Snorkers, I need your support!

Dear SNORK readers, we’ve been together for some time now. In fact, today is SNORK’s 7th birthday! I hope you’ve enjoyed our visits.

It has been my great pleasure writing for you. My goal has always been to give you a place to come that’s non-political, controversy-free and, hopefully, a space to hang your hat and put your feet up for a few chuckles. It gives me purpose and your support has meant the world to me.

Since the outbreak of the coronavirus and Covid-19, I began making videos for you, with the intention of helping to alleviate some of our collective stress. I thought that having a human to see might make us all feel a little less isolated.

Those videos have blossomed into a full-blown YouTube channel called At Home With Anita Rosner, with lots more content than what you’ve found on this blog. I don’t post all my videos here because, frankly, they don’t always include the funny misadventures of my life – which is what this blog is all about.

That said, I think you might actually enjoy them! So, here’s the part where I’m asking for your support: It would be a tremendous help to me if you would subscribe to my YouTube channel. It’s free and easy to do. It requires no commitment on your part. It’s just a way of helping me to grow.

All you have to do is click on the “subscribe” button in the video below. It will appear in the bottom right corner about 30 seconds into the video. Or you can go directly to the channel here. That’s it! Your small gesture could help me embark on an exciting new phase of my life. I will still write for you, but if you like what you see here, you might actually enjoy being one of my YouTube viewers as well.

As always, I’m am so grateful to you for sticking with me all these years. Now, let’s get this second party started!!!!!

With love, Anita.

Here’s a sneak preview of my upcoming episodes.


Slump

The weather outside has been frightful; cold and rainy with a thunderstorm to beat the band. Poor Fluffy is strapped into her Thunder Shirt which, to be honest, doesn’t fully alleviate her anxiety during storms.

My husband and I don’t need comfort garments, but some comfort food would be just the ticket on a day like this. Nothing, I thought, would hit the spot more than a chicken pot pie.

Now, I don’t know about you, but it seems I’ve been on some sort of unending rotation throughout this isolation period: Cook, clean the kitchen, cook some more, clean again, and so on…

I enjoy cooking, but sometimes I don’t feel like dirtying every pot, pan, rolling pin, food processor, etc. just to whip up a single meal. So, creating pasty dough for a chicken pot pie was not in the cards today. However, finding shortcuts is kind of my thing. If there’s an easier way to do something, I’ll find it. That’s when I was struck by inspiration.

During the summer, I make super simple fruit “pies” that don’t require crust per se. Why not use the same method to make a pot “pie”?

So I did just that. And if you’d like to learn how, just click here for my super simple Chicken Slump!

SNORK Chicken Slump

Preheat oven to 375

Filling:

1 onion, diced

1 tablespoon oil

1 tablespoon dried rosemary

4 cups cooked, diced chicken

1 can condensed mushroom soup thinned with 1 can-full of milk

2 cups frozen vegetables (thawed)

Topping:

1 cup flour

1 1/2 teaspoons baking powder

1/4 teaspoon salt

1 1/2 teaspoons Bell’s Poultry Seasoning*

3/4 cup milk

2 tablespoons melted butter

Method:

In a medium sauce pan, heat oil and rosemary over medium heat.

Add onions and sauté for 3-5 minutes until soft

Add condensed soup mixture, vegetables and chicken

Pour filling into a baking dish In a separate bowl, whisk together flour, seasoning, salt and baking powder

Add milk and melted butter

Stir until combined into a batter

Pour batter over filling and smooth evenly

Bake for about 40-45 minutes or until the topping becomes golden brown

Let cool for 15-20 minutes before serving

*You can substitute Bell’s Poultry Seasoning with 1 tablespoon of your favorite herbs/spices or the following mixture: 1/2 teaspoon dried thyme 1/2 teaspoon dried rosemary 1/2 teaspoon dried oregano 1/2 teaspoon dried marjoram 1/2 teaspoon dried ginger 1/2 dried sage

Go Bananas

April 19, 2020

Visits to the supermarket are one of my least favorite things, especially now. People encroach on my personal space – get out of my hula hoop, encroachers! – some people don’t wear masks or gloves, and the shelves are half empty. So, I try not to go at all. But when I have no other option, it’s time to suit up and say a little prayer.

The moment I cross the threshold, all I can think about is leaving. I arm myself with a list, which is quickly abandoned when I discover they don’t have bread, but they have english muffins (I can make sandwiches with those). They don’t have flour but they have oatmeal (I can make flour out of oatmeal). They don’t have garlic, but they have coconuts (I can’t make anything by substituting coconuts for garlic). But I buy a coconut and I’ll figure it out later. That’s how it is now; you get what you get and you don’t get upset.

The last time I hit the store, about three weeks ago, I bought a huge bunch of bananas assuming I’d have them for snacks or for breakfast with some peanut butter. Well, that did not happen and I ended up with a large bunch of black things that used to be bananas.

However, this is no time to throw away food or money. So I decided to make two yummy dishes with them. Click here to learn my recipes for SNORK Bananas Foster and the easiest banana bread you could ever hope to make!

