On Eating (and Not Eating)

A few weeks ago I stood in a semi-fast food restaurant and couldn't pick out a single thing on the menu to order.  I ruled out several items from the get-go and then asked the manager to bring out a binder full of nutrition and ingredient facts.  I went over nearly every item on their menu, standing there at the counter for almost ten minutes, realizing that I have never had any idea what was in the food I was eating. 

It was shocking, confusing, disheartening.  I finally settled on an iced tea and a fruit cup.  That would have to be lunch that day.

Then I went out to my car and cried a little.  That day, it was just a little.  But there have been a few days since I started seeing an allergist to get to the root of my stomach issues that I've cried a lot.  I found him through an online doctor-finder program provided by my insurance company.  He had positive reviews, was close to my house, and was accepting new patients.  When I went to see him, I was taken back to a room relatively quickly and the staff were friendly.  I explained my symptoms and concerns to him and emphatically said, "I would do anything to feel better.  I would stop eating anything."

And he very seriously looked at me and said, "Do you mean that?  Because I will be asking you to give things up."

And he did ask.  He asked me to give up a lot--for three straight weeks.  And for three straight weeks, I followed every single guideline he gave me.  I went without.  I felt better.  I also had blood drawn and was tested for all sorts of things.  Nothing came back irregular.  No food allergies.  No diseases (like celiac).  My body is simply intolerant to certain foods. 

I saw him again, just a few days ago.  When I told him how strict I'd been with the diet, he praised me.  "That's wonderful!" he said, "any issues?"

There was one day where I'd eaten something specific and felt ill soon after.  "Ah yes, we'll have you avoid that too.  For one month."

Now I'm going on four weeks of food restrictions.  I've managed to dine out a few times, but I order plain steamed vegetables or a simple salad with no dressing.  Once I even brought my own dressing since I could guarantee it fit my restrictions.  I've packed my lunch to take on trips, and I've found a few fairly convenient restaurants that can accommodate my restrictions, though I think Tim is sick of both of them already.  In another week I will get one food I've been living without back into my diet, and hopefully that will go well because I surely miss it. 

There's also a big holiday coming up--an eating holiday--where I will likely sit around a table watching my family eat foods I love.  I felt guilty last week when I spoke to my mom about my restrictions and requested that some foods be prepared without certain ingredients. I even felt badly for offering alternative ingredient suggestions.  How could I ask someone to go out and buy an unusual item just to accommodate me?  Then I remembered that she loves me.  And that gives me a little courage to speak up.  To at least ask.  My mom was happy to look into some small substitutions, and I also offered to bring a side dish to share.  Something that everyone will enjoy and that will guarantee I have something good to eat.   

Even though I have had a few moments where I am exhausted with reading labels and researching menus and looking up recipes to the point where I would rather just eat nothing than continue researching safe foods, I know that it's worth it.  Eating this way has helped me start to feel better.  And that's all I want. 

I will tell you all the nitty, gritty details of what I can and can't eat someday, but for now I'm still figuring out what restrictions are temporary and what may be more permanent.  You may see me post recipes and talk of dining out from pre- and post-restrictions.  When I get answers, I will let you know.  I can only say for sure that things--internally speaking--are on the up and up.

The Basics: Homemade Chicken Stock

Have you ever watched a cold front blow in?  The back of our house faces west and I can see the dark clouds creeping closer, dragged by chilly winds, from the window over the kitchen sink.  It's an incredible view when the front is bringing with it a thunderstorm; lightening lights up our entire kitchen and west-facing bedrooms.  I equally enjoyed watching today's gray, blustery cold front work its way our direction, pulling leaves off  trees in the back yard with big mighty gusts.  It just feels like fall around here.  I kind of like it.  

I'm sure you're tired of reading about *pumpkin recipes, so I have something else in mind for today's post: chicken stock.  It's the backbone for so many wonderful recipes.  Shouldn't it get some attention, too?

I don't necessarily think that making your own stock is a requirement for great cooking, but there are many reasons why it is important to me.  First, and honestly foremost, is that commercially produced stock is often hard on my stomach.  I'm sure it has to do with the preservatives required to make the stock shelf stable, whether it be in a can, box, or even a powder base.  I just don't feel good after I eat it, and that's reason enough for me to make my own.

