Category Archives: Food

Schooled in Spain (Part 1)

Food, photography, Spain, Travel, writing, , , , , ,

I recently took an 8-day Road Scholar trip to Andalucía, a small slice of Spain on the Mediterranean coast. The area can be quite touristy, but in November, not so much. The trip was stimulating and relaxing … and educational, too.

For a glimpse of my activities during the trip, see my Photos page (with captions). I’ve included photos from days 1-3 today. My next post will include more.

For now, let me just say that what I saw of Spain was a feast for all the senses. From my first sight of Nerja, the beach town where I stayed, to the crowded food markets, to the whitewashed villages, tasty tapas, fiery flamenco dancers, historic buildings, and sublime sunsets, the trip was a delight–not to mention my wonderful tour guides and travel-mates,  none of whom I knew in advance.

Here’s my itinerary and highlights for the first 3 days (the other days will follow in Part 2, still to be written):

Days 1 and 2: Travel from home (Rochester, NY) to Nerja, Spain. Connecting flights: Charlotte, NC, Madrid, and Málaga, followed by an airport taxi from Málaga to Nerja. Total travel time: about 15 hours. Complications:

(1) How many people do you know who’ve checked their baggage and immediately realized they had to get it back? Well, now you know one, because, after checking my suitcase, I realized I’d left a spare camera battery in it! I immediately told someone at the desk, who called the baggage department. As I rushed to the baggage claim area to retrieve my battery, the woman smiled and commented, “A woman on a mission!” I had been slightly panicked thinking I might miss my flight because of this dumb mistake on my part, but her smile reassured me. As it turned out, retrieving the battery only took 10 minutes (possibly due to the fact that my new suitcase was easy to identify by its lovely spring green color); When I returned to my gate, I still had 30 minutes left before boarding time.

(2) We landed a full hour early in Madrid, and since Customs didn’t open until 5 am, we had to wait on the plane for almost an hour before disembarking.

(3) It then took another full hour to make my way to the next gate! It wasn’t real obvious how to get there. When I asked for directions (in Spanish) from the person at the information desk, his information wasn’t very informative: he just sort of pointed down a set of stairs. I took the stairs which ended at a train station with trains going only one way. Signs in Spanish and English were confusing. They seemed to say the trains went to several terminals, none of which were mine. However, I boarded the next train that came along, because everyone else was getting on it. Turns out it took me to the correct terminal and close to my departure gate. Whew!

After landing in Málaga, the rest was smooth sailing. My transport taxi was waiting for me with my name on a sign, just like in the movies. I felt sort of famous. (Not really. But I would have felt famous if I actually was famous for something!) One hour later, I arrived at my hotel with a serious case of jet lag. It was 10 am in Nerja, but 4 am back home, and I’d only slept an hour on the plane.

My hotel room wasn’t going to be ready until 12 noon. What was I going to do with myself for the next 2 hours? What would you do? Probably what I did …

I headed out to the pool area and ordered a bowl of olives and a Margarita. Then I settled myself down in a deck chair, sat back, and gazed out at the blue, blue Mediterranean Sea.

“It’s strong,” the bartender had warned me when she handed over my drink. After my long journey and lack of sleep, I must have looked like someone who couldn’t handle their alcohol.

And boy, was she right. It was super-strong, but I was careful to only take small sips. After drinking half of it, I chucked the other half and made my way to the lobby, where I fell into a stupor (not a drunken one! how dare you think that!). Actually, I fell asleep sitting up. Finally, at noon, my room was ready, and after freshening up, I ventured down to the buffet and then took a 2-hour nap. Feeling somewhat refreshed, I made it to my tour group orientation at 6 pm and met my wonderful tour guide and fellow travelers.

Day 3:

After an introductory lecture on the history of Andalucía (which included its Muslim, Christian, Jewish, and Romani influences), we visited a weekly market in Nerja, followed by a motorcoach trip to a winery nestled in the mountains, a tour of the winery, a gourmet lunch and wine tasting, and a walk through the cobblestone streets of Cómpeta.

