The Delightfully Healthy Blog

The New York Times on Probiotics

I just read the New York Times article, Probiotics:  Looking Underneath the Yogurt Label. 

My favorite quote:  '"To say a product contains Lactobacillus is like saying you're bringing George Clooney to a party.  It may be the actor, or it may be an 85-year-old guy from Atlanta who just happens to be named George Clooney.  With probiotics, there are strain-to-strain differences."'

I'm fond of yelling at the television when a "probiotic yogurt" commercial comes on.  All properly made yogurt (and many other fermented products), contain probiotics.  They're the bacteria that create yogurt out of mik.  Another thing to keep in mind, however, is the medium.  An organic, naturally made, whole-fat yogurt is going to be better for you than a highly-processed, chemical-filled, de-fatted one like those normally advertised, which are harder for your body to digest. 

For those lactose-intolerant among us, miso is another great way to get probiotics from food.  Again, the kind that's made the old-fashioned way (like they've done in Japan for hundreds of years - or however long miso has been around) will be better for you than the kind that's been sitting in a hot pot all day at the local sushi place.

But I digress.  Read the article.  It's a good one.

 

Street Sign

Curry in a Hurry

As I set the plates down, I had to laugh.  Everything was the same color!  Even the orange stoneware dishes blended in to the tawny hues of the food.  But looks, as they say, can be deceiving.  The flavors were anything but beige.

I felt like cooking, but I didn't have hours.  I thought about what I had on hand, and then I remembered reading Lori's post about her curried chick peas on her blog, Fake Food Free.  I could definitely do that.  On the counter were some beautifully green and yellow delicata squash which would go well on the side.  Because ChuckieT isn't a big fan of brown rice, I opted for quinoa to pour the curry over.  Protein, check.  Veggies, check.  Grain, check.  The three building blocks of a balanced meal were represented.  Dinner was born.

I modified Lori's recipe a little, mostly because I didn't have any curry powder, and she calls for chicken broth, which I don't eat.  So here's what I used:

Ingredients

1 15 oz. can chick peas (garbonzo beans), drained and rinsed
2 cloves garlic (okay, I may have cheated and used almost three.  In my defense, they came off the head that way - two were stuck together), minced
1/4 of a medium white onion, chopped
1/2 tablespoon olive oil
several pinches of sea salt as the garlic and onions cook
1/2 teaspoon ground turmeric
1/2 teaspoon ground cumin
1/4 teaspoon cayenne
1 pinch cinnamon (I didn't have any cardamon)
1 cup vegetable broth
1/2 teaspoon potato starch
1/2 cup coconut milk

I mostly followed Lori's directions. 

Saute the onion and garlic until translucent.  (I put the garlic in first, with a pinch of salt.   Then the onions and another pinch of salt.  I don't know where I got it from, but I always start with the garlic.)  Add the spices to toast for 30 seconds or so and then add the chick peas, stirring to coat.  Pour in the broth and turn up the heat until it boils, then cover and simmer for five minutes or so.

It was at about this point that I read Lori's recipe more carefully and realized I was using about a 1/2 a cup to a cup fewer chick peas that she did, and the veggie broth wasn't really thickening a whole lot, so I added the potato starch to get things back on track.  I didn't want to end up with curry soup.  Once it was thickened, I added the coconut milk, turned off the burner and stirred it in.

The quinoa was cooked with salt, pepper, and a pinch of dried tarragon.  I would have used cumin seeds, had I had any.  They're going on the shopping list along with the cardamon.  (We had a little melting incident involving our spices and our extra large cast iron skillet, which wiped out a good portion of our spice stock.  Oh well, I suppose some of them needed replacing anyway...)

I sliced the delicata in half, scooped out the seeds and strings and put some butter (coconut oil also works well), cinnamon and cayenne in the resulting bowl, then stuck them in a 450 degree oven and forgot about them for about 45 minutes.  At that point, the heavenly smell was too powerful to ignore.  Usually I baste them as they cook, but they still turned out quite tasty.  And went very well with the curry.

