, one has to be brave.  One has to try new things.  Doesn't one? 

In any case, I could only force down a few bites.  When you adore food as much as I do, cooking familiar things in an unfamiliar fashion is downright painful.  It sure looked pretty, though. 

Still vegging...

Dear Odd Broad,

Sprouted whole wheat is not your friend.  It is the devil.  Just thought you should know.

Sincerely,

Your Ass  

xoxo

Vegging out

I've spent the past nine days eating everything but meat.  Beans, lentils, vegetables, fruit, whole grains...Holy Fiber! 

Veggie burgers.  Who knew?  I didn't. 

My sister informs me my boycott of veg and dairy is downright "obnoxious."  But I've never felt better.  And without all that milk and cheese, my muffin top is performing a mysterious disappearing act.

So are my rolls of toilet paper. 

WebMD: enabling hypochondriacs since 1998

I've had a vexing pain in my stomach and back since about Sunday.  At times it's been downright excruciating.  Many of my loved ones are already extremely tired of hearing about it, and therefore I am telling you.

At first I suspected Saturday's late night wing ding dinner from Cappy's was the bastard culprit; but now I'm not so sure.

"Go to the doctor!" my mother advises.  "Go to the doctor!" Hubby tells me.  "You should really call the doctor," Sissy keeps saying.

I probably should.  But I've been so busy lately.  And it's really much more pleasurable to moan and speculate. 

Today I went on WebMD.  I don't know about you, but WebMD brings out the absolute worst in me.  It awakens every paranoid, dreadful fear inside of me and invites them all out for drinks and tapas.  Painful memories come flooding back, of the five years in my earliest twenties I spent uninsured and tearfully conducting self diagnosis over my keyboard.  But still, I'm nothing if not a glutton for punishment, and so I decide to check my symptoms.   

I select the upper abdomen as the source of my anguish.  Muscle cramps and spasms?  Check.  Bloating?  Check.  Pain and discomfort?  You betcha!  Hey, this was fun!

Now to investigate my possible conditions.  Chagas Disease certainly sounds like a likely and thrilling candidate, although it's caused primarily by blood sucking insects and is mainly contracted in Central and South America.  For half a minute I wonder if any of those chicken wings may have contained a bloodsucking insect or two, but it does seem highly unlikely.  Damn.

A peptic ulcer is a burning, aching, gnawing pain between the belly button and the breastbone.  Some people even experience back pain.  Sounds promising.  Especially seeing as one of the causes can be the abuse of NSAIDs, and I do pop a fair amount of Advil tablets for my headaches.  (Hardcore pill poppage; Elvis and Cilla style). 

I have to admit, a peptic ulcer does sound kind of romantic.  But perhaps I have Diverticulitis.  Or intestinal Ischemia.  Maybe even squamous cell carcinoma while I'm at it.  I am suddenly compelled to click through a slide show of precancerous skin lesions and begin to feel lightheaded.  It is only when I commence inspecting the freckles on my forearm that I realize I have been foiled...yet again. 

Damn you, WebMD!!!!! 

Water down the nostril...

I've been talking about getting one of those neti pots ever since Dr. Oz mentioned them on Oprah.  You know those little tea pots that you fill with warm water and pour into one nostril, and the water comes out the other end?  I was intrigued.

They looked simple enough to use, didn't they?  I added it to my list of products I obsessively longed for but never really remembered to buy. 

Today we were in Whole Foods and finally picked up a neti pot of our very own.

I stood in the bathroom and watched intently as Hubby gave it a go.  "Why are you coughing?"  I wondered.  The water was going down his throat.  "Are you sure you're doing it right?"  It took maybe two tries before a perfect stream of water came dripping out his other nostril.  He then switched sides and did the same thing to the other nostril.  I looked on, amazed.  I couldn't wait to try. 

The instructions said not to share, but we cleaned it out and did so anyway.  This was going to be a piece of cake. 

I couldn't do it.  I couldn't get that f**king neti pot to work!  The water went in my nostril and down my throat, leaving a burning sensation.  What the?  Despite several earnest, increasingly frantic attempts, I could not get any water to come out my other damn nostril.  And believe me, I tried. 

I long for clean, debris free nostrils!  NETI POT!!  I will master you if it's the last thing I do!

6:50 pm: Gave it another go.  Success remains painfully unattainable.

7:00 pm: Just gave it ANOTHER go (after all, is this post really going to end with me not being able to maneuver a neti pot?)  Yes.  Yes, it is.

7:05 pm: I try again.  Kittie makes several endeavors to jump into the sink as I pour.  This time it feels like I'm swimming under water and the back of my head starts to feel sort of funny.  It is all very dramatic.  I tell Hubby I need a hug. 

