Tastes of Thanksgivings Past

Living in the present moment is harder to do at the holidays.  There are those decorations accumulated over decades, that bring back memories of holidays past and thanks to our collection of ornaments gathered at countless vacation destinations, vacations around the world.  
And then, well, there's the food.  
This year I cooked.  Really cooked.  With help.  My daughter loves mashed potatoes and took charge of assembling an authentic version.  No skim milk, I can't believe it's not butter facsimile.  She got organic whole milk from Whole Foods, in glass bottles that have to go back to get a deposit refund.   Claiming to be "from grass fed cows on family farms", and mixed with real butter, the mashed potatoes were a hit.  
In Thanksgivings past, when I hosted dinner, I perfected the art (?) of the shortcut.  Stove Top stuffing, boxed gravy, store bought pies, and the infamous green been casserole made with canned fried onions and cream of mushroom soup (light).  
With real mashed potatoes, I vowed to be a bit more authentic this year.
Taking a literal page from the family cookbook (first edition), I made Aunt Edith's 'Zesty Corn Stuffing Balls".  I actually chopped the celery myself.  It was all worth it when my sister-in-law commented, "this stuffing tastes just like your mom's."   It brought back another holiday memory at my other sister in law's house, when she made pasta with sauce.  Upon tasting it, I said, "this sauce tastes just like my mom's".  
"I watched her make it one day and just wrote down everything she did", she said.  It was the real thing.  
Aunt Edith is gone and so is my mom.
Here's the recipe.

"ZESTY CORN STUFFING BALLS

1/2 cup chopped onion

1/2 cup chopped celery

4 T butter or margarine

1 17-ounce canned cream style corn

1/2 cup water

1 t poultry seasoning

1/8 t pepper

1 8 oz. package (3 cups) herb-seasoned stuffing mix (I like the plain seasoned croutons)

3 eggs slightly beaten

1/2 cup butter or margarine, melted

In saucepan cook onion and celery in the 4 Tablespoons butter or margarine till tender but not brown.  Add corn, water, poultry seasoning and pepper.  Bring to a boil.  Pour over stuffing mix; toss together lightly.  Stir in eggs.  Shape into seven or eight balls.  Place in a 9x9x2 inch baking pan.  Pour melted butter or margarine over.  Refrigerate if desired.  Bake in 375 degree oven for 25 minutes."

I confess to two shortcuts in this recipe -- the chopped onions came from Whole Foods and I skipped shaping the stuffing into balls, just pressing the mixture into a large baking dish.

It was good -- one serving of stuffing and the real mashed potatoes were quite enough.

The Dangers of Second Hand Sugar

After being told last year that "Sugar is Poison" by a naturopathic doctor at Canyon Ranch, I have tried to use that as a mantra when faced with a delectable dessert or the prolific office candy dishes full of chocolate treats.  Sometimes repeating the mantra to myself works, but lately more often than not, it doesn't and I succumb to what is placed in my path even if I never intended to.  I know how Eve must have felt. 
So when I saw an ABC News blog post this week with the headline, "Sugar as Dangerous as Alcohol and Tobacco?", it got my attention because of my ongoing attempt to understand my own behavior.  The post reported on an article published in the journal, Nature, in which physicians from the University of San Francisco editorialized their views that sugar should be regulated, in much the same way as alcohol and cigarettes.  They say that "supply side" restrictions have had some success in moderating behavior and preventing some of the harmful health effects of those substances.
I'm all for regulating sugar.  When I worked as a consultant to a health care foundation, our CEO had the sugared sodas removed from the office and restricted the food that could be brought in to the office -- no dumping of excess Halloween or holiday candy or celebrations of birthday parties with cakes.   "We're a health care foundation; we shouldn't be serving donuts."
It is easier to control behavior when the environment in controlled.  Much of the sugar I end up consuming is second-hand.  I eat it because it's there; somebody else put it there.
Anyway tomorrow I am off to another stay at Canyon Ranch; looking forward to a session on sugar addiction.  I need detox. 

Too Blessed To Be Stressed?