Getting Saucy With Governor Cuomo

April 14, 2020 (Toilet paper inventory: 10!)

Easter has come and gone. It’s been years since the Easter bunny has visited me personally. He’s shown up for my husband and kids for years, but always seems to forget my basket! This year, however, he made up for it in a big way. Imagine my surprise to find a bundle of pandemic-themed goodies on my front porch: pasta, garlic, a biscotti and, joy of joys, four rolls of toilet paper! I suspect he was in cahoots with my dear friend, Wendy, but I can’t prove it.

If you’ve been keeping a close eye on New York, you have probably seen our Governor, Andrew Cuomo, working tirelessly for us. So, I got a little miffed when his baby brother, Chris Cuomo, was giving him “the business” over maternal favoritism.

It seems the Governor’s whippersnapperish younger brother holds to the idea that he is their mother’s favorite. He rubbed in the Governors’s face that he, Chris, was anointed with their mom’s spaghetti sauce recipe; asserting that no other sibling has it.

Any good Italian knows that family sauce recipes are shrouded in mystique, and are coveted secrets. So this kind of claim on Chris’s part was a particularly low blow.

I could not let this stand and I just had to come to the Governor’s rescue. It’s the least I could do. Watch my YouTube video to see my response by clicking here.

Day 9 From the Containment Zone

March 19, 2020 (Toilet paper inventory: holding at 12 rolls)

Here in the containment zone, every morning is pretty much the same. I have my rituals in place and go through them step-by-step…

  1. Wake up (Essential)
  2. Assess breathing and check for body aches/fever (All good)
  3. Tend to morning ablutions (Use your imagination. On second thought, don’t.)
  4. Go down to the kitchen and begin decontamination protocols (Involves Lysoling the bejesus out of everything my husband and I communally encounter: doorknobs, faucet handles, drawer pulls, countertops, ice dispenser touch pad, light switches, etc. And yes, “Lysoling” is now a verb.)
  5. Wash hands while singing the ABC song.
  6. Apply lotion to sandpapery skin
  7. Make and consume coffee (As essential as Step #1)
  8. Walk Fluffy (Inviting neighbors who like to walk with us. Maintain social distance.)
  9. Return home and repeat Steps 5 & 6.

This might sound a bit compulsive, and you could be asking yourself if Anita is speeding down the highway to OCD-town.  Let me assure you, once the dust settles, I will happily give up Steps 2 and 4. In fact, I’ll be able to lighten up a little after the following things happen:

  • My husband stops going to work.  He owns his own business and only comes in contact with his partner, but they have separate offices. So, there’s plenty of distance between them.  But he’s out there.  In the world.
  • March 25th passes without any sign of illness in my husband.  He attended a conference in Las Vegas and the 25th will mark the end of the supposed incubation period.  Now, since we’re talking about Vegas, baby…I’ll bet you somebody at the conference had it.  Those are pretty good odds.

So, until then, I will continue to be the sanitizing queen of corona.

After my daily checklist is complete, I start making important decisions: Should I do laundry today, or save that for tomorrow so I’ll have something to do?  Should I sort the laundry and just do whites today and save the colors for tomorrow? Should I cook for the day, or make extra for the freezer?  Should I start an adjunct list of bigger projects: Clean out the closets? Prepare the flower beds for spring planting? Build an ark?

One thing did happened this afternoon that was very different from the “norm,” whatever that is anymore. I attended a virtual memorial service for my friends’ mother who passed away two days ago.  My heart went out to the whole family that they could not gather together in person to comfort each other. But my hat’s off to them for coming up with a way to gather “virtually,” see each other’s faces and share tributes to their beautiful mom.  There were stories and songs and, honestly, it was just as meaningful as any memorial I’ve ever been to.

These are very different times, indeed.

After the service, I head back down to the kitchen to whip up some keto-friendly dishes (I decided to cook.). The diet is going well; I’ve lost quite a few pounds and feel energetic.  As long as I have access to the foods I need, I plan to stick with it.  Of course, if we reach a critical point where there is nothing left in the house but carbs, I will do what I have to do.  But we’ll dive into that bowl of pasta when we come to it.

I make keto Oopsie bread, which was easy and came out very well, I think. You can find the recipe here.  In addition, I made a lovely zucchini, bell pepper and brie frittata. And last but not least, a creamy cucumber salad.

Oopsie Bread

Once the clean-up was done, I called Amanda and invited her to our 5 o’clock Fluffy walk.  One of the wonderful things that has come out of all this is seeing families take walks together. Everyone is out with their children and their dogs.  It’s very nice. We saw our neighbor, Lauren, who came outside to say hello.  She was having a cocktail party with her husband.  It used to be “two’s company, three’s a crowd.” Now two’s a cocktail party.

Strange days indeed.

And now it’s time for some mindless entertainment.  I like documentaries.  Yesterday I watched Fyre on Netflix.  Today, who knows what I’ll find.