And now, it’s time for me to edit more photos. See you next time for a summary of Days 4 and beyond!

Books About Food

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I think this will be my last blog post for this month. After three solid weeks of writing, I’ve simply run out of things to say.

Also, I need to get back to some things I’ve been neglecting, such as reading, exercising, walking the dog, food shopping, house cleaning, and photography.

Oh, and going to bed at a decent hour.

So, for now, it’s sayonara … but before I go, since Thanksgiving Day is just around the corner, I want to leave you with some “food for thought,” as it were – a list of some of my favorite books about food. Some, like The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society, are about much more than just food.

Lori’s Short List of Books about Food

  • Will Write for Food (the complete guide to writing cookbooks, blogs, memoir, recipes, and more), by Dianne Jacob
  • Chocolat/The Girl with No Shadow/Peaches for Father Francis (trilogy), by Joanne Harris
  • Julie and Julia, by Julie Powell
  • Eat, Pray, Love, by Elizabeth Gilbert
  • The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society, by Annie Barrows and Mary Anne Shaffer
  • Heartburn, by Nora Ephron
  • Like Water for Chocolate, by Laura Esquivel
  • Last Night at the Lobster, by Stewart O’Nan
  • The School of Essential Ingredients, by Erica Bauermeister
  • Hallelujah! The Welcome Table, by Maya Angelou

I may have more to add to this list … in December.

What are your favorite books about food?

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This is post #21 of the month-long challenge known as #NaBloPoMo or #NanoPoblano. To follow my blog, please click below where it says “Follow loristory.”

And, to read more of the NanoPoblano posts written by the supportive blogging group “Cheer Peppers,” click the image below.

First Snow Haiku

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Snow falls like frosting
soft blanket on autumn leaves
time to bake cookies

Last night, I watched Episode 6 of “Crash Landing on You,” a Netflix series I’m totally hooked on. In that episode, the two main characters are having dinner in a North Korean diner. Their seats face a large window. Snow begins to fall. The woman tells the man a Korean saying: if a couple watches the first snow together, love will blossom between them.

You can watch the clip here: First Snow. But be forewarned: Your heart just might melt.

Right before I went to bed, I noticed that the first snow of our winter season had fallen in my neighborhood. I didn’t get to see it falling, though, so maybe I’ll have to wait a while for the promise of love.

Then again, my sweet little dog, Maya, was there with me, and we are already in love.

The snow stayed around and was still here this morning, putting me in the mood to bake. I do love to bake – and eat – cookies.

Happy first snow, everyone!

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This is post #14 of the month-long challenge known as #NaBloPoMo or #NanoPoblano. To follow my blog, please click below where it says “Follow loristory.”

And, to read more of the NanoPoblano posts written by the supportive blogging group “Cheer Peppers,” click the image below.

Lucky to Live in the ROC (Part 4)

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Welcome back for another installment of “Lucky to Live in the ROC,” the ongoing series in which I write about upstate New York attractions in and around Rochester. In the last episode, I promised you an epic road trip in search of the perfect pizza, and some unexpected artwork, so here goes:

The Pizza

On a recent road trip through upstate New York, I stopped in Geneseo, a quaint college town thirty miles south of Rochester, and discovered “Mama Mia’s Pizza.” The pizza was so amazing – thin and crispy, with great-tasting sauce – that I returned a few weeks later with a friend for another slice. This time, I didn’t just get great pizza, I got a great cup of coffee, too.

When I ordered my coffee, the woman behind the counter said they’d make a fresh pot. “Okay,” I replied, wondering if I was causing them too much trouble as I began to eat my pizza at a table outside. Pretty soon, a young man came out. “I’m going to make you a cup of Costa Rican coffee.” “That’s fine,” I said.” About ten minutes later, I’d finished my pizza and was wondering if I’d ever get my coffee. Suddenly, the coffee man came out with a steaming cup.