I think that's enough water up my nostrils for now.  But I will master the neti pot; maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but someday soon my nostrils will thank me.  xoxo

Odd Broad Addendum:

Sunday, 9:12 PM

It pains me greatly to inform you that Neti Pot has met its untimely end.  It was left perching precariously upon our too small bathroom sink, and Hubby accidentally knocked it over and it smashed.  The minute I heard the crack I knew.  Rest in peace, neti pot; we hardly knew ye. 

On the wagon, sans Riesling

Picture it: 2002, in the kitchen of a restaurant in Chelsea, New York City.  A young Odd Broad had had too much caffeine and remarked to her coworker, in a thick Massachusetts accent, "Jeez, I'm shaking like I've got the DT's!" 

This was a phrase my grandmother used to say.  Not that she ever had the DT's, of course, she rarely ever drank.  I suppose I'd never really thought about the meaning behind it.  Either way, my friend certainly didn't find it very amusing.

"Do you know what that means, Sarah?"

Shit.  "Um, (pause), sure, isn't it when you shake because you're going through withdrawals from...drinking?"

"Yes, that's exactly what it means.  I just wanted to make sure you knew.  Sorry, I have a father in the program."

Yikes.  If I could have disappeared into the tuna tartar, I would have.  I felt bad.  Later, I learned that this girl was also in the program.  And then I felt very bad.

And I digress.  What I really wanted to tell you was that for the next two weeks, Hubby and I are giving up drinking.  For what it's worth, that sentence doesn't really sound nice in polite conversation.  If you don't believe me, try saying it out loud sometime.

I'm giving up drinking for the next two weeks.  Nine inconsequential words, but when linked together in this fashion, it does cause one to wonder:

Why are you giving up drinking for the next two weeks?  Do you have some sort of...problem?

Do I?  Am I addicted?  Is drinking white wine on weeknights...bad?  Is wanting to drink bad?  Do I need it?  Can I stop?  Will I get the DT's?

I broached the subject with my mother and sister last Saturday night and the two of them burst into giddy hysterics, right there in the middle of Victoria's Diner.  I think what finally set them off was when I told them I thought I should maybe "talk to someone" about my rampant drinking. 

"Here we go, now she's an alcoholic!"  Reader, they could barely get the words out.  There were tears of laughter in their eyes, for crying out loud.  Our waiter was trying not to stare. 

Not that they're heartless or unconcerned; I guess they just know me all too well.  I suppose I can be prone to dramatics; and maybe slightly impressionable with a dash of hypochondria.  (I was the type of child who longed for poor eyesight, just so I could wear glasses.  I read Go Ask Alice and wondered if I too might turn into a drug addicted hippie living in the late 1960's.  When I bought a box of caffeine pills in college, Sissy accused me of trying to become addicted, just to get attention.  That sort of thing.) 

And so my relatives merely assumed I was being melodramatic, inventing a situation, if you will.  But honestly, I do sometimes worry that I may be pickling my liver in Riesling and Sauv blanc!  And the idea of having a bit of a detox is definitely an alluring one.

My sister continues to be supportive.  "One day at a time," she text messages me.  Smart ass.  She also called to inform me there's a weekly AA meeting in her neighborhood every Tuesday evening, if I'd like to attend.  "Let go and let God,"  I text back.

It's day four of my recovery now.  I'll keep you posted.

The Inquiry

Wii Fit keeps asking Hubby where I am.  I'm not sure what he's telling it, but I am afraid.  I am very afraid.

Convalescing

The past forty-eight hours have rendered me quite out of commission; lying feebly on the couch, too sickly to go to work, talk on the phone, surf the net or watch trash tv.  Too run-down, even, to sneak in a mid-week post to you, Dear Reader!

At one point I did rally myself enough to eat several helpings of heavily buttered toast and watch the story of Coco Chanel on Lifetime. 

Hubby is an indulgent nursemaid; brewing me unlimited cups of herbal tea, toasting up wheat bread, bringing me bowls of chicken noodle soup.  Although yesterday when I remarked that I still couldn't breathe very well, he gave me a warm hug and suggested, "Well, maybe you should take a shower?"  (Thanks, love!)

Most upsetting about my current condition is the fact that it's prevented me from playing on our new Wii Fit, whom I'm growing rather fond of.  Ours wasn't always a match made in heaven.  Oh, we had a bit of a rocky patch that first afternoon when he informed me my real age was forty-eight.  He also inquired if I often trip over myself?  But that's all in the past, because shortly thereafter he was calling me a Calorie Scorcher.  He also warned that I was running too fast and might injure myself.  By day three he told me my real age was thirty-one. 

Thirty-one!!??  Thanks, Wii Fit!!  

I'm so glad I'm on the mend, for I long to hula-hoop, and ski, and walk on a tightrope, and travel downstream in a magic bubble that I mustn't let pop. 

P.S.

I feel I should add a visual addendum to my last post, seeing as SOMEONE got up early enough this morning to not only make steel cut oats, but also to eat them, and most importantly...to tell you all about it.  Yay fiber! 

Of course this probably means I'll be late for work...xoxo