Then it will be dinner and some conversation when my husband gets home.  Then bed.

Until tomorrow…

Postscript: My husband received an email that someone at the Vegas conference tested positive for coronavirus.  That’s a bet I would have preferred to lose.

Sustenance

Food. Nourishment. Grub. Whatever you want to call that stuff you stuff into your mouth, its intended purpose is to support life.

I remember watching a TED Talk comparing the human brain to other animals. Our brains are more evolved because we cook our food. Could it really be that simple? It is, and here’s why: In order for the brain to grow and develop, it must be fed. The number of calories a human body burns in a day depends on its level of activity; but not your brain. It makes no difference if your brain is sleeping, designing rocket ships or trying to figure out common core math, it will burn 500 calories each and every day, no matter what.

***Listen to SNORK, the podcast by clicking here!***

If you were a gorilla, and only ate raw twigs and leaves, you would have to spend most of your waking hours eating to consume enough calories just to stay alive. If a gorilla had the capacity to cook (or, at the very least, make a smoothie), it could reduce large volumes of food into smaller, more easily digestible meals. By doing so, it could consume many more calories in much less time, making it’s brain larger and, presumably, smarter.

“Hmm, I think this paleo diet is really working.”

So, it was the discovery of fire that essential transformed us into the species we are today. These are scientific facts, people, and I don’t dispute them. But here’s where I get tripped up: what was the turning point that changed our fuel from throwing the day’s kill onto the fire into dinner parties for eight, complete with wine pairings?

Who was the first Homo erectus Martha Stewart? Did she one day think, “Hmm, I wonder if this animal flesh would taste better combined with sprigs of vegetation and some roots?” Was it she that decided meals tastes better when shared with friends? “Hey, let’s invite the Uga-ugas over this Saturday night!”

Was this the advent of our complicated relationship with food?

It’s hard to picture an early ancestor sitting around the cave thinking, “I’m not really hungry, but I could go for a nosh.” I don’t think lower-food chain animals behave this way. Would a lion ever hunt down a gazelle because it’s feeling a tad peckish? Can you imagine a bear polishing off a salmon because there’s nothing good on TV? Or what if a chipmunk’s mate ran away? Would it scarf down all the nuts it was saving for winter because it had no access to raw cookie dough?

No, these disordered uses of food are strictly human. I hate to be a downer, but let’s face it: we sometimes take the very thing that’s meant to keep us alive and use it to slowly kill ourselves. They don’t call it “death by chocolate” for nothing.

And even if you have a very healthy diet, I doubt you view food as simply a way of transporting nutrients into your body. No, we modern-day humans have turned our food into so much more.

Food is a major component of our social lives. We use it to celebrate, to bring people together, to give pleasure, to comfort, to express love…all good things in moderation.

My personal relationship with food, and more specifically eating, is based on romance…and sometimes anger…but mostly romance. When I speak about a good meal, I create a narrative, a sensuous, seductive story detailing every nuance of every bite.

Once, while recommending a restaurant to a friend, my husband said, They have good ravioli.”

WHAT?

“Oh, no, no, no” I said. “They have delectable cheese-filled pasta pillows, that taste like they are lovingly assembled by the chubby hands of baby cherubs…so tender, I could have rested my head on them and slept.”

Now, that’s romantic. Want to know what’s not romantic? A date that does not involve a meal, that’s what.

Every Thursday night, my husband and I go on a date. Whether we’re seeing a show, or going to a concert, we always start by going out to dinner. One night, to mix things up a little, I suggested we have a quick bite at home and spend our date playing tennis. Great idea, right? Sure, if you think throwing a hissy fit on date night adds a nice spice to a marriage. I played so badly that the evening devolved into a lot of excuses, blaming, cursing, and pouting. Sexy, no? After that failed experiment, it was back to candlelit restaurants for us – back to savoring each seductive morsel with a good glass of wine and relaxing conversation.

And we judge others by what they eat.

I once threw a dinner party, not knowing one guest was in the middle of a cleanse. Why would someone on a cleanse come to a dinner party in the first place? You tell me. Anyway, he couldn’t eat anything I served, but as luck would have it, I made floral arrangements out of carnations, clementines, squash blossoms and Nasturtiums. So, he ate the centerpiece. True story! And, yes, we all judged him.

The bottom line is this: Food is complicated. We don’t really know why we eat the way we do, or why we like some things but loathe others. All we can really be sure of is that grub does more than just sustain our bodies. It nourishes our hearts, our imaginations, our relationships and feeds the soul.

Happy Thanksgiving from SNORK!

So, this Thanksgiving, I hope you find yourself sitting at a table with the people you love, feeling full of life’s blessings and enjoying all the flavors of this world’s abundance.

Ham and Eggs

Top to Bottom, L-R: Coral, Foghorn, Ham, Rocket & Big Bertha

Top to Bottom, L-R: Coral, Foghorn, Ham, Rocket & Big Bertha

As many of you know, I have a fondness for backyard chickens and I believe it’s important to have an awareness of our food’s origins.  Admittedly, I am far too glamorous (read: lazy) to create a fully sustainable homestead, however I do love and care for our family pets (hens Foghorn, Big Bertha, Rocket, Coral and Ham).  They are charming, playful, funny and earn their coop and board by the eggs they so generously provide for my family.