Yesterday,  I was privileged to attend a Baptist funeral for the first time.  It was a bit out of my comfort zone in several ways.  First, I felt like a true minority for one of the few times in my life.  Years ago, I attended a professional seminar and was the only female present.  Yesterday, I was in the racial minority. 
It was out of my comfort zone liturgically.  The order of the service was unfamiliar and it included elements that I had never seen before.  The program titled the service, "A Home Going Celebration" and noted the deceased's date of birth as his "sunrise" and his date of death as "sunset."  Letters of condolence were read from neighboring congregations and the obituary too was read.
There was a degree of raw emotion displayed foreign to my experience of controlled and choreographed Roman Catholic funerals-- not just tears, but hard, breathtaking, loud sobbing that could best be described as wailing.   
And there were multiple preachers (not sure if this is typical).  One of them spoke in a cadence that reminded me of the way that Jesse Jackson delivers a message.  Part of his message was that "I'm too blessed to be stressed" and "I'm not disappointed because I'm anointed". 
The preachers seemed less concerned about the spiritual welfare of the deceased and more concerned about whether those of us in the congregation were saved, inviting us to accept Jesus Christ as our Lord and Savior and praying over those who accepted the invitation. 
The repetitive cadence of the "I'm too blessed to be stressed" phrase has been playing over and over again in the background of my mind, like when there is a song that I can't get out of my head.
I've been stressed lately over typical holiday dynamics and dramas; and over my over-consumption of the type of food that should be avoided but that is everywhere.   I am getting back on track; and I am blessed -- too blessed to be stressed. 

Christmas Cookies Past

Many families with Italian roots celebrate Christmas eve with an ethnic tradition known as the feast of the seven fishes. It was not a tradition we adopted in my Italian family. The Christmas season memory I have been processing and remembering the most this year is more like the feast of the seven cookies. I have posted elsewhere about my mom's cookie baking prowess as it manifested itself at our wedding cookie table. Her Christmas cookies were even better. My mom mustered her considerable artistic skill and her characteristic attention to detail to create dozens and dozens of cookies that could comfortably have appeared in a Martha Stewart magazine. Does anyone make cut-out cookies anymore?
I remember four particular designs that came out at Christmas - candy cane, Christmas tree, wreath and Santa Claus. She made dough in both dark gingerbread and white vanilla flavor.   She decorated those cutouts in ways that I can still see in my mind.  In the hundreds of family photos we have, there don't seem to be any pictures of these holiday delicacies.  
She dyed the icing, so that Santa's hat was red, his beard was white (and coconut on top of white icing made the 'hair' on his beard). She painted the Christmas tree and wreath designs with green icing, adding red candies as berries on the wreath and metallic looking candies as ornaments on the tree. On the candy cane, she alternated white and red icing.
Then there were the rum balls, iced anise cookies and pizzelles (chocolate and anise flavored). She boxed and plated her handiwork in a beautiful presentation and they became gifts to be offered to family and neighbors. And oh, yes for our eating pleasure at home too!  
She had a kind of cookie exchange going with my Aunt Gilda, who was also a master cookie baker.  Hers were different.  She did the roll out dough and made the horn shaped cookies stuffed with nuts or apricots. 
This Christmas I am trying to have these memories suffice.  I did not inherit the baking gene and yes, I know those carb and sugar laden delights are not good for me and they were not good for my mom either. 
So I am eating them this year in my mind only.  For sure by Christmas Day, we'll have a few (dozen) that will only be a unreasonable facsimile of what I grew up with.  And I keep telling myself this holiday season, "sugar is poison", "sugar is poison".  It's not working particularly well. 

No Vacation from Too Many Choices

If you are looking for a quick getaway from Pittsburgh, Philadelphia or the DC area, consider  Bedford Springs.  It's got a lot to recommend it, especially as fall begins to re-color the landscape.  The resort is chock full of historical documents, photographs and artifacts, from the era when Bedford Springs was the edge of the frontier up through its magnificent restoration and reopening in 2007.  The spa, with its mineral baths and European trained aestheticians (I could only understand about half of what my Polish facialist said) is exquisitely appointed.  And for those of you who are golfers, they have that too. 
It was the summer White House for the only President from Pennsylvania (and the only bachelor one), James Buchanan.   Two other Presidents visited there, John Tyler and Ronald Reagan. 

Desk used by James Buchanan during his years of summering at Bedford Springs



I thought that perhaps by sitting at James Buchanan's desk, I could break my current writers block (or more specifically, a blogging block).  It's been tough to blog about my current state, which can best be described as erratically compliant and frequently off-track in the eating part of this journey.  I am moving just fine, keeping up with my exercise routine (and the fitness center at Bedford Springs is small, but adequate).  There are several blog posts in the queue, in various stages of progress.  One fact that keeps swirling in my head since I first read about it in the Canyon Ranch Magazine is that we make 200 different food decisions a day.  This comes courtesy of the Cornell Food and Brand Lab and its Director, Brian Wansink.  Yes, people actually research this stuff -- and the results are actually helpful to understanding why making lasting change is so challenging.  
I understand that stopping smoking is difficult and that the urge to smoke is one of the strongest addictions to break.   But the decision is easy and it is only one decision.  Making it stick means repeating the same decision over and over again. 
But decisions about not just what to eat but about portion size come at me from all directions.  First I was skeptical about the 200 number.  Then I got to thinking.  The opportunity to make good and bad choices related to food starts from the moment I wake up until the moment I fall asleep (and occasionally in the middle of the night).   And the barrage of conflicting and confusing dietary advice compounded by vagaries of blood sugar readings added to the unpredictable nature of when and how food decisions present themselves adds up to the exhausting reality that it is possible to make 180 good decisions, and another 20 or 10 or even one that totally screw up the best laid plans.  I have learned that planning is best and that pre-controlled portion size works for me.   And beginning again and again. 

