A Musicial Interlude – Just in Time for Christmas

Call it peer pressure, but everybody knows that I can’t resist being tagged to write a themed post, especially if it’s something sentimental or in any way has to do with the holidays.  That’s why I’m presenting this commercial break of sorts from The Twelve Days of Edible Foodie Weirdness to share with you  my Ultimate Christmas Song.

I’ve been officially tagged by friend and fellow blogger, Magz Parmenter of Tangerine Turtle.  Please do check out her blog as well, where she writes all about her wonderful life in the UK with three crazy daughters, a very charming husband and the great things they do together (like cook, organize and try not to get the flu every three months).

I knew right away what my song was before I knew I was even tagged.  It’s one of those songs that connect so deeply with every memory of Christmas that there need not be one set moment where one thinks back and says, “Oh yes, that was the year or the age or the season.”  It is Christmas, through and through and probably always will be.  It’s my whole childhood with every single song and dish and snack and piece of candy and little wrapped present all in one.

And it’s not just because my dog happened to be named Snoopy.

Guessed yet?

I honestly can’t listen to this these days without crying like a….hound?  Baby?  Overgrown child of the 1980′s?  All of the above.  And why?

I think there is just something about being the most of who you are, of all you ever could be and knowing that in the end, it’s totally and completely okay.  Of all the Cellina Taormino’s I think I’m the Cellina Taorminoest.

So get your popcorn, your cranberries, beads and string, sit in front of the TV or listen to the many versions of this very classic song on the radio and cry your little self back.

Buona Natale,

Cellina – The Hopeful Foodie

Communist Christmas – Northern Italian Style.

So it’s the latest installment of The Hopeful Foodie’s Twelve Day Countdown to Holiday Food Weirdness and I. Am. Tired.  I’ve spent the last couple of days being kitchen slave to every holiday party dubbed “pot luck” and am thus spending Sunday (Monday and Tuesday) away from the stove and in the comfort of my convection-free keyboard.

I’ve also spent all week bombarding the in-boxes of everyone I know and practically begging the 474 people I’ve friended on Facebook for weird food  feedback (post about a Snuggie and you get 45 comments.  Ask about Aunt Angelina’s penchant  for ball joints in cream sauce  and prepare for the sweet sound of silence).  I did however, receive more than a few good gems along the way that make my compulsive urges to write themed holiday posts worth the effort.

The hilarious thing about asking for ideas is that you get the whole family breakdown in the process.  You get the various histories  surrounding  every crazy dish on the table, plus a hint at the personalities of each colorful family member .  At some point, you start to see a pattern and boom! -  that’s where the story comes in, weaving itself around the table like a rich tapestry of ancestral weirdness.  It’s what makes these holidays so genuine and priceless.

One of the threads in this tapestry I heard about this week even further solidifies for me that it doesn’t matter how far north you go – all Italians are weird.  I’m referring to the study in extremes of my boot-like ancestors.  It’s like those people that start to look and act like their pets, except these people traded their Old Country donkeys for Bagna Cauda long ago.

Bagna Cauda – in other words, Piedmont’s version of a garlic jacuzzi for your mouth……during the Winter.

soak here often?

As many of the most treasured dishes we humans have created, this one was made out of the pure necessity of working people.  Wine harvesters, to be exact.  See, back in the day, wine making was some serious hard work.  It took manual blood, sweat and toil.  And what’s the best supplement after a hard day of grape stomping?  Heart healthy garlic, of course.

Anne of Highlandtown offers her father’s warning: do not eat this on any weekday but a Friday.  You are sure to be fired from your job if you come in the next morning reeking of the vineyards of the lower Alps.

So what makes this holiday dish weird enough to earn a spot on the Twelve Day Countdown?  For one, it’s the poster-child of extreme celebratory cooking.  Upon researching this dip of sorts made of oil, small fish and yes, garlic,  I discovered how strict the actual process of picking ingredients and rationing out portions is.  First, let’s talk anchovies, which apparently “should be good-looking, matured at least a year, fresh and fragrant.”  Mmm, the wafting fragrance of fish.  I’m also told that you must buy them dried and salted, and then rinse and bone them yourself.  There was also something about bathing them in water and wine, which gives me strange visions of Marie Antoinette in a tub of anchovies that I’d rather not dwell on.

