Recipe for a Healthy Carb-Craving

Posted on October 17, 2013

A carb-craving doesn’t always hit me out of the blue. Sometimes, I can make like a meteorologist and predict them in advance.  It probably has something to do with the fact that I eat very little of them – refined carbs, that is.  Even the clean, gluten-free varieties such as corn, potatoes, rice, etc. I’ve given to limiting.  I’m nearing both the end of my weight-release phase and the age of 50, and it’s just the reality of the situation:  If I want to keep the weight off, I can’t really load up on them…unless I train for another marathon…which I will be doing within the next year (or two).

Not eating carbs in abundance means sometimes I go a few days without them.  With regularity, I lavish myself with protein and vegetables, as well as healthy fats, but there comes a point when my body kind of nudges me and says something like  “Hey, remember carbs? Look into it!”

One of my all-time creamy comfort foods of the clean variety remains and always will be hot cereal.  It puzzles me when people say it’s dull.  You’ve got to follow a few basic rules, like sweetening it just enough, splashing a little vanilla into the mix, and adding a little cinnamon or pumpkin pie spice now and then. The version I made this morning has no spices added, but feel free to go for it. I always kick it up a notch nutritionally by adding healthy fat (coconut or flax oil), some extra fiber (ground chia seeds or ground flax seeds), and a superfood or two (maca powder, walnuts, shredded unsweetened coconut).

A bowl of this amazing cereal not only warms my body and soul, it keeps me in high gear for hours – minus the sugar crash, inflammation, and weight gain.  Is that a deal or what?

 

Hot Cereal

 

1/3 cup of uncooked hot cereal (gluten-free steel cut oats, oatmeal, oat bran, brown rice cream, etc.)

1 1/2 cups unsweetened almond or coconut milk

2 TBS. ground flax seed

2 TBS. shredded unsweetened coconut

1 tsp. vanilla

pinch of salt

1 TBS. coconut or flax oil

1 tsp. Maca

1 oz. walnuts or slivered almonds (optional)

6 drops of Stevia or a tablespoon of agave or honey

 

Combine first six ingredients in a medium sized saucepan and cook over medium-low heat, stirring occasionally. When cereal starts to bubble, stir or whisk constantly until it thickens.  If it bubbles beyond a simmer, lower the heat.  When cereal mixture becomes thicker, but not solid, turn off the heat and add the oil, Maca, nuts, and Stevia, and mix thoroughly.  Cover and let cereal sit for five minutes. Serve immediately.

 

You'll need a few clean and basic ingredients

You’ll need a few clean and basic ingredients

 

Creamy Comfort

Creamy Comfort

 

 

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Celebrating A Sugarless Birthday – By Choice

Posted on October 11, 2013

The thought of last year’s birthday cake still causes me to swoon: A classically gorgeous double-layer chocolate cake with a generous shield of buttercream frosting, made even more alluring with pink and yellow borders. Crafted with care by my favorite local gluten-free bakery, their cakes are so good I actually fantasized about it months prior to my Oct. 11 birthday.

 

A work of art, but better to be gazed upon than ingested

A work of art, but better to be gazed upon than ingested

This year, however, I’m celebrating with a calorically pared down, cleaner version of the classic American birthday cake. Nope, it doesn’t make me swoon, but people, I have goals! It’s not just that I want to look better…it’s very much about feeling better. Sugar, as it turns out, was doing more than just messing with my mood.  My nutritionist, Nancy Guberti, revealed that a diet rich in refined sugar had yielded an an overgrowth of candida and yeast on my stomach lining so thick, it all but prevented the stomach wall from filtering nutrients into my system.   Sugar was also contributing to things like bloating, inflammation, and a few extra pounds that had hopped aboard when I was trying not to notice.

In my quest for better health, my mentors Dallas Page and Terri Lange strongly advised I give up gluten and cow-dairy approximately five years ago. I complied with that request and their instructions to do DDPYOGA on a regular basis.  The result was 185 pounds dropping off my body.  I don’t mean to imply it wasn’t work.  It was. But this formula clicked in a way others had not.  There was effort involved for sure, but not struggle.  The longer I ate this way, the more energetic and freer I felt.  And since I adore cooking, I dove head-first into the pool of gluten-free baking, experimenting with all manner of gluten-free pies, cakes, peanut butter cookie sandwiches, cobblers, and bread puddings.