Am I in Denial?

Yes, I am apparently in the throes of denial.  Following my most recent checkup and much improved A1C, my behavior could best be described as having 'fallen off the wagon'.   It has been downright awful.  The aforementioned family reunion, with its dessert table laden with 20 or so different varieties of carb and calorie filled delights, was a challenge that I did not meet particularly well. 
I had the opportunity to attend another family's 'family reunion' earlier this summer.  It was a wake-up call about the food culture differences between my family and the way other families might approach such an event.  It was a cookout --  burgers -- regular, turkey and veggie.  There were a few salads and one dessert.  Yes, truly, just one.  Dessert shells with blueberries and ice cream/cool whip.  Perfectly lovely and delicious.  The quantities of food were adequate for the numbers of people and there were healthy choices all around.
Contrast that with our most recent reunion.   There is an Italian word that was once the punch line of a commercial for something I can't remember -- ABBONDANZA.  Abundance, it seems, is the way we do food.  It you don't have a least twice as much food as you really need, then you are not really being a proper host or hostess. 
And in addition to quantity, we also have quality.  Remember I said that we had published two family cookbooks for previously family reunions?  If I close my eyes, I can recall and taste traditional family recipes like Aunt Rose's manicotti and my cousin Michele's fudge.   Carbs and sugar.  The best.
But in an effort to get myself back on track, I googled "Diabetes Back On Track" (how original).  One of the entries that appeared was a pretty direct essay about how easy it is to exist in denial.  And it is a family trait (OK, a human trait).  What I once judged my mom about is now clearly me too.  Diabetes is an insidious, slow, killer disease.   It is so easy to sacrifice long term health for short term satisfaction. 
I am only now beginning to fully realize how this is a moment by moment battle.  And it is about habits, not rules.  And how it is hard. 

Happy Anniversary

On August 15, 2010, I started logging my exercise, nothing fancy, just using the 'notes' on my IPhone. Most experts in lifestyle change advocate writing things down, and the Weight Watchers program incorporates 'tracking'.   Tracking, either on paper or on WW etools, has never been my strong suit.  But today, I celebrate the first anniversary of my exercise log.  Back when I was first diagnosed, Dr. Natalie, in discussing exercise, said it was not optional.  Or rather, not exercising is not an option.  And so I do. 
The advantage of recording is that you have a record.. duh!   Reviewing it tells a story.  Lapses?  Sure.   But a review of the log shows 65 yoga classes and 184 walking entries.  Perfect?  No.
I am no longer seeking perfection, only consistency. 
BTW, my A1C went from 7.9 to 6.5.
Dr. Natalie is happy and so am I. 
Heading to Yoga tonight. 

Doctoring

All families must have some unique expressions.  My mother would say, when speaking of someone who was ill, that they were "doctoring".  Outside of our family unit, I never heard that phrase.  It was a bad thing, this doctoring stuff.   In her experience, no one who was feeling well would ever go the the doctor.  None of this preventive medicine or annual checkups or vaccines for my parents.  Looking back, it may have been a result of their upbringing where there would not have been doctors around.  Or perhaps because we were uninsured.  My dad was self-employed.  For him, health insurance was a luxury, not a necessity.  And going to a doctor was an expense to be avoided. 
For years I pretty much felt the same way.  Oh, having babies necessitated having a doctor.   After that, I avoided them too.  Ignorance can be bliss, at least in the short term.
Now I find that I am 'doctoring', going for things like blood work, taking pills, and having regular doctor visits.  I have one coming up on Monday with Dr. Natalie, my PCP.  Facing reality comes with these visits because while she is certainly empathetic, there is an element of judgment that comes with the inevitable reporting of numbers.  A1C, cholesterol, weight, body mass index, blood pressure, etc. I dread these visits. 
Just came home from a birthday party in the neighborhood.  Social events now have an element of dread to them as well even when they are happy occasions.  I find myself engaged in a dialogue with myself about what I should and should not eat.   If asked to name my five favorite foods, without thinking the first two would come out as birthday cake and then ice cream!     Perhaps knowing that I will face the scale on Monday morning, I managed to avoid them.  Four diet cokes and a big cup of coffee helped fill my stomach and occupy my hands.  Hoping for some better numbers this visit. 

