A note before the silly...

Later today I'll probably post something silly - because that's what sometimes needed, right? - but I wanted to relay this great list of organizations the NYT collated and donation information for the Haiti relief effort. I donated to the American Red Cross, which was super easy for any Amazon customers, as you can just enter your Amazon password and skip entering any credit card information. You can also text HAITI to 90999 and an automatic $10 donation will be added to your cellular bill through the American Red Cross, but there are a number of other organizations that are following suit. Maybe all this technology isn't so bad, afterall?

http://thelede.blogs.nytimes.com/2010/01/13/haiti-disaster-relief-how-to-contribute/

This Ginger will always be in my heart...

I've never understood Jay Leno's appeal. He's banal, his humor isn't funny, and he makes quite a number of jokes at the expense of the gay community (and I thought "gay" jokes stopped being funny after 5th grade). I remember always watching Letterman and then Conan. Recently, we've been watching a lot of Craig Ferguson, who I really think is the unsung hero of late night. I'm hoping Conan moves to FOX, so he can bring his old, slightly edgier and more intelligent schtick back and no longer has to cater to middle America.

With that said, I'M WITH COCO.

Interstitial Cystitis: And trying to pronounce it is the easiest thing about it...

Today I ran across blogs that dealt with the author having or discussing interstitial cystitis along with Crohn’s and it gave me pause. I have never written about IC, but I was diagnosed during my last semester of college in the spring of 2004. IC is a chronic, painful bladder condition characterized by symptoms that are remarkably similar to a UTI, sans the bacteria. Doctors do not know what triggers IC, but many patients have microscopic tears in their bladder (petechial hemorrhages) that may have been caused by constant irritation. I spent the fall semester of my senior year bouncing between urologists in Manhattan, who said there was just no bacteria in my urine culture, and they didn’t know why I had the constant, chronic need to urinate every single second of every day. I went to my father’s urologist (who has a daughter my age whom I was friendly with in high school…talk about awkward exam room talk) and I had an outpatient procedure where I was put under and they “checked on things” but found nothing. Thinking of nothing else to do, I went to the ER, in incredible pain (and although theatrical about other things, I like to think I’m a pretty tough chick) but there was nothing they could do or prescribe because my urine culture was clean. I also remember crying on the phone to my boyfriend at the time, and asking him to just stay on the phone until I drifted off to sleep to keep my mind off the pain and pressure in my bladder. I turned down any social activities that involved sitting with limited restroom breaks (think the movies), and counted 14 visits to the restroom one day at my internship (and this is with me desperately “holding it”). Very much like a UTI, when I visited the restroom I only urinated a few drops, and left no relief.

Finally a urologist mentioned interstitial cystitis, and at the same time my mom read about a doctor who specialized in it who was moving to a practice in my hometown. She was giving a free lecture on IC and other bladder conditions at our local hospital and I remember coming home for the chat, and my boyfriend and I being the only people in the room under 50. (But they also provided tasty sandwiches so I was pleased about that…some things never change.) I visited her office with my mom and shortly thereafter began bladder installations, which is when—in an office setting—a cocktail of medications are pumped to your bladder via catheter and left there for about 15-30 minutes, and then the medication is either drained her expelled through urination. The medications are meant to fuse to your bladder lining, to soothe those tears, causing inflammation to decrease, and thus alleviating painful symptoms. I had two infusions per week for several weeks to rev up, and then one infusion per week and my symptoms started settling down. I had already known that a sip of coffee threw me into an IC flare-up tailspin, but I also cut out anything remotely acidic at this time (maybe not so remarkably, the very same things I continue to limit due to Crohn’s: citrus, spicy foods, coffee and tea, soda, and so on).