Our yard is a popular hangout for people to drop by and watch our beautiful feathered ladies.   We actually find it therapeutic to observe them while they preen, fluff their feathers, bask in the sun and get ready for “bed”.  They are such peaceful creatures.  Kids delight in feeding them treats while their moms and dads ask lots of enthusiastic questions about keeping hens. Best of all, “the girls” make it possible for us to give the gift of organic, just-laid eggs whenever we receive a last-minute invitation, as a “thank you” present or when we have to get something for “the person who has everything”!  It has upped our popularity by a hefty margin among our friends and relatives (or perhaps they’re just using us to get to those amazing eggs.  Hmm…).

For us, it’s been a labor of love.  I could go on and on about the keeping of backyard chickens.  Instead, however, I have a special treat for you today. With the help of the lovely folks at Made by Custommade.com, it is my pleasure to welcome guest blogger, Laura Grace Weldon, to tell you all about raising chickens (and ducks!).

Laura lives on Bit of Earth Farm (notable only for its lovestruck goose). She’s the author of a poetry collection titled Tending as well as Free Range Learning, a handbook of alternative education. She blogs about learning, creative living, and mindfulness. She’s also a senior content editor for GeekMom and regular contributor to such publications as Wired.com, Mothering.com, Culinate.com, and Shareable.net. She invites you to visit her author site, hang out with her on Twitter, and check out the Free Range Learning page on Facebook. So, without further ado, here’s Laura…

Raising Chickens and Ducks With Old-Style Ingenuity and DIY Hacks

Laura Grace Weldon

Laura Grace Weldon

We’ve only recently become separated from our food sources. Until a few generations ago millions of people lived on farms. Millions more grew vegetables and raised an animal or two in city lots. Those who didn’t were still connected to what they consumed. They had to be: There were few choices other than milk, eggs, meat, and produce Now we’re learning what our great-grandparents knew to be true: Growing food locally helps communities directly maintain autonomy, cultural integrity, and environmental stewardship. An important step is bringing back neighborhood livestock. There are logistical and legal issues to solve such as zoning restrictions, nuisance laws, and noise ordinances. But it’s time to re-envision our neighborhoods as including more than our human neighbors. Here are a few helpful tips and convincing reasons to raise the least complicated livestock: chicken and ducks.

Chickens vs. Ducks: Which Is Best for You?

Raising backyard chickens and ducks is increasingly common. More and more urban areas are making it legal to raise backyard poultry, including Chicago, Ann Arbor, Los Angeles, Cleveland, Ft. Collins, and South Portland, Maine. It’s downright meditative to sit out back and watch chickens peck and cluck and amusing to watch the antics of ducks. These may be reason enough to add them to your life. But there’s nothing like harvesting fresh eggs. But before you take on a flock of your own, make sure to check city ordinances. Chickens vs. Ducks: Which Is Better For You? It's All In The Egg: Benefits of Backyard Eggs

Backyard Chicken and Duck Hacks

Coop Hacks

Use repurposed parts

There are two standard options for housing chickens. One is a stationary coop. The other is a moveable coop, commonly called a chicken tractor, which can be situated in different places around the yard. Both types have roosts (necessary for chickens, but not ducks) and nesting boxes, and most have a fenced-in pen attached. Stationary and moveable coops can be made from repurposed partssuch as old shedscable spools, and doghouses.

Set up a temporary pen

If your birds aren’t able to range freely in your yard you may want to set up a temporary pen as well. Such pens are great to move into garden areas before you plant and after you’ve harvested so your poultry can enjoy eating insects and plant waste while aerating the soil as they scratch. A temporary pen is also a good way to let them do the weeding for you in hard-to-weed areas. And giving them access to different parts of the yard keeps them from denuding your grass. One approach to temporary pens is to make poultry tunnels. To create the tunnels, loop chicken wire or hardware cloth into tunnels temporarily staked into the ground. There’s no limit to how cheaply you can make chicken and duck pens. You can use cable ties to surround an old plastic patio table with chicken wire for a lightweight, shaded, easily moveable grazing pen. An equally ingenious and much larger moveable pen can be made from a trampoline frame.

Use a plastic baby pool

Ducks can be raised without a pond but need a reasonably large container of water so they can dip their heads in to take a drink and rinse their eyes. They also need to splash water across their backs to activate an oil gland that waterproofs their feathers. They prefer a container with enough room to climb in and paddle around a bit. Fill a plastic baby pool or low washtub, and rinse regularly to keep it clean.