The Maine Idea (Running Away from Rome, Part Two)

Clare says that Maine has more coastline than California. She recommended Camden as a good spot to stay for the Lobster Fest.   And Dolly recommended taking in the view of the harbor from the Camden Deli.  The photo above is trom the upper deck of the deli.  Clare didn't know about specific places to stay; I found the Maine Stay Inn through a combination of Internet and phone calls.  What a find.  
As I mentioned in Part One of the story, Maine Stay is owned by Roberta and Claudio, an Italian couple from Rome.   In a kind of reverse of Frances Mayes' search for a villa in Tuscany that resulted in finding Bramasole and Cortona, Roberta and Claudio looked for an American B&B.  Rome is now a place they visit, not live. 
It was a pleasure to chat with Roberta.  I told her that I found her story fascinating.  She explained that Roman traffic (their commuting time) and tourists (she quoted a number in the millions) made them want to make a change.  She said they had traveled all over the United States, ruled out California because of earthquakes and looked at around 30 B&Bs. 
They wanted a real home, making their search more complicated since owning a B&B often involves living "above the store."  At Maine Stay, there is a renovated barn attached and they have their own space. 
They have infused Maine Stay with paintings and prints and there are beautiful antique pieces of furniture from their home in Italy.   The picture below is one of the parlors and you get a sense of the way they have integrated their homeland in their now home. 

I feel at home anywhere an image of Venice is displayed.  My dad bought a picture of St. Mark's Square that hung over our living room sofa for as long as I can remember.  I think he got it at K-Mart; but he loved the scene.  My aunt and uncle who lived up the street had a similar one.  When we were selling my parents house, Martin rescued it from the dumpster and it now hangs in his apartment.
Roberta is stylish and energetic; Claudio is soft-spoken and gracious.  The B&B is a lot of work Roberta offered, but added, "I love it."  "Visit the gardens", she said.  When another guest asked her about the wicker furniture on the sun porch, she explained that she would be repainting it over the winter.  We stayed in the third floor suite, with two bedrooms.  Roberta had recently converted it from three separate rooms.
There were so many thoughtful touches to the Inn and the grounds.  Fresh cut flowers, homemade cookies and lemonade in the pantry, quiet gathering spaces in the gardens, books about the house and the area and hot-cooked breakfasts.   The artichoke quiche and home made granola with strawberries as well as the scones were extra special. 
It was lovely.  For more on the Inn, visit http://www.camdenmainestay.com/. 

Lobster Fest 2011

When we arrived at Friendship, Maine, Dolly was just about to set out for the dock to pick up the lobster.   She was gathering styrofoam coolers and chests and we decided to tag along.  In a kind of entourage, some of us on foot and Dolly and Brenda in the car, we made our way to a space where Arnold, the lobsterman, greeted us.  He must be a kind of local celebrity.  Dolly told him that she had purchased a photo of him just that morning during the Friendship Days celebration.  He is pictured on the dock,  with the sea and his work space as background, and the caption reads, "The Office". 
Fifty-five lobster were carried in buckets and then transferred to the coolers.  Still alive, their claws were confined by rubber bands that I was told would come in handy later as guests used them to ping each other.  I don't understand the chemical reaction that makes live lobsters look black and cooked lobsters red. 
As we were leaving, Arnold shared some pictures of a magazine photo shoot (I think he said Vogue) with gorgeous models positioned against the backdrop of Arnold's 'office'. 
In my previous post, I mentioned that Dolly hosts this annual Lobster Fest, a friend and family annual reunion of sorts.  It is the best kind of holiday, one created by a group of friends and family with its own food and traditions.  One of the guests told me that they have been gathering for 16 years and the tradition actually dates back to Dolly's late mother. 
This year, there were a few newbies like us, others who have attended sporadically and some real regulars, for whom this is an annual homecoming.  It was an eclectic mix of ages, geographies, and personalities and we had a splendid time.  Never having taken apart a whole lobster, I would have been lost but for the man at my right who showed me the proper way to extract that sweetest of seafood from the shell and how to crack its claws.  After a few minutes of chatting, I realized that the man at my right was someone I knew slightly professionally  years ago and we reconnected over lobster lessons. 
It was a joy to be part of this special group for a day and to experience a day in the Maine village called most appropriately, Friendship.  Thank you, Dolly. 