Gluten-free sweets became a source of immense pleasure, heightened by the knowledge I wasn’t doing my body the harm normally done when eating wheat-based flours. I ate sweets on a regular basis, but in moderation, and continued to drop weight along the way.  Even when it got to the point when I unofficially declared gluten-free cupcakes a member of the food pyramid and decided they were every bit as important to include in my day as fresh spinach.

The combination of advancing age, slowing metabolism, a shoulder injury that curbed my workouts, and a predilection for sugar proved to be the perfect storm for weight gain and tighter jeans. I wasn’t downing the estimated 156 lbs. per year of sugar that some Americans do, but the ill-effects were undeniable. Suddenly, 10 extra pounds decided it was time to come back and roost (on my hips and stomach, of course).  That coupled with an e-mail from Terri on how her life and body had changed dramatically for the better after giving up sugar and flour (even gluten-free) was all the motivation I needed to make it happen.

I consulted with Guberti on a game plan which included a pretty sizeable cash investment in supplements that would strip my stomach of its invaders and replenish my body with all the nutrients it had been lacking for so long.  I do admit to ridding my cupboards of unhealthy foods the old-fashioned way: by indulging in a lost weekend of gluten-free cookies, sugary cereals, and white pasta. Hey, my supplements wouldn’t be arriving for another few days.  What was I supposed to do? The 48-hour simple-carb-fest translated to another five pounds in the kitty, but I did enjoy it…thoroughly.

I began my sugar-free existance on May 5, thinking it would be a temporary cleanse and rebooting to last no more than three months. Stevia became a staple, as did recipes for cakes and cookies derived from lentils.  Some are more enjoyable than others, but they fit the bill.  The sweet tooth is duly satisfied and they fill me up in a way that flour-based desserts just don’t.

And as expected, the clothing got looser, the extra pounds evacuated, and the stomach bloat left the building.  Ditto for the mood swings. I absolutely love the way I look and feel, but sometimes, the price is high.  Without the sugar to ring my pleasure bells, I feel EVERYTHING more acutely than I already did once I cut out the trance-eating nearly five years ago.  Every foul mood, sudden cloud of sadness, ache of grief, spike of anger, well…let’s just say it’s all much more intense without the anesthesia.

Guberti makes it clear why. “Sugar is addictive and leads to dopamine releases in the same region of the brain implicated in responses to cocaine and heroin,” she explained. “Eating it regularly also leads to tolerance and more will be needed to get the same past dopamine effect.”

There was a learning curve, but I’ve come to prefer getting my dopamine rush from things like standing still to take in a beautiful sunset, doing a two-minute plank, enjoying a hot bowl of baked apples, or getting a massage. And you know what?  Heightened awareness isn’t just survivable…it’s good for me.  I’m of the belief that the more squarely life is faced, the more rich are both the lessons learned and the quality of each present moment.

So as I write this, seconds away from beginning the final year of my 40’s, I’ve decided the trial separation from sugar has been going quite well.  So well that I’m looking into making it a permanent arrangement.  Here’s a shot of this year’s cake…my version of a red velvet with (vegan) cream cheese frosting and sprinkled with unsweetened coconut.

Not quite the pleasure ride. But I need more than an acid trip for the taste buds at this stage of my life

Not quite the pleasure ride of last year’s cake. But I need more than an acid trip for the taste buds at this stage of my life

I didn’t want to douse the batter with more than a few drops of food color so it looks more like a mauve velvet cake. And it tastes pretty good.  Not great, but good enough.  And sometimes making adjustments like that is simply the required ticket price for a new life. I’m OK with it.

Sure, there will be times I long for sugar or find myself wrestling with urges as I witness someone other than myself about to wrap themselves around a cinnamon bun or glazed cruller.  But like I said, I have goals.

And they involve better health, clarity, and freedom.

 

Sugar-Free and Loving It!

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The Joys of Baked Apples

Posted on October 4, 2013

So it’s apple season in upstate New York and if you buy even a fraction of the bounty of freshly picked apples that are everywhere this time a year, you’ve probably acquired more than you can choke down.  Speaking for my own refrigerator and filled to capacity shelf space (we even started displaying a motherlode of Jona Golds on the dining room hutch because the kitchen table was laden to capacity) we officially have more than we’re able to eat in their raw, crunchy, and oh-so-fibrous state.

