Mimi Writes.......: Cooking

Showing posts with label Cooking. Show all posts

Monday, March 20, 2023

Monday Mimisms ~ Omega 3 Omega Me

My study perch

I woke up this morning feeling very clear-headed and centered. Happy. Calm. Healthy. Change your diet. Change your life.Change WHEN you eat and HOW you eatmight just reverse your diabetes.
I'm on a new path of nutrition and healing. My glucose needed a good kick in the pants and out of my body for good...so....I took a deep dive into how my body actually works; binge-watching youtube videos by cardiologists and endocrinologists, kidney specialists and nutritionists. I had to weed through the quacko-pretend doctors first (!) but it was entertaining and enlightening. The subject of lipopolysacchirides was intriguing. Did you know that there are fluffy LDL particles and small dense LDL particles? I never knew. You want the big, fluffy kind (think snowflakes) not the little ones that wreak havoc on those pesky cholesterol numbers.
And why do I think dietary changes will improve my diabetes even more? Precisely because I can tell you from my experience that quitting CAFFEINE reversed my hypertension. I replaced coffee with French chicory root coffee. It's a natural diuretic.

No more high blood pressure. This morning's reading was 118/77 and has been consistently so for many months. Such a simple change made a huge difference in my life. More importantly, NO pills, NO side effects, NO caffeine jitters. In fact, it helps with sleep as well.
Then I put my Milani knee-high combat boots on!I am NOT playing. All business. I am not one to blindly follow the status quo. Knowledge is power. I hunkered down.I focused.
I'm on the first week of intermittent fasting and major dietary changes; only allowing myself an 8-hour window to eat and then nothing but water, chicory, or tea for the rest of the night. Rinse. Repeat. Since removing insulin some time ago, I've felt better overall, lost weight (I stay out of strong winds) and have had good-to-moderately-OK control on no medications with periods of perfect control and low blood sugar. In each season of your life your body changes. Diabetes, too, is always changing.
THIS recent uptick in numbers is totally my fault. I really thought I could eat ...oh say...a bowl of popCORN at night? Seriously, Mimi?
My diabetes started nine years ago just past the middle of my life. As you learn to live with it, your body has to adjust to all kinds of new medicine chemicals and protocols and habits (finger-sticking yuck). Shots were not fun. Then I learned I had hyperinsulemia. Who needs that??! The shots had to go.
Doctors hate patients like me. I'm allergic to everything (literally)..in particular, three classes of diabetes' drugs, two insulins, and most every antibiotic known to man. It's not that I'm opposed to medication, it's that it most always makes me sicker. And I'm just stubborn enough - and annoying enough - to ask 40 trillion questions at every single appointment. I want to control it myself because I have to control it myself.
That reminds me...Did you know there are 40 trillion bacteria in your gut?!This microbiome is incredibly important for your overall health.Aren't they pretty?

and critical to metabolic health
My struggle is nighttime snacking. I "think" I'm hungry when, in fact, it's emotional eating. I'm not eating past 7:00 pm now and it's totally reducing the morning basal reading which is EVERYTHING.
When you start out low, you have somewhere to go! When you start out high, you might actually die!

Yes, I have an old-fashioned
telephone!

That is my motto from experience. Today I made an appointment with a nutritionist/dietician to help me navigate these waters and will have a virtual visit with an internist tomorrow.
I'm currently researching Omega 3s & 6s. I learned recently that you're not supposed to overheat olive oil and cook with it but it's OK to put in your salads. What??! I do that every.single.day. I'll ask the doctor.

Meanwhile...there's a real live Princess in the castle.

I'm a little distracted by all the wand-waving. I bowed and asked her name.

"I'm Elsa," she seriously declared, then wafted back down the stairs to re-accessorize.

Her braid fell off. It was tragic.

She told me her wand is "magic"Somehow, I believe her.

Back to studying. I hope you all are healthy and happy.
P.S. I am not a doctor. Consult yours before embarking on major changes. Follow Me

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Sunday, June 14, 2020

Sunday Stealing: Spooning with Dumplings

This meme was featured on the site meme-stealing site Sunday Stealing today (June 2020). Here are my original answers from 2009 when it was written.