Simple Answers to Vexing Questions

Remember the Baltimore Catechism?  Those of us of a certain age sure do.  Written in question and answer format, we were required to commit much of it to memory, so we could readily cough up the answers to questions like, "Who Made Me?".  ("God made me", is the quick, semi-automatic response).
There was brevity and clarity associated with these crisp responses; but I can't say that I have been able to resolve the more challenging questions life has presented me by pulling out and applying memorized answers.  Lately though, some similar questions and the resulting knee-jerk responses have actually been helpful in this journey to better health and well-being. 
I once read a recommendation to avoid eating (or drinking) any food or drink that your grandmother would not recognize.  That feels right--wine's OK; Mike's Hard Lemonade, probably not.   Piece of fruit, good.  A 'gotta have it' treat from Coldstone Creamery?  Don't think so. And my grandmothers likely ate pretty good stuff -- bread, pasta, vegetables, fruits.  My maternal grandmother was a wiry, trim woman.  My paternal grandmother was a bit broader and my overall build seems more to resemble hers. I have previously described my strong family history of diabetes.  So maybe the 'grandmother test' isn't the best. 
I've been thinking more about applying the 'God-Baltimore Catechism' test to the "Can/Should I Eat This?" question.  I've been asking myself, "Who Made This?"  If God did make it and it is still looks close to the way He made it, then I'm thinking it's probably fine.  So, blueberries, yes; blueberry cobbler with ice cream, no.  Fish or meat?  Hey, I think Jesus ate those!  Pasta?  That's a tough one -- it is processed.  For awhile I am taking a pass.  And chocolate?  Don't think so.
That still leaves lots of options.  It's fresh corn season; tomatoes and cherries too.  And something is working, albeit verrrrry slowly. Down another pound this week.  Total of 10 pounds off now (pCR or post Canyon Ranch) and just over 27 in total.

Al Fresco Memories

Is it true that outdoor dining makes for more satisfying and nourishing meal experiences? For me, it is. And memorable ones too. I can readily pluck recollections of meals served outdoors from my mind, recalling places, vistas, conversations, and yes, foods.

Some memories are fresh in my mind because they are so recent.  On the Friday before the 4th of July, my friend hosted an outdoor picnic.  She has a gift for assembling an eclectic mix of people and the conversation is unpredictable, interesting and fun.  That night was no different, but oh, the food.  More specifically the beef (we didn't have to ask where it was).  I had seen a recipe in the McGinnis Sisters newsletter for a grilled beef fillet, courtesy of the Barefoot Contessa herself, Ina Garten and offered to bring the beef if our expert grillmaster friend would grill it.  This baby weighed as much as a baby, and he did an amazing job of tending the grill.  The meat was sooooo tender and there was not one morsel of it left at the end of a long and leisurely meal.  It was charred on the outside, but practically melted in the mouth.  The recipe is:

Grilled Fillet of Beef with Mustard Sauce (courtesy of Ina Garten)
Ingredients (just six, not counting salt and pepper)

• 4 tablespoons of unsalted butter, softened to room temperature
• 2 tablespoons of salt
• 1 tablespoon of freshly ground pepper
• 4 1/2 to 5 pounds fillet of beef tenderloin, trimmed and tied
• 3/4 cup mayonnaise
• 1/4 cup sour cream
• 1 tablespoon coarse mustard
• 1 tablespoon Dijon mustard
• 1/4 teaspoon of salt
• 1/4 teaspoon freshly ground pepper

Directions:
Heat charcoal or gas grill.  With lid on grill, thermometer should register 425-450 degrees.  Combine butter, salt and pepper.  Using paper towels, pat tenderloin completely dry.  Spread seasoned butter over fillet.  Place meat on hot grill and close lid tightly.  Be sure your grill temperature does not dip below 375 degrees.  For rare to medium rare, cook tenderloin approximately 30 minutes, tuning once during grilling until your instant read thermometer reaches 125 degrees.  (He did about 5 - 7 minutes longer).  Meanwhile, to make sauce: Whisk together all mustard sauce ingredients.  When fillet is done, place on a cutting board and cover with aluminum foil; allow to rest about 20 minutes.  Slice beef and serve with mustard sauce.

It's not just the recent al fresco times I recall.  I have vivid memories of dinners in an arbor with my Dad in Assisi; sitting outside a trattoria in Trastevere with Vespas and Fiats whipping by just inches from our chairs; and two dinners three years apart on the outdoor terrace at Mirabelle, looking out over the hills of Rome.
The photo above is from 2007, when Priscilla and I had an early birthday celebration for her.  The appetizers had just been served (note the portions) and the sun was still shining so the awnings were down.  Once the sun began to set, the waiter raised the awnings and we had a magnificent, magical view.  If you ever get to Rome, the view is priceless (although the food was beaucoup bucks or in the local vernacular, molti soldi).  I also remember their homemade souffles, which had to be ordered upon arrival. 

Any recommendations for local outdoor dining? 

From Red Lion, PA

Well, it's not Tuscany or the Napa Valley.  But this Fourth of July weekend brought a lovely, characteristically American, surprise quick trip to wine county, PA.  A dear friend from California returned unexpectedly to the area due to a death in her family and asked me to accompany her on the drive to return her daughter to York, PA.  The drive time allowed for great catch-up conversation and we reflected on family, relationships, life, health care and friendships. She arranged for us to stay overnight at the Red Lion B & B.  Most of my overnight trips are to places like Fairfield Inns or Courtyards (got to use those Marriott points!).    The B & B was lovely and the owner-couple also run a local bakery-tea room.  Dani, the wife, is an accomplished pastry chef and she prepared a great breakfast of French Toast (I nibbled); fruit cup, bacon and raspberries with cream.  The raspberries were tiny and picked from the garden outside the inn.  We were seated at an outdoor table with a couple who were in the area to attend a Mennonite wedding.  We had a delightful conversation about the wedding, and they shared stories of the ceremony (lots of a capella singing), the food (a sit-down dinner served family style) and the interaction of men and women (apparently not much).  We talked about various ethic wedding and related food customs.  It was the kind of conversation that would not spring forth at a chain hotel, where CNN blares and USA today provides reading material for isolated, silent dining.  