Next, there’s the oil.  Some swear by olive, others walnut.  Even more skip the oil completely and go with butter.  The most popular choice seems to be an even portion of  the best extra virgin olive oil combined with high quality melted butter in a portion that’s “no less than half a glass (of wine) per person.”  Speaking of persons, serving this for less than a crowd of 15 seems to be a sacrilege, as well.  Onto commandment number three……..

The garlic.  Ah yes, the garlic. The extremists call for a head per person (which is about 10-15 cloves).  Those who actually want to be kissed and slept next to that night lower the number considerably  but never completely cut the pungent bulb out (again, sacrilege).

Lastly, no Yuletide bloodsucker-repelling dip would be complete without the equally dipworthy vegetables. The rule is to not use any veggie that wouldn’t normally grow in Piedmont and to pick  ones that won’t compete with the headiness of the dip.  Stalks like celery, fennel and radishes are popular as well as endive, artichokes, sweet marinated peppers, turnips, kale, cabbage, escarole, cooked and sliced potatoes and even tall spring onions soaked in wine (if you’re gonna slave away in the vineyard, you might as well take some home to stick your onions in).

The tradition is when the last of the  Bagna Cauda is skimming the bottom of its earthen vessel a raw egg is scrambled into the mix over a hot open fire. Now, that’s a frittata (or as my mom used to retort, “no, Italian eggs”)!

If you aren’t exhausted by now you are way too Type A for this blog.

For those of you who qualify as “still an Italian nutcase but just stone cold lazy,” let me introduce you to the other side of our Nazi-worthy portioned holiday.  It’s something that Anne from Highlandtown’s (yes, her again) family calls “Torte.”

just add slime

It’s slimy.  It’s scary.  It’s swimming in booze.  No, not Uncle Guido after too much anisette, but Torte.  In Anne’s  family’s terrible broken English it’s more like “Turtle” though bears no resemblance to the docile creature.  After years of wondering just how far back in family history  this traditional layer cake went it was finally discovered that next to the extensively labored-over Bagna Cauda, Torte was nothing more than vanilla wafers soaked in applesauce and drenched in either almond or anise flavoring.  It’s like the Type B of family recipes.  The green Jello pistachio salad of the north, if you will.

Whether you’re sucking down the slime or slurping up the fishies in garlic sauce this season, remember what the vast and culturally diverse citizens of that wonderful country Italy have to teach: when all else fails, grab the anisette, and teach Uncle Guido how it’s done.

Salud!

Cellina – The Hopeful Foodie

Since he came up during my image search for Bagna Cauda, I assume that this holiday post is "Pope Approved."

Special thanks to Anne Fresia for the hilarious glimpse inside her very Italian family, as well as LifeInItaly.com and The Food Timeline for the awesome information on Bagna Cauda.

Presenting: Hopeful Foodie’s 12 days of Holiday Edible Weirdness!

Last December The Hopeful Foodie rang in the holiday cheer with The Twelve Days to Christmas Countdown, where the strangest food-related holiday gifts were scoured over the internet and presented to you in semi-psycho blog format.  This year, I want to be a little more multi-cultural about things by bringing forth the strangeness of the products we actually eat for the holidays.  You know what I’m talking about – those dishes that both delight and perplex you, ones passed down through the years, or new ones that stayed in a certain decade never to be seen again (like, for example, the great Let’s Make Everything Out of Tofu phase of the 1990s).

Being that I’m merely one person with only so many strange and unusual family traditions (most of which fall into the “let’s pass out drunk into the Christmas tree” category, thank you, Mother) I opened this one up to just about every person in my email inbox to share.  Let’s face it: we all come from different backgrounds, cultures and distinctions – each one having so many rich, beautiful and strange customs to offer.  They might as well be highlighted during the most emotionally-heightened time of the year (besides, mom never passed out in my Easter basket, now did she?  That would be a no.  A big whopping ho, ho, no).