Feeding Hacks

Set up grazing frames

When you have limited space, another way to give chickens access to fresh forage is to set up grazing frames. (Ducks may enjoy them too.) These are basically boxed gardens for your poultry. You simply grow grass, lettuces, herbs, or other plants. Then cover the grazing frame with chicken wire, weighted or tied down at the sides so the chickens can eat the tops of the plants but can’t reach the soil to uproot them. (Read My Chicken Scratch shows how to build a simple covered frame.) Remember, you can use almost anything that can hold soil and be covered with wire or netting. You can even repurpose a child’s sandbox or wheel rims.

Make a DIY waterer

To cut down on starting costs, put together as much as you can without resorting to pricey accouterments. Instead of buying a waterer, consider making one. You can make a waterer from a glass canning jar and a glass dish, a nifty rail-mounted automatic waterer, or a mess free waterer from PVC pipe and a bucket that fills outside the fence. Keep in mind that most chicken waterers cannot be used with ducks because duck bills don’t fit into the small spaces chicken beaks can. For ducks, you can modify a five-gallon poultry waterer or set up a reservoir with a float valve to help keep the water clean.

Create a DIY chicken feeder

Instead of buying a feeder, build a feeder out of PVC pipingwood, or a 5-gallon pail. Remember, ducks need a wider opening to reach their food.

Feed on the cheap

There are all sorts of ways to feed your chickens and ducks frugally. Consider allowing them to scratch in the compost pile and keep a vermicomposter in order to add more high-protein worms to their diets. You can also sprout grains, which will turn one pound of barley seeds into 4.3 pounds of fodder in one week. Fresh Eggs Daily offers all sorts of ideas for a more varied poultry diet, plus a list of safe and unsafe foods. Ducks use their beaks as shovels to get at weeds and insects, but they don’t scratch at the ground as chickens do. That means they do less damage to grass and gardens. Ducks eagerly feast on slugs, snails, and other pests while leaving most garden plants alone (except for lettuces and berries), although their large feet can flatten plants. You can keep the cost of feed down by making sure your ducks have space to forage. They’ll happily dine on insects and weeds, thereby eating less of the commercially prepared duck layer or breeder feed you provide. To supply both chickens and ducks with extra bugs, whip up a DIY solar bug trap. You can also offer all sorts of kitchen and garden scraps to your ducks, although it’s best to avoid bread, crackers, popcorn, and similar foods. Backyard Chickens offers an extensive list of fruits, vegetables, seeds, and proteins that are good for ducks as well as a list of foods to avoid. While chickens can peck at foods of all sizes, keep in mind that ducks swallow their foods whole, so whatever you share with them should be in small pieces to prevent choking or blocking their digestive tracts.

Conclusion

As we begin to grow more food locally, we are reclaiming the best of old traditions while at the same time incorporating the newest ideas. If you have the time to commit to a backyard coop and flock, consider adding some chickens or ducks for fresh eggs, companionship, and a closer connection to one of your food sources. If this article has you thinking about raising chickens or ducks on your property, you may be interested in one of these outdoor gardeng gates. — http://www.custommade.com/gallery/custom-gates-fences-railings/

Good Grief

Our family vacation was only three weeks away when we got the bad news.  It would change everything.

About a month earlier, we decided that our health routine could probably use some tweaking…a lot of tweaking, actually.  None of us were really feeling our best, so we had full work-ups done at a wellness center in Manhattan.   Dr. Morrison examined us, took blood tests, saliva tests, and thoroughly interviewed each of us.

The tests had come in and we assembled in his office for our results.

He went over mine first: No remarkable food sensitivities or environmental allergies.  I will say (with a bit of bravado) that I look pretty good…on paper anyway.

***If you aren’t listening to the podcast, you’re missing half the fun! CLICK HERE!***

 Then he went over my husband’s and my daughter’s reports.  There it was in black and white: they were both highly sensitive to gluten.

Thus began the mourning period or as I called it “The Five Stages of Gluten-Free Grief.”

 

Let's the grieving begin

Let’s the grieving begin

Denial and Isolation

My husband’s grieving process was textbook.  He kind of shrugged and said, “Well, I guess I just won’t have anymore gluten then.”    Like it would be that simple.  He had no idea where gluten was hiding.  It was in his soy sauce, his favorite chips, in pizza, in beer!   He ignored the fact that he was surrounded by gluten and could be ambushed at any moment.  Talk about denial!

Our daughter was somewhat more animated about the situation, to the surprise of no one. (New Flash: teenagers aren’t famous for suppressing their feelings).  “Are you kidding me?! What am I suppose to eat now?  Water and lettuce?  No more bagels?  No more soup dumplings?  Like I’m really never gonna have another PopTart for the rest of my life?!”

I gave Dr. Morrison a look that suggested my daughter was hallucinating, then turned to her and said, “Oh goodness.  You know I don’t let you children eat PopTarts.”  Was I in denial myself? Or was I just flat-out lying?  I’ll never tell.

She grumbled and complained on our way back to the house.  When we got there, she grabbed an entire box of PopTarts, and stormed up to her room, slamming the door.

Isolation?  Check.