Before heading back so she could catch her flight, we stopped at Brown's Orchard and Farm Market in Loganville, PA; the photo captures part of their nursery operation.   Adjacent to the store is an outlet for Logan's View Winery. 
We browsed and I bought local cherries, zucchini, potatoes and three bottles of wine.  The winery is new, offering its first wines for sale in August 2009.  The grapes are grown on Brown's land and the fruit wines are made with fruit from Brown's orchards.  One of the wines is a cherry one, so I am looking forward to serving it with their cherries as a dessert.  It's a strictly grown and produced local proposition.  I picked up the Brown's newsletter and during the long PA turnpike ride home, I read it.  It was packed with information about local artists, local performances, a feature on all the employees they have named Linda, their 'pick our own' program for fruits, a farm-based summer camp and recipes.   

 I am going to try this one which comes from www.fruitsandveggiesmorematters.org.  

Watermelon-Blueberry Banana Split (Serves 4)

2 large ripe bananas, 8 scoops of watermelon (take out the seeds), 1 pint blueberries, 1/2 cup low-fat vanilla yogurt, 1/4 cup crunchy cereal nuggets or granola ( I think I will use nuts instead)

Cut the bananas crosswise in half, cut each piece lengthwise in half.  For each serving, place 2 pieces of banana against the sides of a long shallow desert dish.  Place a scoop of watermelon at each end of the dish.  Fill the center with blueberries, Stir the yogurt until smooth, spoon over the fruit.  Sprinkle with cereal nuggets or granola. 

I loved this getaway and the fact that the places we patronized were local independent businesses, made possible by American entrepreneurs (and not a McDonald's or Wal-Mart in sight).  Happy Independence Day!   

Further Musings on Things Mediterranean

Frances Mayes, one of my favorite authors (Under the Tuscan Sun), has a new book  -- Every Day in Tuscany, Seasons of an Italian Life.  It is 20 years since she bought and restored her villa in Tuscany.  This new book has a sadness and a bittersweet reality about it.   Placi, her next door neighbor, is seriously injured.  Primo Bianchi, who was the capable restorer of her Bramasole, has died.  There is a terrorism scare, when a grenade (which turned out to be harmless) is found on her property.   And she is older now.   A grandmother who is enjoying it and thinking about passing on a legacy in words, buildings and experiences to her grandson.
I love her writing.  She has a way of putting words together that moves me, sometimes almost to tears.    Her descriptions of all things Italian and her love affair with the country and its people evoke such strong feelings because they build on and draw out insights from my own life and family.  More than that, I admire someone with the courage to so consciously create a life; and to live life.  
One of my most favorite sections of her new book involves a description of how Italians eat and drink and how it differs from Americans.  She writes, "There's no dreary talk at all about glutens, portion control, fat content or calories.  Eating in Italy made me aware of how tortured the relationship to food is in my country."
She also writes about the modest consumption of wine, and the practice of pouring water into wine, something I remember my uncle doing when I visited him.  Being drunk was an embarassment, and drining too much was simply not done.  I remember my dad telling me more than once that he was never drunk in his life.  It wasn't about drinking; it was about integrating wine into the meal, not overpowering it and not making it an end in itself. 
Her descriptions about hours spent at dinner tables reminds me of memories my dad would relate, with great fondness, of how he would do so too.  And to talk, and to eat, and to talk, and to eat.  Not overeating, not worrying about how much you were eating, just eating to live, as part of being alive. 
I would be a lot better off if I could emulate my dad's approach to food.  He would do things like scrape the icing from the top of a birthday cake.  This struck me as strange; my taste is that the icing is the best part.  And, in the summer, he would eat fruit, lots of it.  He loved figs because I think it reminded him of his youth, growing up in the Abruzzo.  He ate little meat.   He seemed to have an inherent wisdom about eating and food choices that I did not inherit.
I am tired ot thinking about counting carbs and ascribing moral qualities to food choices.  Is there a way to uncorrupt decades of screwed up eating and find a more rational voice within?   