First on the list, to bring us fully into the season of edible weirdness is the ever-dreaded “why-is-it-wiggling?” creation that fits under the umbrella category of Dessert Salads.  Oh yes, friends – the Lime Jello Pistachio Salad.

issues blood-curdling scream *Aaaaahhhhhhh!*

I will never understand why someone back in 1972 (and originally in the 1920s) thought it necessary to merge two perfectly wonderful meal categories into one deplorable black corner of edible hell.  If that wasn’t enough, they decided that both the birth of the Christ and the lighting of the menorah candles were appropriate occasions to present said unnatural dish year after year after year.

In doing some research of this extremely clora-colored dessert I’ve discovered that there are many ways to merge jello with other objects.  Some people use actual lime-flavored gelatin.  Others opt for pistachio flavored pudding, which always looks so sad and alone all by itself on the grocery store shelf.  From there the possibilities range from mini marshmallows to fruit cocktail to crushed pineapple to cottage cheese.  For some reason it always seems like it’s served on a bed of something, whether it be a store-bought pie crust or, like my friend Ken, who contributed this idea hilariously  stated, lettuce: “ Why the heck does a salad need a bed?  It’s just going to get eaten.  Is the bed to make its last minutes more comfortable before I sink my thangs into it (yes, he said “thangs.”  What thang he’s  referring to is between him and the Jello)?” I even ran across a recipe that called for a can of Coke being added to the mix along with maraschino cherries and a handful of nuts (which you must be if you’ve actually considered bringing this to a party).  At this point you must know that the another name for this bizarre creation is the famous Watergate Salad.  It never ceases to amaze how long the green, wiggly thing has  managed to last through the years.  It’s called Watergate Salad and we all know how that turned out!

Let’s lift up our pudding cups and make a toast to the green stuff and the first day of our twelve day extravaganza!  Stay tuned every few days or so for the next post-worthy entry.  If you have a dish to share, please email me at: justcellina@yahoo.com

Watch me wiggle,

Cellina – The Hopeful Foodie

Special thanks to Ken Poindexter and his Jello-savvy grandmother.

Now That’s the Stuff(ing)!

I don’t know who first came up with the concept of reaching into a dead, plucked, and fully scoured bird’s orifice for the very reason of stuffing a loaf of bread up there only to reach in there yet again a few hours later, take it out and eat it.  I’m always amused, however, by how protective we Americans are of our families’ stuffing creations.  So protective, in fact, that we have to lock the recipe in the family vault and make sure no young whippersnapper ever comes along and tries to change it (even a tiny, little bit) for any reason what-so-ever.  You’d think with all of that effort and secrecy we’d found a way to stuff our missiles with that mixture of bread, eggs, and more sage than an Apache reservation.  But no, we reserve this load of carbs and sulfur for a very special celebration each year where we fill ourselves with so much food and family togetherness that by the time the December holidays come around all we want to do is escape to Euro Disney till January 1st rears it’s snowy head.

But I digress.  Some of you may be able to relate to this set-in-stone stuffing tradition, and even more if you’ve been chosen to be the red-headed stepchild of family change due to your or your kids’ food allergies.  Nothing says family togetherness like angry, tight-faced relatives reacting to “this new re-vamped, more intestine-friendly” Thanksgiving menu you’ve come up with, especially if it includes defiling the sanctity and holiness of Mom’s (or Dad’s or dead Aunt Bea’s) Special Stuffing.  I realized this when we informed my father-in-law (who’s been so good with “all this crazy food stuff”) a few years ago that we were making cornbread stuffing that year instead of the traditional stuff to better accommodate our food allergies and change things around a bit.  For him, that was  the sacred altar of food ritual that you just did not put your slimy little hands all over.  Breading the Tuesday night fish with rice flour instead of wheat? Fine.  Gluten-free pancakes in Ocean City? Sure.  But do not mess with an 85 year old man’s sage stuffing.  Just don’t do it.