When the squash was nearly done, I turned off the oven and stuck some whole wheat naan from the freezer in to warm, and then served it all up.  ChuckieT even had seconds!

I'm Being Followed!

In a good way.

I opened my email this morning and found a message that Meg Wolff is following my blog!  I'm incredibly honored.  For those who don't know her, Meg is a two time cancer survivor, macriobiotic eater and teacher and very inspirational person.  And she posts delicious recipes.  I highly recommend checking out her blog, becoming whole.

P.S.  (she said shyly) You can follow me, too, by clicking on the "Follow me on my profile" link to the left of my posts, or going to my profile.  You'll be able to see comments I've made on other blogs, as well as what I've posted here.  I'll even follow you back.

Can't

I’m going to be joining a writing group!  I really couldn’t be more excited.  I’ve been looking for a writing group for a while now; even toying with the idea of starting my own.  Coming as I do from a theatrical background, it’s hard for me to sit alone with my creativity.  I miss the community of a cast, the immediate feedback from fellow performers, directors, the audience.  To be part of a group of writers will give me some of that back.  So, as I said, I’m really excited.

When my friend contacted me to see if I wanted to join this group, my immediate reaction was to list all of the reasons why I couldn’t possibly do it.

What is up with that? 

Fortunately, I caught myself, and came up with a way around every roadblock I had erected.  But it seems like whenever I’m presented with something I really want, a similar thing happens.  And it’s not just me, apparently (thank god – I’m not completely crazy).  I hear it coming from clients, friends and co-workers, too.  ‘I wish … but I couldn’t possibly.’

The thing is, we all can.  Whatever it is, we can have it/do it/be it.  It depends on how much we want to put into getting it.  And how open we are to the idea that we can have it. 

I’ve come to believe that ‘can’t’ is a perspective.  Take a step to the right or the left, back up a little, whatever, and the perspective changes.  A new way forward presents itself.  Really.  Try it. 

Here’s an example: 

Original position:  I can’t get the dishes done or vacuum the floor today, I don’t have time. 

Change in perspective:  (phone rings)  Hi Honey.  You’re bringing who over to see our place?! 

Shifted position:  I can to do the dishes and vacuum the floor while I'm waiting for the laundry.

Okay, it's a simple example.  It's about shifting things around on the to-do list, not deciding to believe that you can win a Nobel Peace Prize.  But isn't deciding to win the prize also about shifting things around on your to-do list - hence changing your perspective on what is important?

Just a thought.

I'm going to watch how many times 'can't' comes up for me this week.  I'll bet there's a way around it.

I'd love to hear your stories, too.  What have you accomplished that you originally thought you couldn't?

Love and Hope

I was reading, as usual, when my roommate got a phone call.  She came out of her room and said "Turn on the TV."  I did.  We didn't have cable; only one channel could still reach us.  We stayed there, open-mouthed, watching, for the rest of the day, the day after and the day after that as the World Trade Center towers fell again and again and again.  We watched until, slowly, we began to realize that it wouldn't help anyone.  A week later I got sick and threw up for the first time in at least 10 years.  I remember thinking to myself,  'I've got to let it come out.'

In the aftermath, the City was quiet, solemn, stunned.  People actually looked at one another, and in their eyes was reflected the multiplied pain of swift and irrevocable change.  Words were out of place, but there was a silent connection between strangers that hadn't been possible before.  Amidst the terrible loss, a small green shoot of hope pushed out a tentative sprout.

ChuckieT and I were just starting out then, beginning to fall in love.  (Talk about your love among the ruins...)  He took me out soon after, to the Met where we looked at the Egyptian exhibit, walking among the enormous stone monuments.  The immensity of all that could be lost suddenly caught in my throat.  I think I reached for his hand.   I know he held mine.  Afterward, as we walked down the avenue, we passed a glass-fronted restaurant. Inside some National Guardsmen were having a meal.  They were suddenly ubiquitous, coming from all over the country to stand on street corners and in train stations in camoflauge uniforms, holding enormous guns, amplifying the anxiety in the air.  