Dr. Roizen, Regina Brett and What I Learned at the Cleveland Clinic

Three days at the Cleveland Clinic (CC) for the 'Empathy and Innovation Summit'. There's a trend in health care organizations to create an office or a position focused on the 'patient experience'; CC is in the forefront of this movement.  PE is a highly evolved construct for customer service, and encompasses the environment (art and architecture), caregivers who are carefully selected, trained and focused on the patient; and a holistic view of patient care and treatment that considers the patient AND family.  It's been awhile since I have been to any sort of conference and I am grateful to have had the opportunity to attend this one.  I learned a lot that can help me do my job better; and a lot that can help me live my life better too.  Some of you may remember that the CEO of Cleveland Clinic, a cardiologist, made headlines a few years ago when he tried to kick McDonald's out of the first floor of the Clinic.  He lost that battle; apparently McDonald's was perfectly happy to stay where they were not wanted since they have a long-term lease.  The Cleveland Clinic does not hire smokers; they are in the minority of hospitals.  They have a major employee wellness initiative and another one aimed at the community, 'Let's Move It.'  All of this makes great sense to me.  The conference had two terrific keynote speakers, one of whom I will write a whole post about, Regina Brett (author of 'God Never Blinks' , a book I highly recommend) and Robby Benson.  The panel moderator for the final segment of the conference was MIchael Roizen, M.D.  I had seen him a few times on Dr. Oz with whom he co-authored YOU: On a Diet.   Dr. Roizen is the CC's Chief Wellness Officer, another role found in forward thinking organizations.  It's always tough to be the last presenter at a conference but he made it worthwhile.  Dr. Roizen is passionate about wellness and about the compelling business case for it.  With all the talk about health care reform, the fact that healthcare costs are largely driven by obesity, tobacco use, stress and inactivity sometimes gets lost.  I bought his book and he was kind enough to inscribe it personally when I shared with him that I had lost 25 pounds and have 25 more to go.  The inscription ends, "Go For It!".  He was also kind enough to pose with me for the photo above.  A lot of the tips in the book are things that I already know, but one of them is so practical I would like to pass it on.  We all know that we should read labels, but he and Dr. Oz prescribe avoiding ANY food with ANY of the following five ingredients:  "simple sugars; enriched, bleached or refined flour; all syrups, including high fructose corn syrup; saturated fat or trans fat." He talked about the importance of managing the environment.  And the conference planners certainly did that.  Food and beverages are not allowed in the Conference Center lecture halls.  All the meals and snacks were healthy and delicious, making it easier for attendees to make good choices.  The hotel and Clinic gift shops did the same.   His advice is that we make "living healthy automatic."  It's so much easier when the environment is supportive. 

If this were so easy, Oprah would have done it.

It seems like it's all Oprah, all the time these days as her daily show winds down.  She is a one woman global enterprise, 'OWN'ing her own network, magazine, and millions of followers who look to her for advice, book choices and as a kind of life coach.   She has no equal in what she has built from the sheer force of her personality and will.  I caught a glimpse of her best friend Gayle King last night on Piers Morgan and they were sharing stories of her kindness and simple humanity.  And of course, she has a gazillion dollars that she puts in good use to benefit and encourage others.
So, with all of that, does it surprise you that she still apparently struggles with weight issues?  How many of us that do so too have thought that if we only had a private chef, a home gym, a life coach or a trainer like Jillian Michaels or Bob Greene, we could finally and completely shed our excess weight?  Just when I start to feel that it is easy or that I have this under control, I have a slip-up.  I am working at not having these be major.  But it's hard.  Those of us that are on this journey are in good company.  

Those Who Fail To Plan

… plan to fail.  Isn’t that how the saying goes?  I have not written a lot of posts lately about the ‘Eat’-focused portion of this blog.  But the last few weeks have been a struggle.  This is party-time, with lots of social stuff going on related to work and personal life, including retirement dinners, nurses and hospital week celebrations, graduation parties and reunions.  I’ve been avoiding the scale and when I checked this morning, it showed an increase of 2.3 pounds since my last Weight Watchers weigh-in on April 26.  Yikes!  It’s kind of freaking me out.  Now, overall I am still down 22 pounds from my peak weight and 11 since January.  But still, it’s going in the wrong direction. 

But let me digress.  I am not a very organized person – I don’t typically make lists; my desk is cluttered; I’d have a hard time finding my social security card if I had to; and right now, have been unable to locate the parking pass that opens the gate to the hospital garage for several days.  The only good thing about not knowing where the parking pass is?  I have to walk from one of the outlying lots so I get more exercise.

This disorganization is itself a source of stress.  I truly am in awe of those who are blessed with the organization gene.   You know, they’re the ones who send thank you notes promptly, keep track of birthdays, can locate the family mailing list, the ones you call when you need an address or phone number and who don’t have to move stuff out of the front seat of the car when driving you somewhere. 

What I have noticed in the last few weeks is that I get into trouble when I do not meticulously and consciously plan meals and snacks or when a meeting involving a meal or at mealtime interrupts my typical schedule. 