Well, we did it, and it was awesome, even to the aging, set-in-his-ways Sicilian (who took it home to eat all week).   It first started out with just caramelized onions and cornmeal, then the year after we added sausage to the mix, which was incredible.  This year, I decided roasted garlic and chestnuts would be a great addition to this ever-evolving new tradition in our allergy-friendly family.  It’s just the one thing I can’t pass up, and this carb-loving girl is not gonna let the yeast get her down for the nosh-happiest holiday of the year (besides Easter, where we gorge our way to salvation).

So anyway, here’s the recipe extraordinaire for all you brave, sassy stuffing changers out there.  By the way, if we were really being traditional, we’d be eating Bambi and Loosey Goosey for dinner on Turkey Day……but I digress again.  Bon appetit!

Caramelized Onion and Sausage Cornbread Stuffing

• 2tbs butter or oil
• 1 lg sweet onion, chopped
• 1 lb loose pork sausage (sweet)
• 1/4 c cooked chestnuts
• 2-3 cloves of roasted garlic (we put them in the toaster oven, skins on, with a bit of olive oil in a ramekin and let roast on med low for a good 45 mins or so)
• 6 lg cornmeal muffins, torn to bits*
• Handful fresh sage and thyme leaves, chopped
• 1 egg
• 1/4 c heavy cream (dairy or soy) or non-dairy milk product (we use almond milk)
• 1/4 c veg or chicken stock
• salt and freshly ground black pepper

mmmhmmm

Melt butter or oil in a med skillet over med-low heat.  Add onions, sweat and cover for about 15 mins, stirring occasionally, until they caramelize a nice golden brown.  Add a little sea salt to the pan to bring out flavor.  Add sausage, chestnuts and roasted garlic (peeled)  and stir constantly for about 5 mins until flavors meld.  Sprinkle mixture with some pepper.  Add sage and scrape into a lg mixing bowl.  Add cornbread pieces and more s&p to taste as you toss to combine.

chopped chestnuts and roasted garlic - going steady

In a seperate bowl, whish together egg, cream or milk, and stock and pour that over cornbread mixture. Stir the stuffing together and either stuff your bird or plop into an oven- safe container to bake for the last 30 mins of your turkey cooking time.  Bake until hot and crusty on top.

no bluffin' for these muffins

*Cornmeal Muffins

Liquid Ingredients:

• 2 lg eggs, lightly beaten, at room temp
• 1 c milk (we use almond), at room temp
• 1/3 cup oil (grapeseed or canola works well)

Dry Ingredients:

• 1 c cornmeal (we use Bob’s gf)
• 1 heaping c flour (we use Bob’s gf all purpose)
• 1/3 cup granulated sugar or the agave/stevia equivalent of such
• 2 tsp baking powder
• 1 tsp xanthan gum
• 1 tsp sea salt

Preheat oven to 350. Grease six cups of a muffin pan.

In a lg bowl, beat liquid ingredients with electric mixer on low until thoroughly blended.  In a separate bowl, whisk together dry ingredients until also blended. With mixer on low, gradually beat in dry ingredients until blended and slightly thickened, like cake batter.  Pour mixture into each cup just about to top.

Bake 20-30 mins, until tops are firm and sides are lightly browned.  Cool in pan and transfer to cooling rack or bag for later use.

Happy Holidays!

Cellina – The Hopeful Foodie

Stranger Danger

Remember those days,  long ago, when our parents warned us about every single person we didn’t know and the hidden dangers that would surface merely by uttering that one dreaded, terrible word to one of them?  Yes, that word: “Hello.” *issues blood-curdling scream*

I’m finding myself taken back to those schoolyard  days lately with the realization that I might not exactly know all those bagged and canned things as much as I thought I did.  I’m having a case of stranger danger and just like Mom said, it’s showing up all around me.