“I ran home and got some beans,” he explained. “I bought them at the Rochester Public Market, they’re great.” And he’d come back to the shop and ground them just for me. Wow. It was the BEST cup of coffee I’ve had in a long time.

I didn’t take a picture of my pizza because it disappeared too quickly, but it looked something like this:

This is NOT Mama Mia’s pizza. This image is from neciodesalida @ Pixabay.com.

And here’s a sign I saw in a Geneseo shop window.

Store owners were encouraged to put inspirational signs up during a mural festival.
Keep reading to learn more about that.

The Unexpected Artwork

In 1914, Robert Frost wrote “Mending Wall,” a poem about a wall that divided his orchard from his neighbor’s forest. “Something there is that doesn’t love a wall,” he wrote. But in Livingston County, New York, the residents love their walls so much that, last July, they commissioned some artists to paint murals on them, and then they held the Livingston County Mural Festival to show them off.

The colorful walls are actually the sides of buildings, one for each of the nine villages in Livingston County. I hadn’t heard about the murals, but on our way home from Mama Mia’s Pizza, my friend pointed out of his window.

“Cool,” he said. “I’d like to photograph that.” We parked on Main Street and gaped at the mural for a while.

Geneseo, NY. Artist: Key Detail (Andrei Krautsou & Julia Yu-Baba)

Soon, a woman approached us. I thought she might have been the mural’s artist, eager to talk about her work. But she was just a helpful citizen who wanted to tell us all about the festival.

Like the friendly coffee man, she momentarily ran off and returned bearing a gift: a small booklet detailing everything you ever wanted to know about the festival, including maps and the painters’ names. That day, we made it our mission to visit each and every one of the Murals of Livingston County.

I know that sounds like “The Bridges of Madison County,” but please do NOT mistake this essay for that book. If you’ve ever been forced to read “The Bridges of Madison County,” or if, like me, you were just curious to see how bad it was, I’m sorry to bring it up.

But hey, who am I to judge? I just binge-watched eleven episodes of “Virgin River,” where almost every scene ends with a warm embrace and this stunning dialogue:

“I love you.” “I love you, too.”

I can’t wait for Season Five! And no, I’m not being sarcastic!

But I digress. Here are two more murals of Livingston County. I’ve actually been to four others to date (Avon, Caledonia, Leicester, and Lima), but I lost the photos! It’s the first time a memory chip has failed on me (besides the one in my brain, that is). It’s disheartening, but I can always go back and take more photos. I think the murals will be there for a while.

Dansville, NY, my birthplace! Artist: Arlin Graff
Nunda, NY. Artist: Matthew Mederer

Next time, I’ll post recent photos of Mother Nature’s artwork: the colorful autumn leaves I’m seeing everywhere. Stay tuned!

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Featured image by Wilfried Pohnke @ Pixabay.com.

Dirty Little Secret Garden

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My new raised bed organic garden has a secret, and I’m here to spill the beans:

It’s going to be a bountiful harvest!

How do I know that? Well, I don’t. But after spending a significant portion of my annual food budget on this dirty little project, I’m trying to stay positive.

I tried a raised bed garden once, with poor quality soil that was only about 4 inches deep. The birds loved my arugula. My carrots grew sideways.

But I wasn’t ready to give up. Now that I’ve put down new roots here in Rochester, where I’ve got a new backyard to play in, I’ve decided to dig deep into gardening one more time.

Growing a few tomatoes and peppers is simple, right? You just turn over some dirt, plant, weed, and harvest. But because I’m me, I had to watch a video, buy a book, and spend countless hours agonizing over every tiny detail, even including the garden’s eventual location (which I’ve changed three times).

The book I bought, “All New Square Foot Gardening” by Mel Bartholomew, is great. It explains, in simple language and with pictures, how to build 6-inch deep raised bed garden boxes, what to fill them with, what to plant, and when to plant. I’m trying to follow Mel’s instructions step by step, and so far things are going according to plan – albeit slowly.