So next week, I have a three-day business trip with a group from work.  I have started thinking about how I will take food with me to help me get through it.  It’s at a world-famous healthcare institution known for a focus on wellness, but I am not going to take any chances.  Mentally, I have begun packing an insulated tote bag with some low-carb staples like cut vegetables, Greek yogurt, Mary’s Gone Crackers, Yumnuts, etc.

Not willing to wing this one.  Not willing to skip another Weight Watchers weigh-in either. 

Goodbye, Race for the Cure

For the last several Mothers Days, my cousin and I have attended the Race for the Cure in Pittsburgh. I have no plans to attend next year. The first year I was inspired. This year I have a level of disappointment that must reflect a change in me, because the Race seems pretty much the same. What has changed in me? Well, the event that triggered the creation of this blog, a diagnosis of diabetes. Today's Race for the Cure provided an opportunity to show support for my cousin, who is a survivor, but she, like me, has diabetes. At the Race, there is lots of commercial promotion tied to breast cancer awareness, involving megasponsors like Ford and New Balance. I get the marketing connection and the need of advertisers to connect with the female demographic. What I don't get is the prevalence of food that is at worst, bad and at best, inappropriate to be associated with this event. I thought, and I am by no means an expert, that our Western diet is known to contribute to lifestyle related diseases and certainly obesity, which is a risk factor for breast cancer. So does it seem weird to you that they were serving donuts, bagels, ice cream, custard and birthday cake at 9 o'clock this morning? Next year, I plan to Sleep-In for the Cure -- by the time I registered this year, the Sleep-In pillowcases were all gone. Maybe those people have the right idea: avoiding temptation for a good cause.

Memories and The Italian Garden Project

Growing up, the garden in our backyard was a source of embarrassment to me every summer.   No other house in our neighborhood had a garden.  My mom spent countless hours digging, planting, weeding and picking.  My dad mostly watched and supervised.  I thought it was a weird kind of ethnic thing that made us stand out; there were not a lot of Italians in Munhall.  Coupled with my last name of obviously Italian ethnicity, which I thought was even weirder, I spent most of my youth embarrassed and wishing my dad could do something more normal for a living, like work in a steel mill and that my mom would stop spending so much time outside, wearing a sunhat, digging in the garden.  

By my late twenties, following a trip to Italy with my father that involved visiting his hometown and the hometown of my mother's parents, I discovered that ethnic could be cool. 
Yesterday, the Pittsburgh Public Market in the Strip District hosted a slide show presentation by the Italian Garden Project, "Come Back to the Garden:  Italian Gardens of the Pittsburgh Region."  Unfortunately by the time I read about it, it was over.  It seems that now I am in my 50s, the whole Slow Food, CSA and home garden movement is totally trendy.  The Italian Garden Project, based in Sewickley, is planning tours this summer of some of the better ones in the area.  And on June 25, there will be a presentation at the Public Market from 11:30 a.m. to 12:30 p.m. on "Italian Wedding Dances and Wedding Cookie Recipe Exchange."  The photograph of the cookie table at our wedding is one of my favorite photos (remember my first word was 'cookie')  See www.TheItalianGardenProject.com.   

Grief, Yoga and Irish Wakes

After the last two funerals I have been to for someone significant to me, I did the only constructive thing I could thing of to do -- go to a yoga class.  Yesterday I learned what the term 'Irish Wake' means.  I left after five hours and it was still going strong.  It was everything I would have imagined -- beer, stories, laughter, tears, kids, old people, lots of good food, flowers and something unexpected, what appeared to be a professional photographer. The Mass was SRO, the eulogy superbly crafted and delivered -- what a send off.
Since I don't drink beer (yes, I was a friend of Anne Mullaney's and have never had a beer in my life), I started to eat -- lots.  One of the life experiences Anne and I shared was Weight Watchers and I imagine her making some witty yet pointed comment about how many points were in all that stuff I consumed while others were drinking beer.  I recall a few conversations with Anne about yoga, including a particular one about 'legs up the wall' pose and also about our on again, off again relationship with Weight Watchers points. 
Anne's obituary requested memorial contributions to two of her favorite charities (and yes, that school Anne wanted to build in Haiti will be built); many people and organizations sent flowers also.  How many people get flowers from Guinness at their funerals? 
The photograph above is one of the most beautiful arrangements I have ever seen (free plug for Toadflax in Shadyside). 
Anyway, back to yoga.  The evening of my mom's funeral in 2009, I went to a yoga class because I had nothing else to do.  The Irish have it all over the Italians in that respect since they apparently surround the family with activity and love in a marathon-like experience, making the need to find something to do the evening of the funeral a non-issue. 
In 2009, I wrote a reflection on that yoga class that I will add to this post later if I can find it.