Welcome back to the 3rd edition of The Queen's Meme. Each week the type of meme will change; sometimes silly, sometimes serious, but always fun! Enjoy your time in the castle.
And remember, don't end up in the dungeon.

The Cooking Meme (What Is The Meaning of Thyme and Other Deep Questions) Please join us.

Contrary to popular belief, the Queen has been known to accidentally cook something edible. Although I've given the gift of food poisoning to a boyfriend or two in the past, I actually made the food you see here. Don't ask me how 'cause I could never do it again. I made up the recipe and lived to tell it. Welcome to my Kitchen of Culinary Delights! Dinner is at eight.

1. If you could put thyme in a bottle, what is the first thing that you'd like to do?

Only thyme will tell.

2. Do eggs really crack or do they merely have a nervous breakdown?

I sent mine to the laboratories of Schuster and Scheister for a thorough embryonic cell research analysis. The diagnosis was appalling! They told me that the first six in any dozen are usually crack babies - they, unfortunately, really crack. The others just go to Six-Step Programs
Who knew?!

3. Why are you whipping the butter? What did it ever do to you?

You were sent by the PETA (People For Equal Treament of Margarine and Oleo Association) weren't you?

4. Do your spoons spoon in the drawer? Have you ever noticed? And more importantly, if wooden spoons spoon do they get splinters?

**Mimi girl, you really have an overactive imagination. Maybe you should take a pill for that.** Wait wait......My spoons are special. They met on a dating site. Are they little spoons or big spoons? Size matters in the spoon world. Is this a first date? Is the drawer open or closed? Has there been an exchange of phone numbers? Is alcohol involved?! I need more information if I'm going to counsel my virgin spoons on the fine art of mating. We don't just spoon with anyone here ya know.

5. You hear: "Dumpling, my Dumpling, come hither." The candles are lit, the fondue is dipping, the Godiva is pouring, the scallions are steaming and the music is playing.....but wait, the windows are open.
Why did you close them?

I didn't want the neighbors to see me stir the dumpling.

6. Do you need a recipe to cook or are you a bohemian chef? Show us your reckless and wild side in the kitchen. Don't have one? Here's a recipe I made just for you: You will need a spatula, a whisk, a gallon of Chardonnay, a banana and a rump roast. What is the name of your dish?

Her name was Rhonda Rump. She helped me with my recipe called The Queen's Royal Truffle. After gently seasoning the beef with a Chardonnay-dipped spatula and whisking the banana into a smashed frenzy of mush - I drank the rest of the wine and asked Rhonda if I could borrow her shoes. (If I drank it first I'd pass out and never get any cookin' done ya see)

Am I wearing a cute little chef's hat too?

7. After dinner, the dishes are so dirty that the dishwasher refuses to wash them. What did they say to get in hot water? They cursed the Queen for writing this horrid meme.

8. Is your pot black? My pots are black. My pans are white. We are an interracial kitchen.

9. What is the sexiest spice or condiment in your cabinet?

What makes it so? They're all pretty scandalous but I'm partial to the Virgin Olive Oil. Is that a spice?

I soak my hair in it once a month. Seriously. Want shiny hair? It's fabulous!

10. How much crock is really in your crock pot?

You can never have enough crock when writing a blog.

My crock over-floweth.

See what I mean?

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Thursday, August 11, 2016

The Dirty Laundry Truth

I don't know why today has been particularly vexing. Well...maybe I do.
All God's children got problems. That's right. I said problems.

Big glaring ugly problems with a capital P. Can we be real? People don't want to talk about their real problems. Myself included. I'd rather you think I have it all together all the time, that my nails never break and my heart is always singing Disney songs ~~I actually despise most Disney songs~~ and nobody, not nobody, leaves dirt on Bloggingham's floor. I don't want to tell you about the latest romantic disaster (he-who-abruptly-left-in-a-rude-asinine-manner) and the way I deleted my dating profile for the umpteenth time out of disgust for men in general, nor the frustrated way I war with myself over feeling guilty because I'm feeling guilty that I'm feeling guilty (did you get that?) because I might let a selfish thought waft right into the castle walls and into my heart because dammit I don't want to cuss on the blog

and be real

And then the day got worse. You can't go anywhere or read anything without people judging you or breaking off friendships based on the color of your politics or the length of your skirt. Enter sarcasm. Enter snark. Enter hate. Enter division.