Let’s first introduce dirty offender numero uno: the word Natural.  I’m really getting sick of this pseudo exposer-of-sorts that’s really a shadowy figure in disguise.  I just can’t understand why chips can’t be chips and canned tomatoes refuse to simply be the peeled and sealed fruit of the nightshade family.  Why must these things be Natural, thus roping off a dark corner for ingredients that aren’t really ingredients at all.  I’m talking about that elusive spices or even grosser in imagination spice extractives.  Upon my usual research (which seems to happen every time I break out which at this point is a little bit every day) I’m discovering that these seemingly innocent terms are little masks for not only added hidden gluten but also derivitives of MSG.  If that wasn’t bad enough, there’s also a nasty rumor that anything that doesn’t need to be leavened but includes some sort of “yeast” (autolyzed, torula, or extract of) is really a code word for added glutamates which act as  cheap flavorings and have been said to disrupt the part of the brain that tell you you’re satisfied.

The problem with all of this is that it’s such a shadowy subject it’s hard to prove what’s really going on here and what’s bunk.  If consumers have no idea what “natural flavor” means what do they have to link their migraine headaches, cardiac symptoms and suspected allergic reactions to?  I dunno about you, but this is serious stranger danger to me.  I can’t put my finger on when exactly these companies started listing “natural peach flavor” as an ingredient, for example, but it disturbs me that a manufacturer would feel the need to add the fact that their product has flavor to their ingredient lists.  Is flavor considered an ingredient or is this just another underhanded way to sneak something in that shouldn’t even be there?

When I make a dish myself, in my own kitchen, I don’t feel the need to add super-duper derived ingredients to it in order to experience proper taste.  Part of me wants to go totally old school and buy nothing from a bag or can, but I don’t know if I’m able to be that wholesome.  Tortilla and rice chips, for example, make me a very happy girl.  I can’t deny that it’s convenient to grab a bag from the specialty aisle a few times a month.  I also can’t deny that these new companies that are cropping up claiming to be “natural” and “organic” with products full of whole, sustainable foods are adding lots of mystery to what used to be simple bags of chips.

The UTZ girl may very well be hanging her head in shame right now at what it seems the food industry has become.  And that whole Stranger Danger thing?  I never really listened to my mom about all of that, anyway.  I like to know what I’m dealing with, and roll the dice from there.  From where I’m standing, the welts on my arms are looking pretty darn obvious.

Always look both ways (she told me that, too),

Cellina – The Hopeful Foodie

Update: Turkey Day is almost here which means the holiday season is just about upon us!  Stay tuned for awesome reviews of soups, sweets and wonderful Winter comfort food, plus a few recipes here and there just for fun. 

Making it to the Other Side

I’m writing today, in my jammies, bra-less  and slightly puffy in the face  as I find myself in the trenches of allergy overload.  It’s interesting being in this place, discovering I can answer business phone calls, enter in a Pampered Chef show, watch way too many episodes of Torchwood back to back for my own good and still be in a somewhat incapacitated state.  It makes me think of my father – a brilliant man stuck in an insanely imperfect body who was able to be present for so many people, but not so much in his own mind.

Being in a state where your body is heating up and cooling down, inflaming here and attacking there, all while you do your best to take the seemingly right steps toward better health is, well, a lesson on many planes.  It is a lesson in patience – both with yourself and the people around you (“but you can’t have that!” ‘Yes I can.’ “No you can’t – it has gluten in it!” ‘I can have gluten.  I’m perfectly fine with wheat.’  “No, you aren’t.” ‘Yes, I am.’ “But….but….but….” Sigh).  It’s a lesson in tolerance, like my post before where I humorously and sarcastically ranted about mislabeling in the food industry and how a close call can become the saving grace between your mouth and the emergency room.  It’s a lesson in waiting – waiting for the symptoms to go down, waiting to be ready to take appointments and work again, ready for the doctor to call you back with the right treatment and prescription for your sudden-onset attack, waiting for your system to be ready to eat mac & cheese in moderation again.