In fact my daughter is so efficient, she managed to sweep through Denial and Isolation in under an hour; sailing straight into Stage 2: Anger.  The problem was, she got there quickly, but stayed a bit longer than the rest of us were really loving.  That is, until she decided to stretch her negotiating muscles.   Which brings us to…

Stage 3: Bargaining

Since our family vacation was to take place in London, our daughter was already looking for leverage, “If I don’t eat any gluten between now and London, can I have afternoon tea when we’re there?”

If you’re unfamiliar with a proper English afternoon tea, it is a late day meal between 4 and 6 o’clock, consisting of tea with scones, tartlets, pastries, cookies, gluten, gluten and gluten.

So I did some bargaining of my own, “If I find a place that serves a gluten-free afternoon tea, would you settle for that?”

“OK, but if it’s awful, can I get a real afternoon tea?”

She drove a hard bargain, but it seemed fair.  After all, she might never get back to London, afternoon tea was something she had really been looking forward to, and was it really worth ruining the vacation over one meal?   “It’s a deal!” I said.  We shook on it.

We were staying at the Langham London, known for superior service, which I was about to test.  I called and arranged for gluten-free bread at every meal and a special gluten-free afternoon tea.  Their Executive Pastry Chef, the incredibly talented Cherish Finden, prepared an amazing array of delights that would have made your eyes pop out of their sockets.  It was as glorious to look at as it was to taste.  My daughter loved it.

Gluten-free heaven!

Gluten-free heaven!

If you’re thinking we were lucky enough to skip over Stage 4: Depression, think again.  There was no way we would get off that easily.  But the depression did not come from our daughter.  It came from our son, and who could blame him?  Here he was, a foodie with a cast iron stomach, and he had to listen to countless conversations about gluten on his last vacation before going off to college.

I should probably mention at this point that he and I would be gluten-free in front of daddy and daughter, but we guilt-ridden gluten-tolerators were sneaking pizza and sandwiches when nobody was looking.  There is no Gluten-Free Grief stage for that, but if there were, it would probably be called, “The Closet Eating” stage or the “You Ought To Be Ashamed Of Yourselves” stage.

Anyway, we were dining along the Thames at a place called Founders Arms.  There, on the menu, was a burger called the “Tower 42.” If you are a burger lover, which I am not, you would probably walk through fire to get one.  It’s described on the menu as a “double prime beef burger, cheese, bacon, young’s ale onions, lettuce, mayo, ketchup, gherkins, fries.”

Daughter wanted it.

“Sure,” I said, “You can have it without the bun.”

5, 4, 3, 2, 1…

It's not your friend, girl.

It’s not your friend, girl.

The ensuing argument took place in hushed tones (we were, after all, in a restaurant), but the venom was no less potent.  After about 10 minutes of hissing, begging, pleading and general carrying on, my son had had enough.

With his phone hidden under the table,  he started texting me:  “For the love of god, LET HER HAVE THE BURGER!  I can’t take anymore.  This gluten issue is ruining my vacation and I don’t even believe its a real thing!”

I texted back: “It IS real! It will make her sick and she’ll be miserable all day tomorrow.”

He responded: “I’m miserable now.”

“Get the burger,” I told her.  My husband looked at me as if I’d lost mind. We’d come so far.  Placing my hand on his knee, I slipped him my phone so he could see the texts. “But,” I continued to our daughter, “If you don’t feel good tomorrow, you’re just going to have to deal with it without taking the rest of us down with you.”

“I promise,” she said.

Am I a bad parent?  Well, which child would you have sacrificed?

Stage 5: Acceptance

The next morning, she was like a bear, poked in her den well before spring; grizzly, grumpy and short-tempered. Prior to devouring the impressive Tower 42, she’d been a total delight; laughing, fun, adventurous, sweet…we had been having a wonderful time. Now, the evidence was staring us straight in the eye.  There was no more denying it.  Gluten was not her friend.  I pointed out that, prior to that burger, she’d been a totally adorable lambkins on the trip.  That’s when the lightbulb went on for her, and for my son, and for me.

Acceptance.

That was about three years ago.  Since that time, both she and my husband have mostly been gluten-free superstars.  But on those occasions when they fall off the wagon, my son and I make a run for it…to the nearest pizzeria.

Matzo Ball Soup

(Don’t miss out on additional content. Listen to Matzo Ball Soup on SNORK, the podcast! Click Here!http://hwcdn.libsyn.com/p/d/e/a/dea34392b8dc86b6/Snork_Episode02.mp3?c_id=8785619&expiration=1429239792&hwt=2d30163003d047fd2e16267ba1170c58)

In the Spring of 1990, Easter and Passover landed on the same weekend. It just so happened, that was also the weekend I chose to bring my boyfriend home to meet my family. Since we are Catholic and he is Jewish, I thought why don’t I surprise him and make matzo ball soup with Easter dinner?!

I had never made it before and, truth be told, I’d never eaten it before either. But, I figured, it’s soup. How hard could it be?

Since I wanted to make a good impression, I called his mother and asked for her recipe.

“Manischewitz,” she said.