So what’s a Recovering American to do?  Not bake a pie, of course. I mean, pies have their place, but they’re not really early-morning fare. Instead, I turn to the handy confines of a covered ceramic casserole dish.  It sounds too simple to believe, but this unassuming vessel bakes apples to such a sweet and juicy perfection, you just may forget about doing pies ever again.  And the modest calorie count coupled with the cleansing, energizing results of fruit in the morning on an empty stomach could further sway your opinion on the P-Word.

The one caveat I have to throw out there is, this dish isn’t an instant one.  In other words, I know you weren’t thinking about using a microwave…right?  If you’re pressed for time because of heading to the office (which I sometimes am, even though I work from home) simply bake them the night before.  They’re fine in a cooled off oven overnight. That way all they require the next morning is 5 or 10 minutes at 300 degrees (depending on the size of your casserole dish).

Baked apples are a one of the most delicious things to come out of our oven since gluten-free lasagna. Hope you try it.  The recipe’s enticingly simple:

 

Baked Apples (serves two)

Four large or medium-sized apples or five smaller ones

Optional: a few dashes of cinnamon, nutmeg, or pumpkin pie spice

 

Preheat oven t0 340 degrees. Slice apples into disc-like slices, cutting around the core (if  you live in a suburban setting, reserve cores for the squirrels – they LOVE ’em).   The shape of the slices really doesn’t matter because the fruit alchemizes into a chunky applesauce by the time it’s done. Arrange slices in layers in the casserole dish. If desired, sprinkle layers with spices.  Cover and bake for 30 minutes. Shut oven off and let apples sit in the oven another ten minutes. Remove and scoop into bowls. Enjoy!

 

Tagine

 

Comfort: Sweet & Simple

Comfort: Sweet & Simple

 

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Hot Juicing

Posted on September 23, 2013

I can’t really claim to be starting a trend with this one.  A similar philosophy and recipe can be found in the 2004 best seller “French Women Don’t Get Fat,” which, I might add, had nothing to do with me becoming not-fat, but it’s an interesting read.  In the book, she prescribed a “Magical Leek Soup” recipe which one is to subsist on for about a 48-hour period for cleansing and weight-loss purposes.

 

I remember trying this weekend cleanse technique when the book first came out. Emotionally and spiritually, I was in no condition to undergo 58 minutes, let alone an entire weekend sans comfort food.  I think I ended up using the remaining leek broth as a boiling agent for an army sized pot of mashed potatoes.  Aaahh, the days of eating ferociously. How I don’t miss them.

 

Fast forward to this nippy, late September afternoon.  I’m feeling sluggish, a little blue perhaps, as I mentally take note at 3 p.m. that I haven’t ingested all that many vegetables. As the wind howled a little louder, it became clear that it wasn’t a day where a cool, tall glass of kale juice was going to cut it for me. Instead, I hightailed it to the vegetable drawer in the refrigerator for some organic kale. Into the stock pot I tossed it, along with five onions and an equal number of celery sticks. Filling the pot half-full with purified water, I brought it to a boil and shut the flame off.  That’s the secret to ‘Hot Juicing.’  Let the ingredients steep, not simmer to gently coax the essential elements and flavors out of the vegetables. Steeping time should be a minimum of two hours, four or five it you have the time.

 

photo-934

 

Since this is meant to be a cleansing drink, just as a glass of ginger-beet juice is, I added no oil, spices, or condiments.  Its flavor?  Clean and mild.  Nothing arousing to the taste buds, but my body sure enjoyed it, and I drank it throughout the afternoon.  There’s plenty leftover for the week, and if I find myself tiring of my own version of magical broth, I’ll simply freeze it.

 

This also makes fantastic base for rice.  And like juicing, ingredients can be tailored to your tastes, or whatever’s hanging out in your veggie crisper.   Happy Sipping!

 

photo-933

 

 

 

 

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I’ve Got It All Here In My Heart

Posted on September 14, 2013

I’m not Jewish, but my soul sure could benefit from an honest appraisal of myself and how I can do better in the coming year. If I were sitting in services this evening at temple, what mistakes would I be acknowledging?