The first thing I did after buying Mel’s book was to start some seeds indoors. That was the easy part.

The hardest part, for me, was calculating the amount of dirt (a combination of peat moss, vermiculite, and compost, which the book calls “Mel’s Mix”) needed to fill my 4 x 4-foot boxes to a depth of 6 inches. The math shouldn’t have been that hard, but I tied myself up in knots trying to convert pounds of compost to cubic feet. Oh well, we can’t all be Einsteins when it comes to measuring shit!

And did you know that, according to gardentabs.com, there are at least six different types of compost? You can probably tell I’ve developed a bad case of OCD (Obsessing on Compost Details).

In case you’re brave enough to try this at home, here are a few photos, and what I’ve done after reading the book and planting seeds indoors.

  • Drew garden designs (at least five different versions). Settled on one version, a design using four 4 x 4-foot boxes.
  • Calculated the amount of lumber and type of fencing needed. (My yard is frequently visited by birds and rabbits, and sometimes even deer).
  • Ordered fence materials from Gardener’s Supply Company. Also ordered a smaller fence and gate contraption from them. This was an impulse buy, for an additional garden next to the house, where I hope to plant lots of tomatoes. (I hope I’m not overdoing it, folks).
  • Shopped for cedar boards at Home Depot, Lowe’s, and two local lumber yards.
  • Realized I can’t afford cedar. It’s $30 for an 8-foot board, and I needed 8 of them. New pine was out of the question, too, since all I could find was pressure-treated and could leach chemicals into the soil.
  • Continued my search for lumber on Craigslist and found a supply of new, untreated larch. Granted, it was in Buffalo (75 miles away), but it looked good in the photo and was only $10 a board. Plus, the guy selling it had made his own raised bed gardens with it and said the wood had lasted 13 years so far. Drove to Buffalo, bought the wood. The seller advised me to wear gloves to avoid splinters. Good guy!
  • Carried the boards into my basement, one at a time. Wore gloves. No splinters.
  • Called Home Depot; they said they’d cut the boards in half for me. Lugged them upstairs again and loaded them back into my car. Home Depot worker said “I’m not supposed to do this” but went ahead and cut them all into 4-foot lengths, for free. Felt like a real carpenter.
  • Took a closer look at my lumber. Realized some of it was warped so badly I couldn’t really use it. So much for that good guy! But 3/4 of it was fine. I would build 3 boxes instead of 4.
  • Shopped for screws and brackets for assembling the boxes. (Tried doing this on my own, with limited success. Did much better when accompanied by someone who actually knew something about hardware.)
  • Managed to assemble the boxes in my basement without help, despite having zero carpentry skills. Example: I think (but I’m still not sure) I may have been using the wrong kind of screws at first, since I couldn’t get them to penetrate the wood even when using my power drill. It might have helped if I’d read the drill’s manual first. I later discovered what those little numbers on it meant: torque.
  • Carried boxes outside (with help) and placed them into position.
  • Bought peat moss, vermiculite, and compost. (This took six trips to four different stores, plus one on-line purchase, but that was just my OCD kicking in.) Mixed them all together on a tarp.
  • Filled boxes with “Mel’s Mix.”
  • Shopped for wooden strips so I can make 1-foot grids to lay on top of the boxes. Discovered that even wooden strips are expensive! On a whim, visited a craft store where I found spruce strips, cheap, and exactly the right length.
  • Wondered how in the heck I’m going to erect a 7-foot tall mesh fence around my garden.
  • Tried to remain optimistic.

Am I regretting my decision to create a raised bed organic garden this year? Absolutely not! At least not yet. I’ll keep you updated on my progress.

And by the way, if you need any extra zucchini, please let me know.

Oh My Gluten (Free)

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My sister is flying across the country tomorrow to visit me. She’ll be staying with me for five whole days. YAY! I love family visits. I don’t get them very often, so I hope to make the most of it, with the usual food, fun, and frivolity.