“Is that a cookbook?” I asked her

“No, no,” she said. “It’s a brand. It comes in a box. From the supermarket.”

“Oh,” I said. “But I kind of wanted to make your recipe. The one he grew up with.”

“Manischewitz,” she repeated. “Just throw some fresh chopped parsley in there. It makes it look more homemade.”

So, I went to the store to find the mix. The package claimed that one box made nine servings: a cup of broth and one matzo ball each.

This was perfect because 18 people were coming for dinner. I bought two boxes. Following the directions, I prepared the matzo meal, but when I rolled out the balls, they were as small as walnuts – miniscule.

I would be embarrassed to offer such a puny portion to my boyfriend. So, I went back to the store and bought two more boxes, then combined all the matzo meal and doubled the size of the balls. They still looked small to me, but it was actually better that way. I wouldn’t want everyone to fill up on soup, since my mother was cooking a huge ham. As you may have guessed, I hadn’t fully thought things through, menu-wise.

Once the balls were done, I carefully dropped them into the prepared broth. As per the package instructed, I covered it tightly.

While waiting for the soup to cook, I chopped the fresh parsley.

All this was going on at the same time that my family was getting to know my boyfriend. And by “getting to know” I mean “interrogating.”

After the soup was allowed to cook for the prescribed 20 minutes, I removed the lid.

It was like a David Copperfield trick. All of the broth, ever last drop, had disappeared. And each matzo ball had magically transformed into blobs the size of a grapefruit! But it was too late to start over. My mother had called everyone in to dinner and they were already seated. So I had to serve it.

Sinker!

To make matters worse, my mothers fancy china came with dainty little soup bowls. I could barely fit one ball in each.

My sister came into the kitchen to help me serve. She looked at one of the bowls, looked in the pot and asked, “What the hell are these?”

“Knock it off” I snapped. “They’re matzo balls, of course. What do they look like?”

“Grapefruits,” she replied.

“Never mind, just bring them out,” I said, as I hit each bowl with a few sprinkles of parsley. Oh, yeah. That parsley made all the difference. They looked homemade all right. Homemade by a shiksa who can’t follow directions from a box of soup mix.

My boyfriend looked at his bowl and I knew that he knew that I knew I’d screwed up. And then he said, “Sinkers! My favorite! These are just the way my mother made them.”

Now what do you do with a guy who’d tell such a sweet lie. You marry him of course. And that’s just what I did.

Give Them Love

For many, the holidays are a time of rejoicing, of abundance, and of feasting. But it can be the most difficult time of the year for many others. This SNORK is a public service announcement, dedicated to shining a light on a group of people who are often mocked, marginalized, and misunderstood. I am, of course, referring to vegans.

Oh, I can just hear you: “Who me? Why, some of my best friends are vegans!”

Please don’t try to defend yourself. I’ve seen it first-hand; the way people roll their eyes when someone announces their veganism. I’ve heard, “Well, I’d invite so-and-so to the dinner party, but have you ever tried cooking for a vegan? It’s a pain in the ass!”

I can tell you what it’s like from both perspectives because I, too, was once one of them.

It all happened very suddenly. I was working out at the gym one day, when my trainer handed me a copy Skinny Bitch. His message, while as subtle as a blood-curdling scream, was not lost on me. By the time I finished reading it, I was so repulsed by the thought of food, any food, that I ate nothing but organic strawberries for the next three days. I won’t go into details here, but if you’ve read it, you know what I mean.

So, just like that, without forethought, I made a drastic and life-changing decision. This was not a bright idea, by the way. It’s probably better to put a little planning into something that dramatic, but no – not me! I jumped right in. Hindsight might suggest that I was actually pushed into it by an over-enthusiastic 19-year-old trainer with less than 4% body fat, but I bear no ill will against him (and may he blow up like a balloon when he hits the age of 40). Anyway…

The first step toward my new lifestyle was to drive to Whole Foods and purchase about a trillion dollars worth of groceries marked “vegan.” Whole Foods makes it all so easy by clearly tagging vegan-friendly products. No pesky label reading for this girl. Thank you Whole Foods.

The next step was to eat the food identified as “vegan.” This was a little trickier than purchasing it. For example, there is a phenomenon known as “vegan cheese.” Now, if you have had a lifelong love affair with all things dairy, this rubbery impostor will make you cry real tears. I searched the web for the most recommended brands, bought them all, tested them in a variety of recipes and decided I’d rather go without than try to fool myself into believing this crap was cheese (or even food, for that matter).

After a few weeks, two things became obvious:

  1. The vegan foods from the supermarket are so highly processed, you may as well eat a Big Mac (no offense Mickey D), and
  2. Whenever mealtime rolled around, I wanted to curl into the fetal position. You see, preparing food was becoming a much bigger chore since my carnivorous days…so much so, in fact, that I hated eating.