There's also flavor to consider.  If you're not convinced that homemade stock tastes better, I suggest a little (un)scientific study.  One of my favorite podcasts, Spilled Milk, hosted their own chicken stock taste test.  You can listen to the podcast straight from their website or by downloading it for free from I-tunes.  Spoiler alert: Molly and Matthew concluded that while there are some decent store-bought options, homemade chicken stock was the winner.

Now, I know there is some confusion about stock vs. broth.  What's the difference?  Are they interchangeable?  How do I know what to make?  The answer to all of these questions is the same--there does not appear to be a single source with an end-all-be-all answer to this question.  The general consensus seems to be:  when in doubt, choose stock over broth.  Stock is generally made from the bones of chicken which gives the liquid a thick, juicy quality that you cannot get from only the chicken flesh.  Also, a well-made stock that is allowed to cool to room temperature may have a slightly gelled quality.  While this may be off-putting at first (it was for me), the gelling means that your stock is packed full of nutrients that are holding the liquid in this form.  It means it's good for you.

And the most fundamental reason for making my own stock is because I believe it's the omnivore's duty to consumer the entire animal.  While this is a much bigger discussion than I'm going to enter in today, I think the best way to thank that animal for feeding you is to purchase poultry that is humanely raised and make excellent, high quality foods with every part of it.  We generally buy whole chickens, and if we buy pieces it is always on the bone, and after we cook the meat I save the bones in a zip lock bag in the freezer, labeled with the contents and the date.  You could make stock with whole, raw chickens, but I have never found that my stock is lacking from not being simmered with meat. 

It may take a little trial and error.  Before you start, you'll want to decide if you to keep it simple or add additional ingredients.  You can go either way--bones+water only or bones+water+vegetables+herbs+seasonings.  I prefer the latter; I've never found that adding more flavor to my stock detracted from using the stock in future dishes.  In fact, it likely saves me from having to adjust the seasoning when I use it in recipes. 

You'll thank me when a cold front blows your direction that you have this stock ready to go.  It makes chicken noodle soup a cinch to throw together and it's a great base for any other soup or sauce you crave to warm you up this fall.  

So here is where I try to tell you a great method for making stock.   I'll do my best, but feel free to consult other sources for great ideas in stock-making as well. 

Making Homemade Chicken Stock

Start with a large pot.  When it comes to choosing a great stock pot, depth is more important than width, so use one that is 16 inches or so deep. 

To the pot, add enough bones (previously cooked or raw/uncooked) to equal as about as many bones as you would have from two 4 lb chickens.  This may be a variety of bones from an entire roasted chicken carcass, the unused backbone from a spatchcocked bird, or leftover cut up chicken pieces (like wings, which are often unused in recipes).  Also add to the pot two unpeeled, halved yellow onions, two or three celery stalks, torn in half to fit in the pot, two or three whole carrots, scrubbed well and either peeled or unpeeled, a whole head of unpeeled garlic sliced in half horizontally, a halved lemon, a small palmful of peppercorns, a few sprigs of fresh thyme, and a small bunch of fresh parsley. 

Fill the pot with enough tap water to cover the ingredients by three or four inches.  Set on the stove over medium-high heat and bring to a boil.  Reduce heat to low and simmer uncovered, only checking every half hour or so to skim off any gray or cloudy foam that may rise to the surface of the water.  Let your stock simmer on low heat until it reduces by 1/3.  This may take 4-6 hours.  Occasionally taste your stock, checking for richness and flavor--you are looking for a distinctly chicken-y flavor--and near the end of cooking I stir in 2 or 3 tablespoons of kosher salt.  You can omit the salt if you'd rather add salt when you use the stock later. 

Remove from heat, let cool for 20 or 30 minutes.  Pour stock through a mesh strainer into a large bowl or pitcher.  Allow to cool down to room temperature.  Stock can be stored in a variety of ways.  Store large quantities of stock (which I prefer) by dividing into pint-size or quart-size freezeable plastic containers or sturdy zip-lock bags.  Freeze.  Or pour stock into ice cube trays for smaller portions.  When frozen solid, put all stock-cubes into quart-size ziplock bags. 