She’s gluten-free (and I’m not), so that just adds to the fun of preparing for her stay. I’m not being sarcastic. I actually enjoyed my gluten-free scavenger hunt at Trader Joe’s tonight. I googled “Trader Joe’s gluten free” and found a list that included these yummy items. (I can’t wait to try that almond cashew macadamia drink.)

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For dessert, we can snack on Lara Bars. I love the cashew/date ones. I hope she leaves those for me. Actually, they’re the only ones I’ve tried. That lemon bar looks good right now. Hope I can wait till she gets here.

d6

I also bought some fruits and veggies, and made a centerpiece to welcome her into my home. Luckily, my sister gets my sense of humor.

d1

Is wine gluten-free? Oops. I just might have to consume these all by myself.

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I KNOW these aren’t gluten free. Impulse purchase!

d3

Tucson is an International City of Gastronomy, which means we’ll definitely be going out to sample some gluten-free tacos, tamales, burritos, salads, baked goods, and Margaritas while she’s in town. I’ve got my Best of Tucson issue on the coffee table so we can find all the best places.

d5

Needless to say, I might not be posting anything for the next five days. But after that, I just might have some food photos to share!

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This is post #5 (but who’s counting?) of NanoPoblano2019. Don’t know what NanoPoblano2019 is? Just click the link! It’s gluten-free, too!

 

Grandma’s Friendly Village

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My grandmother Angeline was born in central Sicily, in a small village with the beautiful name “Villarosa.”

In 1910, at age 8, she emigrated from Sicily to America with her own grandmother, got married at age 16, quickly had five bambinos, and was widowed at 30. She later remarried and had a good life, but she never got to see Villarosa again.

Here she is at about age 30 (I’m guessing).

Grandma Armenia

I liked going to Grandma’s house. She always seemed cheerful, and she served us plenty of macaroni, ice cream, and raspberries, saying the word “mangia” practically as soon as we’d walked through her door. Her house was decorated with colorful starched doilies that she’d crocheted herself. I wonder if she crocheted the collar in the above photo. I have a special memory of the two of us sitting in a summer garden next to some pansies while she taught me to crochet.

Although Grandma never talked about her childhood (probably because I never asked), I’d always wondered what Villarosa was like. About a month ago, I finally got to see it for myself.

I’d signed up for a 5-day Italian language immersion program in Taormina, Sicily, mainly so I could learn about my Sicilian roots and visit Villarosa. Luckily, our group leader and two other students also were interested in seeing more of Sicily, so we rented a car on day 6 and headed for my grandmother’s home town.

Villarosa (pop. 4,824) is on the outskirts of Enna. The two cities couldn’t appear more different. Enna (left), seen from a distance, was a glittering city on a hill, while Villarosa (right) was its poor, dusty cousin. But Villarosa, as it turned out, was AMAZING.

I’d Googled “Villarosa” the day before we set out and learned a surprising fact: It’s kind of well known for its man-made lake, a popular fishing destination. And the man-made lake was the result of the building of Ferrara Dam. OMG, I thought. Grandma’s maiden name is Ferrara!

Here’s the dam, the lake, and me:

After parking in town, we looked around, hoping to find a place for lunch. Directly across from our car there was a restaurant, complete with group of Italian men deep in conversation. It looked like something out of a movie. Then I noticed the sign above the doors: F.lli Ferrara (Ferrara Bros.). And on the doors, the initials “LB.” Grandma’s maiden name, and my initials!

Men

We didn’t want to interrupt the men (OK, maybe we did feel a little intimidated) so we walked on down the block. Seeing a small, elderly man nearby, one of our group asked (in her newly-learned basic Italian) where we could eat. The man pointed down the street and rattled off directions in Italian. Then, probably realizing we didn’t capice, he escorted us all the way to tiny “Casa Mia.” It wasn’t open yet, but they welcomed us in. No one who worked in the restaurant spoke English. I ordered bruschetta and risotto (in Italian).