Now this should alarm you. Here I was, a healthy American-Italian-Armenian (translation: unabashed food lover) and I did not want to eat. My meals became repetitive and uninspired. Breakfast: oatmeal with berries and almond milk. Lunch: peanut butter on apples or bananas. Dinner: sautéed vegetables with rice and beans, and a salad. Zzzzzzz…

I should mention that during this time, I did not force my family to get on board. Hubby and the kids were still enjoying omnivore cuisine. I would cook for them without ever feeling the least bit resentful as I listened to sunny-side-up eggs popping and squeaking in the frying pan. I did not once growl or grimace as I coated precious, tender lamb chops with my own concoction of mint, garlic, onions and lemon and then smelled their heavenly aroma as they sizzled upon the grill. Oh, no! I was more than happy to do it, while my rice was boiling on the stove.

You had me at ‘mallow.

I should also mention that maybe, just maybe, I wasn’t so much fun to be around during my vegan adventure. As a result, my kids went from being normal teenagers to becoming food pushers: “Hey mom, you gotta try this provolone!” Or, “Tonight would be a great night for s’mores! Whaddya say?” They were desperate because I was becoming a real drag, a chronic cranky pants, to be exact. But I remained steadfast (against my own instincts). Oh, and are you surprised that vegans can’t have s’mores? Well, chocolate has milk in it and marshmallows (my kryptonite) are made with gelatin, which comes from pigs. So cross those off the list, along with every other delicious thing you can possibly think of.

Something else that I longed for was dining out. So hubby took me to a local Mexican restaurant and assured me there must be something on the menu that I could eat. Of course, I asked all the pertinent vegan questions to make sure there was not a hint of the verboten in my meal. After I sufficiently interrogated the waiter, I ordered a vegetable burrito (which was not on the menu, so I explained how to make one). When my dinner arrived, it was essentially under-cooked broccoli, with a few carrot slivers, wrapped in a tortilla. I just looked at it, sighed and drank my meat-free water. Misery.

And then, the moment I dreaded the most…we were invited to a Christmas party – a Christmas dinner party. I gave my husband strict instructions not to tell anyone I was a vegan. I did not want to be one of those preachy, demanding people with “dietary issues.” Surely I could navigate the meal by eating side dishes, after nonchalantly asking about their ingredients: “Wow, those Brussels sprouts look super tasty! What’s in them? Oh, bacon? Like real bacon or those soy bacon bits? Oh, real bacon. Ohhh.” Curse you, real bacon! And of course I could always fall back on the salad, and perhaps have some salad and maybe take a little salad. God help me if the hostess got creative by adding cheese to it.

That first party went off without a hitch. No one was the wiser. But the second soiree took a nasty turn. While performing my new skill of undercover food detective, I was able to ascertain which items on the table were OK and which were off-limits. But something must have had a hidden criminal element in it, such as chicken broth or perhaps butter. How do I know? Because when I got home, I was sicker than sick. It was the kind of sick that makes you fear you might die, and then fear that you might not. I had passed up the gorgeous beef Wellington, skipped the creamy mashed potatoes, and ignored the luscious cheesecake only to be taken down by the wild rice or some frigging yams! Unbeknownst to me, when you give up animal product for any length of time and then eat it again, your body holds a clearance sale: Everything Must Go!

Yet I still wasn’t willing to give up. Why? Truth be told, I never felt physically better in my life (with the exception of the aforementioned “incident”). Gone was the arthritis pain in my knee. No more belly bloat. No more general malaise. Psychologically, however, I was feeling pretty damn sorry for myself. But, life is full of trade-offs. Right? Certainly I would get used to this new way of eating. Right? People, I do not have what it takes to make a successful martyr. Sorry. No can do.

But here’s what finally tipped the scales and put me back on the meat wagon…my old pal, Whole Foods.

Each November, Whole Foods publishes a holiday menu full of catering fare. I always have at least 30 people for holiday dinners and, handy though I may be in the kitchen, I am not equipped to run a banquet hall. So I’ve always turned to Whole Foods for an assist. Basically I order the same things every year: one shrimp cocktail platter that serves 12 (if you show up late, you’re out of luck, my friend), an assorted crudité platter that serves 24, one Brie en croute that serves up to 10, and a double order of their turkey dinner for 8 (which consists of two turkeys and various sides). While flipping through the menu in search of additional dishes to round out the meal, I saw it. There it was, on page 10…the saddest thing you can imagine, especially during the holidays. Among the sumptuous offerings of “Rib Roast Dinner for 8” and “Roasted Pork Loin for 4” was “Vegan Dinner…for 1.”

One is the loneliest number.

One is the loneliest number.

In that moment, it all came into focus. I was alone. I was dinner for one. And, bloat be damned, I was hungry for cheese. Glorious, glorious cheese! And marshmallows. Real marshmallows made from Porky Pig! And wild salmon! And beef! I broke down is a puddle of my own wanton desire. It was not pretty, but it was bound to happen.

Therefore, when I say to you, “vegans need love,” I know what I’m talking about. So, the next time you meet one, or have to cook for one, or have to eat with one, keep an open mind. Do not judge. Do not mock. Instead, open your arms and give that skinny bitch a hug.