And just when I thought I had had enough, the universe callously reminded me I hadn't.
So I'm walking back and forth in my house today trying to answer multiple phone calls from dentists and doctors, nursing a toothache, making appointments and trying to find ~~huge amounts of money to finance the dentist's yacht apparently~~ and wondering all the while how people on fixed incomes survive in this economy when a couple of porcelain crowns cost more than a used car. I don't want to admit to anyone I'm struggling to deal with this. How embarrassing. Right?

A full grown woman shouldn't be worried about a few thousand dollars in the scheme of things. Should she? And why did I have to open the mailbox today and find my projected Social Security earnings for retirement summary? I don't need anymore bad financial news today!! Did you know, Bloggy People, that by the time some of us are ready to retire they might make us work 'til we're eighty??!!

Meanwhile the dentist can't see me for two weeks and my eldest and only son is having a meltdown on the phone needing his mama and mama ain't no good to nobody today.
Which brings me to the real crux of the dilemma for me:
I can't do anything about any of this. It just is.
I want to fix everyone's problem and make it better. I'm like The.Closer. The.One.People.Come.To.Talk.To First.Born.Strong
I should be able to handle a little porcelain scandal, right? Knock over the cobwebs of bad dreams at fifty-something-or-other. NOT care whether or not anyone sees the dark circles. Right?
Nope. Not today.

Any one of us could name dozens of people and situations where life is really hard. I mean losing-your-children hard. Hunger hard. Jobless hard. Dying hard. Addiction hard. Heart attack hard. Gunfire hard.
Staying alive gets in the way of life.
Have you noticed?

We live in a world where every neighbor you have on each side of the street usually IS the he-who-has-it-harder person in your life. And you just want to run from your car into the house and cover your head with a blanket and a pint of alcohol so you don't have to see one more day of bad news in the neighborhood. Or in the world.
But the truth is that some days I just can't get by with my standard other-people-have-it-worse-than-you-do-Mimi schtick to make myself feel better or more grateful. That theory took a turn for the gutter this afternoon. I wanted to roll around in it for awhile and see if it would work. But I just couldn't make it stick.

I popped this status up on social media, whining about Mercury Retrograde, and let the Universe send what gifts I knew my friends to possess. Thankful to receive them and blessed to have such friendships. Then something happened on Facebook.

It was Janice. That cookery one.

and on and on they came to my rescue....

And I was just about to call it a day when Janice said,
"If you have any leftover good thoughts, can you share?"
and that comment pushed me right over the edge to the little window I'm typing inside the Bloggingham blog. Where I belong. See what I told you? That Janice is always talking about cooking. Leftovers. Indeed.
'Cause here's the deal.
We're all in the same leftover boat. Swimming in the greasy gravy.
It wasn't her mission today to send me a lifeline or solve my problem. It was her mission to be real...by admitting that she needed some help too. While she was being real drowning in the greasy gravy, she also put a boot up my whiny skirt and challenged me to do the same.

Nobody likes a public drowning more than the Internet.

And I'm doing a fine job of that today.

There's not enough soap in New Zealand to clean my dirty laundry.

It really doesn't matter that I had a possessed cellphone disaster of epic proportions today because truly it wasn't epic at all. It was just piled on top of a bunch of other emotional things in the laundry basket. And I'm not going to hell because I had a ~~huge gigantic~~ small twinge of jealousy over the romantic trip my Canadian mon ami Dawn, is taking with her love right now to Niagara Falls. And let's face it, nobody's going to fire me from peace globes just because I can't walk on water today.
And even though I wanted to cry a few times today over the frustrations of REAL LIFE - oh, wait - let's be real. I did cry.
Like a baby.