Suddenly, a family of about 20 people entered. It was an 80th birthday party! We smiled and nodded at them. A woman (angel?) from their group approached our table and asked (in English!) what had brought us to Villarosa.

“My grandma’s from Villarosa,” I said. “I was hoping I might find some family here.”

“I’m an interpreter!” she said, handing me her business card. “I can help you.”

After I provided my Grandma’s name, and what I was pretty sure were Grandma’s parents’ names, she made a few phone calls, and within an hour I was sitting across the table from Gaetano Ferrara, owner of the Ferrara Bros. restaurant that we’d seen before lunch. His grandfather and my great-grandfather shared the same first and last names. It’s possible we’re cousins.

Gaetano spoke no English, but, with the help of the interpreter, I was able to ascertain that his brother, Pietro, owned a gelato/cannoli shop in town, and would be there at his shop to meet us! Mamma mia! It doesn’t get much better than that. But then it did. On our way out of the restaurant, the owner treated us all to shots of grappa and limoncello, on the house.

When I learned that the limoncello was homemade, I asked if they’d be willing to share the recipe … and they did. And yes, that alcohol is 90-proof.

The hospitality didn’t end there. When we got to Pietro’s store, we were all treated to free gelato and cannoli. Here I am with Pietro Ferrara, another possible member of my family tree.

Connolo Cousin

After returning home, I discovered that Ferrara is a common name in that part of the world, so I’m not sure if Gaetano and Pietro are my cousins, but it doesn’t matter. It was an amazing trip, one I’ll never forget. I’m so happy to know that my roots include such a warm and welcoming town. And I’m still in touch with that lovely interpreter, who has offered to translate a letter for me so I can get in touch with the folks at the Villarosa town hall to learn more about my relatives.

For now, ciao until next time!

P.S. This is my first post for the 30-day November blogging challenge known as NanoPoblano2019. Our challenge is to write for 10 days, read others’ posts for 10 days, and share our posts on other blog sites for 10 days.

Please click this NanoPoblano2019 link and read some of the wonderful posts from other members of our little writing group.

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Birthday Breakfasts

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My birthday is approaching. I’m not saying which one. That’s for me to know and you to Google. I will say this much: It’s a significant one.

As I mentioned in my recent post, Birthday’s Silver Lining, my birthday is causing me to ponder many things, such as the passage of time, the meaning of life, and … well, I’ve forgotten the third thing.

All this pondering is having an unexpectedly pleasant side effect: I’m finding extra joy in little things, like sunshine glittering on the lake, and the deep green color of the trees. I’m in a spectacularly good mood. Or maybe it’s just because I’m on vacation.

I’m staying in a trendy part of town, a neighborhood that I used to live in during my twenties. The area wasn’t always this trendy. Now it has cute little shops with names like Tru, and Roux, and Roam, and Hemp It Up. It also has a lot of gardens. Two days ago, after a rainstorm, I went out in search of some of my favorite things, like flowers with raindrops on them.

After taking pictures of flowers, I considered looking for more of my favorite things, like warm wooly mittens and bright copper kettles. But instead, since I hadn’t had my coffee yet, I headed to my favorite coffee shop, Glen Edith. It was only a few blocks away, right around the corner from the apartment I’d shared with three other roommates once upon a time.

As I walked past the old apartment, memories came flooding back: the music, the incense, the bell-bottoms, the vodka-spiked Kool-aid. (Just kidding, Mom.)

I kept walking, dressed in the long skirt, sneakers, and hipster sunglasses I’d donned that morning, and I suddenly felt young, energetic, and hip. Or maybe it was the thought of caffeine that was propelling me forward.

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I also felt rich, since I’d miraculously discovered some unexpected cash in my wallet the night before. I’m not making this up. There’s a secret hiding place in the wallet, right behind my driver’s license. I was looking for my Social Security card (don’t ask why) when I felt something wrinkly. I pulled it out and, to my shock, it was several twenty-dollar bills.