The restaurant happened to be one of ChuckieT's favorite places, and he told me he just needed to go in for a moment and talk to the hostess, I should wait outside on the sidewalk.  He wouldn't be long.  I said okay, wondering if he was planning some kind of surprise.  When he came out, I asked him what was up, but he didn't want to tell me.  Except that, being me, I wouldn't stop asking.  I was teasing him, trying for a little normalcy.  Finally, he said with a shrug that he had paid for the Guardsmen's meals.  Just like that.  As if it was a completely normal and unnoteworthy thing to be that generous, that outward-looking, that kind.  I was stunned.  He saw nothing unusual in his gesture.  He was just grateful for their sacrifice, he said, like everyone else.  But I knew he was unlike anyone else, and I was (and still am) profoundly grateful for him.

Yes, I thought about leaving New York City after September 11, 2001.  But my heart was already finding its home here.  And the beauty I witnessed here, the coming together, the acknowledgement that we were all human beings, all connected in that way that survivors are, it gave me hope.  Obviously, there was nothing in any way beautiful or uplifting or hopeful about the attacks themselves.   Or the horror and loss that they caused.  But the spirit of the people here.  Their refusal to simply give up.  Their willingness to reach out and help their neighbors and even strangers.  That was something to see.

Wordless Wednesday: City Floor

 

 

 

 

 

Lookit!

ChuckieT made me breakfast!   (Warning:  clicking to enlarge photo may induce drooling.)  That's a whole wheat baguette made into french toast and then filled with delicious things.  I'm a lucky, lucky girl.

He promises to write a guest post to tell us how he did it.

Yoga Yay

I've been feeling pretty good on the reflux front.  My recent flare-up seems to have been tamed by natural means and I've been pretty pleased with myself.  Then last night I felt the familiar grumbles of IBS.  Sigh.  It wasn't only my bowels that were threatening to become irritable.

My plan had been to go to the gym when I got home.  But plans change.  I ended up needing to walk the dogs, since ChuckieT was detained at work, so I decided to take them on a nice, long walk, hoping that would help ease the stress going on in my intestines.  (There was bloating involved.  Need I say more?  Well, I don't need to, but...okay, okay, I won't.  Just picture sausages and...okay.  'Nuff said.  I promise.  Really.  Anyway...)  The problem with that plan is that my Pug likes, no NEEDS, to stop at every tree, every bush, every sign post, every fire hydrant...there's really not a lot of forward momentum involved.  So, while the walk helped a little, it wasn't nearly enough.  But now it was too late to go to the gym. 

That's when I spied my yoga mat standing forlornly in the corner. 

My poor little mat.  I have been neglecting it lately in favor of the fancy treadmill, elliptical trainer and weight machines at the gym.  But it doesn't judge.  It is patience itself.  Though I thought I might have heard a sigh of relief as I spread it out on the living room floor.  Or maybe that was me.  Because after a few sun salutations I was already feeling better.  I was disappearing into breath and movement, feeling my muscles stretch and contract, my whole body elongate and begin to let go.  Then I turned to kundalini and did some simple head and body rolls - moving twists, essentially.  And something inside me shivered all over with happiness, like my Lhasa Apso does when she knows she's about to be fed.*  Why do I keep forgetting how good yoga makes me feel?

Baby step of the week:  Add in at least one sun salutation per day.  (Yeah, I know, who can stop at just one?  But baby steps, remember?)

What would you like to add in this week?

*Speaking of my Lhasa Apso, she is my official Yoga Dog.  She comes right to the edge of the mat, lies down, and stays with me for the whole session.  Then, while I'm relaxing in Corpse Pose, she lays her little chin on my thigh, reminding me to let go.  I'm relaxing and grinning just thinking about her.  Although, to give my Pug his due, he's really good at Down Dog.

Milk: Why Whole is Better

There is a very interesting argument for drinking and eating whole, unprocessed milk products on Care2's site.  I couldn't have said it better myself.