It was at this time that I met Matt (I called him to finalize arrangements for our first date during some lag time at a doctor’s office) so he’s never known me as not suffering from some sort of very non-sexy condition. And, if you can believe it, I was very reticent to tell him about it! When I did dish, saying things like, “Well, this is sort of gross” he replied – and I still remember this – as we were walking into a grocery store to purchase some of those OTC urinary analgesic pills to soothe my symptoms, “Kathryn, if that’s the worst thing wrong with you, then I think I’m pretty lucky.” I still tear up thinking about that, but now I can laugh (a bit) sadistically, as I also saddled him with Crohn’s a year and a half after that.

An IC flare is awful and all-consuming. For women, think of a painful UTI that never goes away. For men, imagine having a full bladder but finding no relief, and general pain and pressure in your pelvic region, and stinging during urination. But, such is life, so I made the best of it. Matt got to calling my bladder “Bladimir” and would carefully monitor my alcohol, tea (I didn’t touch coffee in those days), and caffeine consumption. My flares became few and far between, and today I can eat many of those foods and usually only have symptoms a few days a month.

I didn’t mention my IC previously because, frankly, it’s the least of my worries (and fingers crossed, it continues to be mild), and hell, I complain about enough stuff. I didn’t want to be the sick girl, or the girl who has endless health woes, or the girl who makes Matt’s parents question what the heck he got himself into. But scientists don’t know what causes IC, and there is speculation it is an auto-immune disorder, or accompanies other auto-immune disorders (uh ah!), so I think it deserves discussion. (Or at least a sorry little blog post.)

Those averse to bathroom talk, please beware

Recently, before the holidays, my work employed a quaint little exercise in lieu of gift-giving. Everyone in our department had an envelope on our desks, and we were each given blank index cards which equaled the number of co-workers I have. We were to – anonymously or not – write what we enjoy about that person and any holiday wishes, and slip it into their envelope. Definitely a bit hokey, but well-meaning, and I was the first to write out my cards and slipped them in their assigned envelopes. I did mine anonymously and most of mine were short, sweet, and to the point, even goofy at times with things like “You simply have the greatest head of hair ever!!” or “You’re a wise guy, and that’s definitely appreciated (well, mostly)” and “You’re absolutely terrific, but I don’t know about that dog of yours!” for a co-worker who regales us with tails (typo on purpose) of her very neurotic dog.

A few days later my co-workers began filling my envelope and they wrote the most beautiful, prosaic compliments and filled the card (I instantly felt ashamed as I obviously didn’t comprehend the scope of the exercise and was immediately pleased my cards were anonymous, which was short-lived, though, as everyone else signed their name making the anonymous perp very, very obvious). One of the things that almost every single person wrote (out of about 15 or so) was they enjoyed how I “say it like it is” and was so “genuine and candid” and they enjoyed my sense of humor. It was all very sweet: and a narcissist's dream (which I hope I am not, but I still reread them all at least five times), but I wanted to open this post with this story because I was hedging on whether or not to write about my next topic. Then I remembered I had already written about workplace bathroom etiquette, the very personal longing to have a family, and now, how my colleagues have encouraged my candidness, so I’m going to dig right in and discuss. By “it” I mean FLATULENCE. Oh, and farting. And all of that horrific bloating and distension that accompanies Crohn’s. (Do you see why I was a tad hesitant at first?)

I bring up the bloat because I was terribly gassy the other day. The type of gasiness I had to tell everyone about (because, obviously, everyone likes to share how gassy they are). First I emailed Matt and said I was “going to die in a horrible explosion” due to my gas. He gets this a lot and wrote back “Poor K.” That was it! Because I didn’t get the pity I was in search of, I thought about telling my co-workers but (rightly) hesitated: I have already been accused of TMI (“too much information”) because, well, I tell it like it is and a few months back started a diatribe against women who get Brazilian bikini waxes and the men who like them. (Look, you have hair there for a reason…it’s called chafing!). Now I just embarrassed my own parents, but I will stand strong!

Dealing with gas at the workplace is a nuisance. How do you safely, discreetly, “discharge” of the this gas? Just as importantly, how does one discreetly unzip their skirt so a big, fat stomach can breathe? Don’t kid yourself: these are major issues that demand answers.