The last time I could remember having that amount of cash on me was on my previous out-of-town trip, and since then I’d lost my wallet and had it returned to me, contents intact. Good people still exist!

I went a little crazy that morning with my new-found wealth, deciding to treat myself to not one, but two breakfasts, since, after all, I have a birthday coming up, and life is short.

Breakfast number one was at the aforementioned Glen Edith, where I ordered a delicious cappuccino. It came with a tiny surprise: a mini-doughnut hole.

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And then, another surprise: a bright copper kettle on the counter!

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After the Glen Edith, I moved on to Jines Restaurant, a neighborhood institution since 1971, and ordered my old favorite, creme brûlée oatmeal.

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The creme brûlée oatmeal at Jines is decadent. Come to think of it, the word “decadent” has the word “decade” in it. Maybe “decadent” actually is a contraction, as in this example: “Did you turn 50 last decade?” “No, I decaden’t.”

Having two breakfasts at my two favorite shops in the neighborhood was a small thing that brought me joy. It was all part of my preconceived plan to pamper myself, since, in case you forgot, I have a rather significant birthday coming up.

Just Gelato

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I needed a break from the news, a break from the work week, and a little break from writing today. I decided to just stare at this photo of gelato for a while.

gelato

Unfortunately, the gelato in the picture is long gone. I consumed it last September while visiting Florence, Italy (the birthplace of gelato).

I’m feeling more chill now. I may be able to write again tomorrow.

This photo is dedicated to David Ellis … to further entice him to visit Florence as soon as possible.

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My Carb-less Day

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My cholesterol is high. Well, at least that’s what the doctor says. Do I believe her? Well, yes … and no. I read the lab test results, and I looked at the chart. I can see that my numbers are higher than they should be. But it’s complicated. My good (HDL) cholesterol is very, very good, while my lousy (LDL) cholesterol is quite bad. My triglycerides were very bad the first time I had the test, but now (only one month later) they’re fine. So what’s going on?

I’ve tried figuring all of this out via the internet, but the answers are either conflicting or lacking, especially in regard to medical research of the female variety. I’ve decided not to panic, but to make some changes and get re-checked in six months.

I already eat ground flax seed every day to boost my Omega 3’s and reduce cholesterol. (I know salmon’s supposed to be even better for that, but I’m allergic to fish, so no salmon for me.) I’ve cut down on dairy, I no longer use half-and-half, and I rarely have bacon, eggs, beef, or pork.  I guess you could say my diet is Mediterranean, for the most part, but I probably do eat too many carbs.

One thing I read on the internet (and for some reason I believe it) is that cutting down on carbs can reduce cholesterol. So yesterday, I decided to try going a whole day without a single carb. And I’m not even Catholic.

It wasn’t that hard, because I knew I was only going to try it for 24 hours.

My food intake consisted of: coffee (with unsweetened soy milk), a smoothie (banana, orange juice, mango chunks, ice, soy milk), three hard-boiled eggs (I know, I know … cholesterol!), an avocado, an orange, a few berries, an apple, and lots of natural, unsalted, unsugared peanut butter on that apple. (I despise plain apples.) Also, a tiny bit of cheese, and a cup of green tea (without my usual honey).

No wine. No crackers. NO CARBS. (Except the sugar that was in the fruit. Oh well.)

I was pretty proud of myself. But then this morning happened.

I had: coffee, toast with peanut butter and jelly. And a snack: crackers with avocado.

But later, I wasn’t even hungry for lunch, and my dinner was a handful of black olives, a cup of green tea, half of an apple, and lots of peanut butter on that apple.

I’ve learned that giving up carbs yesterday wasn’t that hard, and it seems to have carried over a bit into today. I’ll let you know in six months how this is working out.

In the meantime, maybe I’ll have just a tiny bit of spaghetti tomorrow.

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