And no it didn't make me feel better. It made me feel like a baby.

See? Nobody was here to hear it but Homer and he didn't want to hear it either.

"Somebody else always has it worse than you do, Mimi. Buck up," whispered the voice of Jonathan Edwards. (look it up)

OH. SHUT. UP.

You see... the trouble with Pollyanna thinking is that Polly never gets a break. And Polly is human. She has laundry too.
Which led me right back to that cookery woman's question. Could I find a good 'ole leftover thought for her or anybody else today? And isn't that my real mission?

'Cause here's the dirty laundry truth:
We might not be able to always fix the steady diet of carpe life throws at us, but if we pay attention to what our neighbor needs instead of covering up and running in the house, we might be able to fix theirs. Isn't that what my brother's keeper means?
I'm not going to wait around 'til I'm too old to swim in a little grease now and then. I'm gonna make a few gravy waves in the neighborhood and shake up some status quo. I'm gonna make some noise when noise needs making. And even though I've cussed on my blog two ~~three~~ times today, the point really is that the somebody-else-has-it-worse mantra only matters when it's followed by a plan to serve. Them. Not you.

Otherwise, I'm just greasing a squeaky wheel feeling sooo superior that I don't have their problems.
No one should have to fend for themselves in a world this big.
Janice with her cookery ways and me with my words and you with your wholly personal gifts that only you can give.
Now that's gravy.

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Wednesday, November 4, 2015

Dona Nobis Pacem ~ Peace and The Power of Love

Welcome to the tenth year of BlogBlast For Peace aka Blog4Peace. We speak Dona Nobis Pacem (Grant us Peace) all over the Blogosphere today.
I hope you have a wonderful Blog4Peace. Please visit each other on your blogs and see all the beautiful new peace globes flying around.
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This is my peace story for NOV 4.

The Tablecloth

I never know how the story will end once it begins.
I only know it begins.
I get one sentence at a time.

The muse said, "Get your grandmother's tablecloth, Mimi. It's time to set the table."

Set the table?

Yes, said the muse, set the table.

I never argue with the Muse.
There was something in the way the cloth hit the table as soon as it was laid....

My Papa would come home everyday for lunch from the furniture plant. We could hear the whistle blow and we'd have exactly five minutes to finish the biscuits in the oven. If my grandmother ever burned the bread (which wasn't often) she'd throw them away and start all over. I saw her do that once and remarked what a waste it was to throw food away. But I knew from the look on her face that perfectly cooked flaky biscuits for Papa with melted butter was more important than spilled flour in the trash can. I remember watching him walk in the door, down the little hall toward the kitchen and being so proud that the biscuits were steaming hot and perfect, brown milk gravy in the bowl, crispy fried chicken, cheese, black-eyed peas, cantaloupe and iced tea. Sometimes we'd have vinegar pie.

From Maya Angelou's kitchen

Do you see this serving spoon?

It belonged to Dr. Maya Angelou. A wordsmith capable of stirring up change in a young girl's heart and one of my heroes. She dedicated her life to the magic and power of words. When I was a young girl she reeled me in with "I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings." I've hung on every word she said ever since.
Sometime after she passed away, I had the privilege of being able to walk through her estate which was being sold at auction. Being in her home among her books, furniture, paintings and the many rooms and grounds in which she lived was an amazing glimpse into her life. I sat in her den in front of a small bust of Gandhi which was also for sale. A woman of powerful words and influence whose possessions reflected what she valued most. Peace. Love. The power of words.

But it was her kitchen that drew me in. Opening cabinets (soft yellow paint) and being able to choose a few utensils she'd used on a daily basis was even more important to me than the hundreds of books in the downstairs library.
I chose the serving spoon, a pressed cut glass serving tray, and a whimsical green flower vase sitting on the kitchen island top. I use the spoon every single day. Each time I use it I'm reminded of the power of words. Her words. My words. Our words. I explored the greenhouse and found a beautiful tall fluted rose vase.