About five years ago, relatively early in our relationship while living together like the sinners we are, Matt devised a procedure for eliminating gas that we simply call – to this day – “The Procedure.” When I complain of the bloat, he simply says, “Do you want to do The Procedure?” This is where this post gets tricky and you may never look at me again the same, or revisit the site. (But you’ll be missing out on a lot of top-notch knowledge like The Procedure.) This is important stuff, and The Procedure is nothing to joke about. Also, I swear that I didn’t come up with this…it’s allll Matt.

This is what you do: the person who is having the gas attack lays on their back on the floor, legs up in a V shape. Their partner (and really, no one other than your partner should be told to go through this…like the vows said….”for better or for worse”) grabs both ankles and pushes the gas-o’s legs back, toward their head. This creates the perfect positioning for eliminating excess air. The person standing can also rock the person’s legs back and forth, building up gassy tension. Like I said; this was all Matt’s idea.

Now don’t look at me and say “eww”. I do this in the privacy of my own home – never right before we have visitors…come on, I have some manners!—and everyone has excess gas occasionally. For us with Crohn’s, it can be frequent as our intestines are inflamed and narrowed. Really: since my diagnosis, my frequent farting quotient has sky-rocketed. I know it’s not “womanly” and “becoming”, but neither are any of the other elimination methods the body employs. Sometimes you just have to help your poor torso along.

I have a friend—who lives in a small space with his significant other—who has never smelled his partner’s eliminations. While I respect some mystery in the bathroom, this baffles me. I am also sort of in awe. You see, not only does Matt do the procedure with me, but either one of us will use the bathroom while the other is in the shower. Or, when Matt has to use the bathroom, he’ll very debonairly say, “I have to poop!” and skip off (or shuffle, but it’s usually said with a certain glee and a bounce in his step…he’s an odd one). Afterwards, he’ll often regale me with tales of his “best poops”; the ones that nary required toilet paper (I suppose, this is very much like a dog, but this has never happened to me).

I don’t write this to embarrass myself, or embarrass Matt (maybe a little bit of the latter), but to continue my quest to just “say it like it is”. We all – Crohn’s or not—get gassy once in a while, and while the human body is a beautiful machine, it does have its eyebrow-raising moments.

I want to dedicate this post to Matt – my partner in crime – and, last but certainly not least, Gas X. Thank you for all you do.

Hippie Bread

Soup by Trader Joe's, bread by ME! (Okay, US, fine.)

I love bread: when I’m having a flare I come downstairs in my sweats and toast a few slices and return upstairs to a bad sitcom and a belly-friendly snack. When I’m feeling well I dip in all kids of fabulous fats: olive oil with oregano, thyme and rosemary or butter, or spread peanut butter (not the fake, sugary stuff - yuck) for a protein fix. But, I am very fearful of bread baking. It’s too finicky. It takes too long. It requires careful measuring. But between the holidays I had nothing but time and a willing husband to help me conquer this uncharted culinary behemoth: the yeast bread. I dug out an old vegetarian cookbook of my mother’s: a total hippie relic that – no joke – talked about smoking “grass” as a sort of after-dinner aperitif. Oh, and it mentioned some snacks if you get the munchies. I nearly wet my pants because I’m not sure if my mother even held a joint in her life. I’ve since learned The Vegetarian Epicure by Anna Thomas kicked-off the veggie movement and is the vegetarian's first tome of all things delicious. Oh.

Anna (we’re on a first-name basis now) has a recipe for onion and herb bread that my mom notated was very good, so I told Matt to get to work. He made the bread that night and while it was absolutely delicious, it didn’t rise enough and was unusually dense. No worries, he said: he was just going to tweak something and we’d be off and running tomorrow. “Tomorrow” happened to be Sunday and like a good little yuppie (or should I say hippie in this case?) couple we decided to make an afternoon out of bread-baking (in between the Eagles game, of course). And who ever said romance was dead?