Now, in terms of character flaws, I’ve committed some serious infractions.  Most of them took place during my ‘eating years,’ when, numbed out from overeating and on the lam from reality, I tended not to care whose feelings I’d shred to ribbons if my mood happened to be a foul one…and often it was. 

To rid myself of such awful tenendencies took time, discipline, and a willingness to mature emotionally.  And I’m not saying I don’t have my cranky and irate moments, but nowadays, I choose to temper my reactions and refrain from lashing out at others. In essence, I’ve given up the lower-nature practice of hurting people just because I can.

Like my spiritual role model Shirley MacLaine, I’ve spent most of my adult years smoothing out all the personal shortcomings I can find (except the ones I don’t notice).

For the most part, my life and relationships are a pretty smooth road. But what still remains in terms of remorse and repentance?   As I dug a little deeper into my psyche, I realized there’s an unhealthy habit I still cling to which oh-so-subtly harms me and those I care for.  And in a year’s time I’d love to be rid of it for good:  I don’t tell people how I feel.  And by that I mean the good stuff. 

I look back on some of the relationships that mattered most to me, whether it was my parents, a favorite babysitter or teacher, my Aunt Mary, a college friend, or an editor who made my writing better, and feel the sting of omission. 

I’m not saying a gushy stream of “I Love Yous” is everyone’s style. It isn’t mine either, but that doesn’t mean I couldn’t have expressed feelings along the lines of affection, gratitude, and admiration that were silent but swirling below the surface like an underground geyser. 

I wish I knew why vocalizing positive sentiments feels so awkward to me. I’ve gotten better at it, but difficulty still plagues me.  If I were even occasionally more open with the people closest to me, there is a very high probability that they would be stunned at the verbal bouquet of glowing adjectives about them that flowed from my mouth. 

If I’m being honest with myself, the reality is, I’m simply not comfortable with it…and by ‘it’ I mean aligning my head with my Heart, which always seems to be brimming with an open-armed kind of love and doesn’t know the meaning of being critical.

Instead, I tell myself it’s a safer option to hide this colorful, love-giving, and velvet-tender part of me…God forbid I should look foolish.  But I’m nearing my 5th decade, and what good has it done shield something so potentially beneficial behind an armor of indifference?  Or the armor of, “I’ll tell her how I feel in next year’s Mother’s Day card?”

Next year’s never a guarantee anyway.

My father and I always had a somewhat rocky, Ralph-and-Alice dynamic in our 40+ years as a father-daughter unit. We tended to communicate in a way that sounded a lot like bickering.  And for the most part it was good-natured bickering, but still, but the tone established between us became both a habit and a convenient covering to some of my deeper rooted feelings for him, specifically, that I silently adored him.

There’s no truth serum like the shadow of death and when my beloved Aunt Mary was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer and given six months to live, you can bet I spent as many hours as I could at her side, and told her in no uncertain terms what she meant to me. And last September, as my Father’s decade-long ordeal with Alzheimer’s was coming to a close, I knew it had arrived:  a minutes-long window of opportunity to take a wheel-spinning, Thelma and Louise style risk, or let the moment fizzle and pass into eternity. 

Heaving out a sob, I decided to let the armor drop, relieved as it finally clattered to the ground. Then I gripped his hand and kissed his left temple.  “I haven’t wanted to admit this,” I whispered. “But I’m going to miss you.”

It was a simple statement of truth, predicated upon my state of extreme vulnerability, and obscuring it with my mighty shield just wasn’t an option.

The producers of Thelma and Louise never did reveal the final fate of the movie’s heroines as they triumphantly drove their getaway convertible off a cliff.  The frame froze and they hovered magically in mid-air.  I’d like to think the two trailblazers had a Chitty Bang-Bang style of an ending, soaring off towards the clouds instead of plunking to the bottom of the Grand Canyon.  Because that’s exactly how I felt in those final moment with my Father. And actually, it’s how I feel every single time I’m real with someone. 

So I’m pledging allegiance to my feelings of admiration, respect, and Love this Yom Kippur, asking forgiveness for all the times I let the moment of truth die, and promising to do better this year…especially to those who matter most to me. 

 

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