Outside the potting shed door underneath the garage I found a footed topaz fruit bowl from Poland. I have no idea why it was outside or who might have left it there. It now graces the coffee table in my den. A few other small Christmas items came home with me. I treasure them because they were hers and because her words resonate with me, in the same way I treasure my grandmother's cloth and her white porcelain dishes. Each piece laced with remembrance you see, and meant to be used, not stored away in a display cabinet.

My grandmother knew how to set a table. She cooked by instinct, not recipe. She would have the dishes washed before the last tea glass was poured. She knew what it meant to serve her family. White linen laid lovingly for Papa's lunch.
White linen laid boldly with love.

My two favorite quotes of Dr. Angelou's reflect our theme. She said, "Love recognizes no barriers. It jumps hurdles, leaps fences, penetrates walls to arrive at its destination full of hope."

I would argue that peace follows.

Maybe it's the place I find myself at this stage of my life. I know I don't have time to waste being cautious to love; I only waste love being cautious.

The past year of my life has been interesting. I had to knock down some walls.
It started way back in the spring of the year. Something inside me wanted to clear things out and make open spaces. In the yard, in the house, in my soul. I raked. I cleaned. I sorted. I prayed. I threw out piles of regret. Cried over things and people one more time for the sole purpose of being done with the crying. It was a silent and fierce rearranging of me.

Then the joy came.
I threw open the shutters. I stood with my arms wide open and asked the Universe to notice. I no longer prayed that God would send the "right one" or even resurrect the wrong ones. I started to pray that He would grace me with love - wherever that love came from. That he would mend my relationships. That He would give me chances to settle my scores and dig deep into the reasons I'm still walking solo in a world full of couplings. That He would show me what it is I keep doing to keep it at bay, why I reserve a little corner for doubt and end up unconsciously sabotaging imperfect relationships for the sake of some high-end unattainable perfection. He knew I meant it this time.
And that's when the easiness came.

Some sure kind of surrender happened in me. I wasn't even aware of the moment it came. But suddenly a long line of wrongs began to right, an unruly crowd of bygones begged one more reflection, and people I never thought I'd see or hear from again in this lifetime began to trip over my corner of the universe and demand my attention.
And Lo and Behold the most holy and unexpected peace swiftly followed.

When you choose to be vulnerable, you choose courage. You stand in your truth and you own. Whatever that brings to my life is enough. Enough! Not good enough, not settled-for-enough, not hammered-out-and-negotiated enough, not just enough, but ENOUGH....as in twice-baked biscuits good.
That good.

I'd been holding onto a whole batch of burnt biscuits you see...not wanting to waste what I'd put into them. I had my reasons. I thought if I held onto them long enough and stared at their imperfections, it would remind me that I didn't need them after all. They would serve as a warning that scorched manna is painful to the touch, therefore, I'd never want to make another batch. That's a nice safe way to live, isn't it?

But love cannot abide in the same kitchen as fear.
Fear will choke the life right out of every biscuit you try to make.

So I took Maya's things and put them side-by-side with my grandmother's dishes on my grandmother's tablecloth on my own imperfect table close to the heart of all I am. Beautiful things from a world-renowned poet beside everyday white porcelain tableware from a kitchen of brown chicken gravy stains spilled on woven cloth that once bore perfectly delicate biscuits. My kitchen merged with Maya's kitchen merged with grandmother's kitchen and before I knew it we were cooking up a storm.

Dr. Angelou leaned into the batter bowl and said,
"Have enough courage to trust love one more time. And always one more time."

So go ahead...
Burn the biscuits, mess up the gravy, tousle your hair in a wild tangled love. Then start all over again.
Be brave in the unraveling and retelling of someone's truth. Be brave and bare in your own. Open yourself to hear forgiveness and then forgive. Because strong love can only rest mightily and sure in the arms of a vulnerable vessel. And don't we all want strong love?

Walls are built for keeping out.
Break
them
down.
And I don't mean brick by brick, year by year, tedious by tedious conversation.
Knock them down
all. at. once.

Then stand back and watch what comes to you.

Now serving in the kitchen of Bloggingham.
A spoonful of peace

Are you hungry?

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