This time we used bread flour and instead of simply adding the yeast to warm water and then adding a bit of sugar later, we added the sugar immediately so the yeast could feed. It was like our own mini science experiment, except instead of two scientists we were two doofuses amazed at the bubbling yeasty liquid. The bread calls for onion, rosemary and dill and the results are FABULOUS. Really; it’s some damn fine bread. And it’s super quick, so, yes, you’ll have time to watch your Sunday afternoon football game (unfortunately….).

Hippie Bread with Onions and Herbs
(Not that kind of “herb”)

Makes 2 loaves:

• 1 cup milk
• 3 Tbs. sugar
• 2 tsps. salt
• 2 Tbs. butter
• 2 packages yeast (or, 1 Tb.)
• 1 cup warm water
• 4 1/2 cups flour
• 1 onion, minced
• 1 tsp. dried dill
• 3 tsps. crushed, dried rosemary
  

Heat milk to almost a boil and add salt and butter. Then cool. In a large bowl, dissolve the yeast and sugar in warm water and wait until yeast bubbles. Then add the cooled milk, herbs, and onion and stir. Add flour and mix well with a large, wooden spoon (or like us lazy fools, in the KitchenAid!).

When the batter is smooth, cover the bowl with a towel and place in the oven with the oven light on. Let the dough rise until triple in bulk--about 45 minutes. Stir down and beat vigorously for a few minutes (or knead with the dough hook in the mixer), then turn into a greased bread pan. Let stand an additional 15 minutes and then put into a preheated 350 degree oven and bake for an hour.

We luckily had fresh dill on hand. And here Matt is crushing the rosemary.

Yummy in my tummy...and totally Crohn's safe! (Well, except for the onion...oops.)

The quinoa that never quits

I CANNOT STOP THE QUINOA MADNESS! I had made too much quinoa the other day (what can I say, I was intoxicated with all it's loveliness) and decided to, once again, hit my fridge for produce odds and ends. I added a can of chick peas to up the protein quotient, and ate it sprinkled with Parmesan cheese (of course). I think this would be great with a salmon fillet nestled on top (okay, okay, that's what I had the NEXT DAY. Like I said, this quinoa doesn't quit.) Serve hot.

"I just got home and I'm hungry and oh, look, we have more quinoa!" Dish

• 1 cup uncooked quinoa
• 2 cups water (plus dash salt)
• 3 Tbs. olive oil
• 2 Tbs. Italian seasoning
• 1 Tb. dried oregano
• 3 cloves garlic, minced
• 1 container sliced baby portobella mushrooms
• 1 1/2 cups sliced peppers (baby bell or red/orange bell peppers...one of the sweater varieties)
• 1 yellow onion, sliced
• 1 zucchini, thinly sliced
• 1 15-ounce can chick peas, liquid drained
• 1 15-ounce can diced tomatoes, most liquid drained
• 1 box of frozen spinach, microwaved
• salt and pepper, to taste
  

Boil water and add dash salt and quinoa. Turn to low and simmer for about 10-15 minutes until soft. Meanwhile, saute all ingredients in olive oil until soft. Add quinoa and add salt and pepper to taste, and adjust seasonings as necessary. Sprinkle with Parm cheese. Serve as a truly stellar alternative to rice, or even as a main dish.

Freaked about folic?

Out of all the things that could cause alarm, I never thought folic acid would be one of them. Especially when there are ghosts, and aliens, and serial killers running amok. (Have you ever seen the show Sightings??...and almost every night when we climb into bed Matt starts softly – eerily – singing, “Aaaaalllieeens, come into our roooooom.” This is what I have to put up with.)

I've been taking a mighty dose of Pentasa for years and was only semi-recently told it leeches folic acid from your system. I am taking folic acid supplements. Of course, I’m also on prenatal vitamins which have folic acid so I’m sure my oozing the stuff, but the importance of these micronutrients (B9, iodine, and so on) was documented on pregnant women in developing nations in a recent piece for the Times by Nicholas Kristof, who I may or may not have a crush on.