Always label your stock and include the date.  Get into the habit of using the oldest stock first.  It is not true that once frozen, food is good forever.  While it breaks down much more slowly than if it were just in the refrigerator or at room temperature, even frozen food will start to lose its flavor and nutrients if left uneaten too long. 

*Don't forget--Battle Winter Squash will be hosted here on October 31!  Please join us!

A Complicated Relationship with Food

It's been harder for me to write this summer than ever before.  Part of it is, admittedly, setting aside time to write.  We had Melissa staying with us for a wonderfully over-scheduled seven days while she attended a day camp, and then a few days later we drove to Chicago to visit my dearest friend Abbie and her boyfriend Nick.  I've enjoyed the fast-pace of life this summer, but it takes up a lot of mind space.

Writing has been on my mind, though, and I mentioned to Tim recently that it just feels weird writing at the kitchen table or sitting on the couch.  It's too quiet or too noisy;  the chair is too stiff or too squishy.  I'm tired or preoccupied or...or...or...Excuses?  Maybe.  I think that's a small part of it.   

As I'm in the second year of writing this blog, the bigger issue is saying what I want to say about food and life.  This blog was never just about eating, gardening, or cooking; it's about me (and my loved ones) eating, gardening, cooking, and especially living.  Have I let you in to see that? Or, more specifically, have I let you in enough?  Therein lies this writer's dilemna.  

Even though I wasn't there, I learned something from the talk given by Shauna Ahern at the Big Summer Potluck.  As a featured speaker, she said something that resonated so much with the attendees that nearly all of the recaps I've read have repeated it:  Expose your messy life.

Last summer I was at a social event with some acquaintances from college and one person asked me about my food blog.  How did I get the idea for it? (Wanted a place to share thoughts.) Do I have a lot of readers? (Sometimes.)  What have I made recently? (Pickles!)  At that she exchanged a glance with another acquaintance, and very seriously asked me, "Is that really fun for you?"

I was a bit taken aback.  It took me a minute to gather my thoughts before I answered, very honestly, "Yes."  And that was the end of our conversation.  In fact, I avoided her the rest of the night.  I know that most people don't get it--why I get a little thrill cooking something new and challenging, even when it fails in the most sensational way (exploding jars, deflated cakes, burned roasts).  And for many the internet is still a strange and scary place with overwhelming masses of information, but I like it out here in the world wide web.  It's comforting to reach through my high speed connection to find someone who gets it, even a small part of it.  Whatever it is. 

But she also doesn't know that my interest in food isn't simply a weekend hobby.  And this is something very few people know about me--food and I alternate between best friends and sworn enemies.  One day I will eat and feel fantastic, energized, inspired, and the next day food will force me into the fetal position with the heating pad on my stomach and a cold washcloth on my forehead.

It's a complicated relationship; something I've been dealing with for the past twelve years, quietly, shamefully.  It's not a pleasant conversation to have with someone, which is why so few know the extent of it, and I'm extremely fortunate to have a husband who never complains about caring for me.  But being my occasional care-taker is not the marriage he asked for, and it's not the role I want to impose on him, even if it's somewhat out of my control.

I am seeing a specialist to try to rule in or rule out some different things.  I've already had some early testing done and we are starting to work our way through it, albeit slowly.  It's likely that I will be doing specific food elimination trials to find out if that helps me to feel well more consistently.  And it's also possible that it's not going to be that simple.  The fact that it could be difficult to pinpoint the cause--it's something I try not to think about. 

That's where I'm at right now.  Still kind of figuring things out, thankful that other bloggers have come forward with their own confusing relationships with food, and more appreciative than ever for the days, like today, when I feel well.  I sat on the patio after dinner tonight and listened to the cicadas sing love songs to one another.  It's one of my favorite sounds of summer. 

I had expected a bit of anxiety when I neared the end of writing this all out, but truthfully I feel calm.  This is my story, maybe not quite the beginning of it, but definitely nowhere close to the end.  It feels like as good a place as any to start telling you, and it came more easily to me than anything else I've written this summer.  I will continue to share what I learn about my relationship with food, and I hope to learn more about yours, simple and complicated, too.