Of course I live a plush life in the U.S., but for those of us who are already dealing with malabsorbtion and vitamin and mineral deficiencies, I didn't realize the severity of having a B9 deficiency. It's especially sobering how easy it is to get these nutrients (and how cheaply), and then realize the many who cannot.

Op-Ed Columnist
World’s Healthiest Food
By NICHOLAS D. KRISTOF
Published: January 3, 2010
There’s scarcely a form of foreign aid more cost-effective than getting micronutrients like folic acid into the food supply.

Keen for quinoa

Ah, vacation is finally over. Although knowing I have to return to the cubicle tomorrow is harrowing, I'm happy to at least have a semblance of a schedule again. This past week has consisted of mainly food, wearing pajamas for the better part of the day, and then more food. It was the ultimate test for my digestive system: Chinese, burritos and pizza out, smears of Brie and cheesy artichoke spread, sun-dried tomatoes drenched in olive oil, and a mountain of desserts (cookies and more cookies, a melt-in-your-mouth pumpkin bread pudding with caramel sauce, chocolate souffles). It was over-indulgence at its worst (or best, dependent on how you look at it). And I feel good. Imagine that.

The downside? I feel I need to go through food detox. Last night I decided to empty out my produce drawer and just eat cleaner and I devised - I am pleased to say - a devilishly good recipe while at it. I'm crazy for couscous, but just recently bought quinoa, which I swear is having it's heyday right about now (when I was just mastering how to pronounce it, my coworkers were having it for dinner). Listen up, Crohnies: quinoa (keen-wa) is packed with protein (12-18%) and easy on the digestive system. And it makes good dinner conversation: it's ancient and has been an important food component in South America's diet for over 6,000 years. The Incans were gaga over this stuff - they thought it was sacred, even - and called it "the mother of all grains". Fill my plate, why don'tcha?!

So instead of bowing down to the alter of Oreos and pancakes, I thought I'd give it a go. Here is a recipe I devised and I swear up and down it's fresh, delicious, and hits the spot if you're pining for a bit of greenery in ye olde diet. It definitely has summer undertones (Matt called it "cool and refreshing"), and a Greek vibe as the dressing I concocted has feta and red wine vinegar. I guess I'm not so sick of cheese, after all. Serves 4.

Kathryn's Keen for Quinoa Salad

Salad:

• 2 cups water
• 1 cup quinoa
• dash salt
• 1 pint grape tomatoes, halved
  
• 1 cucumber, thinly sliced
  
• 3-4 scallions, diced
  
• 3 carrots, peelings (then eat the core or feed it to the dog)
  
• 1/2 to 2/3 cup baby or regular red, yellow, or orange bell peppers, julienned
• 1 red onion, thinly sliced
• 1 cup sliced baby portobella or cremini mushrooms
  
• 2 oz. feta cheese (reserved)
  
• Italian parsley, to garnish

Dressing:

• 1 small onion, thickly sliced
  
• 3/4 cup extra virgin olive oil
• 1/2 cup red wine vinegar
• 1/4 cup packed Italian parsley
  
• 2 tsp. dried thyme
• 2 Tb. dried oregano
  
• 1/4 cup crumbled feta cheese
• 3 tablespoons Dijon mustard
• 4 cloves garlic
• 1 shallot
• 2 oz. feta cheese (Purchase a 4 oz. container and use half for the dressing, and half to end to the salad later.)
• Salt and pepper to taste
  

Boil water in a medium pot and add quinoa and dash of salt. Turn temperature to low and let simmer for 15 minutes, or until all water is absorbed and quinoa is softened. Fluff with fork and put quinoa in a bowl and refrigerate.

While quinoa is cooking, combine vegetables and set aside.

For the dressing: using the pot in which you cooked the quinoa, saute red onion in one Tb. olive oil until softened. Add the onion, and all remaining ingredients except for the olive oil to a food processor or blender. Pulse until thoroughly combined. Slowly add the olive oil and blend until combined. Taste and adjust herbs and salt and pepper.

Add veggies, about 3/4 cup of dressing (more or less according to preference), and remaining feta cheese to the cooled quinoa and mix. Garnish with Italian parsley and serve.

*Note: Dressing recipe makes about a cup and a half of Greek dressing. Refrigerate remainder and use for salads.

I will never tire of photos of fresh vegetables. Never.

It's like super-charged couscous.

Why all the Dijon mustard? Because I like a little bite in my dressing!

I'm definitely going to make this for summer BBQs and picnics. Make it a meal with marinated and grilled shrimp (which I'm planning on doing immediately, let me tell you), or serve as a side dish.

Proof that Matt has "rhino skin"

Update: Matt saw this post and said he is now making the house 52 degrees in retaliation. So I'll just do what any wife should: hide all his coats and sweaters. I'd say that's about fair.

This is me on Sunday morning. In sweats, with a robe on, and in front of the space heater.

And this is Matt. I have a theory that his hair tuffs keep him warm. I asked him why he was sitting there in his boxers. His response: "I am preparing for the next step: to lower the temperature another few degrees!!" He then laughed sadistically. Because of his cockamamie ideas, I am posting this photo in defiance. My hope is that public humiliation may thwart his new dream of a 54-degree house. Sorry Matt; this had to be done.

New Year's Chocolate Souffles

Happy New Year! Last night we had a low-key celebration: my in-laws Nancy and David visited because we didn't see them during the Christmas holiday and I took the opportunity to indulge at the cheese and Mediterranean bar at my local Wegman's. Have you been to Wegman's (those on the East Coast in the States)? My mom works at Wegman's and is a Wegman's evangelist. Wegman's this and Wegman's that: the woman is obsessed! It's an upscale grocery store with prepared foods out the wazoo so I bought some cheese and baguettes and olives and dips and, sigh, it's just all too much. Because I have no consideration for caloric intake, and because a truly indulgent night isn't complete without dessert, I made chocolate souffles.

I was always a bit scared of souffle. It's decidedly a bit froufrou and I am a more "throw things in a pot" type of cook. But, darnit, this was New Year's and it was souffle or bust! And I got some nice new ramekins for Christmas.

And guess what? They were easy and turned out pretty damn well. I made them around 4 pm and served them around 9: you can make the batter beforehand and serve later: just refrigerate. Here is my recipe, only very slightly altered from one found at Epicurious. This makes 4-6 servings, dependent on the size of ramekins you're filling. Chocolate lovers rejoice!

Chocolate Souffle

1 tablespoon unsalted butter, softened
8-10 ounces (about 2 chocolate bars) bittersweet chocolate
1 1/3 cups whole milk
1 tablespoon cornstarch
3 large egg yolks, room temperature, lightly beaten
6 large egg whites, room temperature
1/3 cup sugar; more for souffle ramekins

Heat oven to 400°. Butter and sugar six 6-ounce souffle ramekins. Place on a rimmed baking sheet; set aside.

On the stove, melt the chocolate until smooth. Remove from the heat and keep warm.

In a medium saucepan combine milk and cornstarch. Stir well with a wooden spoon to combine. Bring the mixture to a boil over medium heat, stirring continuously, until thick.

Remove milk mixture from the heat and stir in warm melted chocolate. Let cool slightly. Add lightly beaten egg yolks and stir until well combined.

In a mixing bowl, whip egg whites on medium speed until foamy. Slowly add sugar and increase speed to high. Whip until shiny and stiff peaks form, about 3 minutes.

Using a whisk, lighten the chocolate mixture with about 1/3 of the beaten egg whites. Stir until well-combined. Using a large rubber spatula, fold in remaining egg whites until just incorporated.

Spoon mixture into prepared souffle ramekins; the mixture should come up to the top of the ramekin. Transfer filled souffle ramekins on rimmed baking sheet to oven. Bake until risen, 12 to 15 minutes. Serve.

The New Year's spread. Cheese-tastic!

(Mostly) no chocolate was harmed in the baking of these souffles.

This is a good recipe to fake it. Definitely the end result looks fancy-smancy.

See?