It’s also a lesson in learning lessons – like coming to the conclusion that you really do have to research every tidbit of information out there about an ingredient or food product that you’re just not sure about (damn miso).  That you have a say in how many reactions you have in one week and that it’s okay to say to the nurse with needle in hand, “I just can’t handle that 2 1/2 hour skin test today where you will poke me 50 flippin’ times and make me look like a lab experiment gone horribly awry.”  There’s a lesson in realizing that it’s okay to take care of oneself and then jump on the computer in your prednisone-jilted state and write about it for goodness sakes – not because it’s necessarily profound but because it’s correct. Right. And right for you today.

I can’t tell you how much publicity my being sick with reactions these last ten days (and posting about it all over Facebook) has gotten for this page – and I honestly wasn’t even trying.  I’ve run away from things before.  Actually, that tends to be my fight or flight impulse of choice.  I’ve run away from jobs and opportunities, from home projects and the weeds in my garden and even from the chance to write in a local publication ’cause I was scared.  Scared, scared, scared.  But I never seem to run away from food.  I seem, on the contrary, to run right toward it (though, lately, I’ve been so scared of toadstools that I feel a little bit like a schizo having a very bad day every time I see one in the garden).  I think that’s the reason why I’m finally starting to shoot off with this whole writing about my food life thing – because there is nothing like witnessing a person be totally human, completely vulnerable and honest in the face of their weaknesses and make it to the other side.

Hello other side.  Nice to meet you.  So you’re the side that has the cookies.  I knew it.  I just knew it.

Dunk,

Cellina – The Hopeful Foodie

Oh, Shittake – The Low Down on Close Calls

I know your esophegus and it is mine

I’ve been writing lately about the bare bones of life with food allergies – like last week, when I posted some really simple guidelines on how to eliminate a suspected trigger from one’s diet. I wanted to keep it simple (sweetness), ’cause I know what it’s like to be totally overwhelmed by this stuff.  It got me thinking about those incidents when the little buggers of intestinal strife get in, anyway, and how it happens to even the most thorough of us. You know, like when you bite into your Mexican fish taco only to find out later that the sucker was breaded (who breads a fish taco?), or when you grab that last energy bar on your way out the door and don’t find out until you’re  starving to death that it’s coated in the one thing in the world that you’re totally allergic to (that happened to my poor brother-in-law: the only man I know who can’t have flax).

Or  like yesterday, when I was like a kid in a candy store in one of my favorite places (it used to be the mall, now it’s a free-standing building  decorated with  pictures of waving grain.  Oh, how the times change).  I didn’t realize that the package of little white beads in a bag of liquid was basically floating fungus, since the package called it ‘The New Alternative to Traditional Rice’ derived from the roots of an Asian plant.  I like new things, and I like plants so I thought, “What the heck?” The only red flag was the name of the product, which started with an SH and looked similar to the word ‘shittake’ but longer. With different vowels.  But of course, it couldn’t have been ’cause the back of the package said it was a plant, and of course mushrooms, like all toadstools (which I am highly allergic to) are part of the fungus kingdom which aren’t plants at all!  Surely, a well-written label would include that little tidbit of information and not completely falsify scientific fact!  Yeeeah.

Thankfully, I mentioned this new ‘miracle rice’ to the checkout girl who basically informed me that it was a big hulking mushroom with an identity crisis, thus saving me from what surely would have been a gleeful trip to the emergency room.  I haven’t always been this lucky, though, so I’m glad my mouth got me out of impending danger (which is irony at its best). It beats spitting fungi-mush into a dinner napkin at an upstanding establishment, or being so angry that I badmouth-blog family members for not disclosing key ingredients two hours later.

It’s detective work at its best – this food allergy thing – and I’m first in line to say that it’s sometimes frustrating.  It’s what makes introverts extroverts – forced to ask the weirdest questions at restaurants, engage innocent cashiers in strange conversation and berate family members to disclose “just what do you put in the secret ingredient spinach dip?”  Believe me, fellow foodies, you are not alone.

May the fungus (or whatever else ails you) be very far away from your lovely intestines,

Cellina – The Hopeful Foodie.

Five Simple Rules…….To Dating My Stomach.

During my food-a-licious adventures these past five years or so I’ve met many, many different kinds of people along the way.  There are the ones who feel sorry for me and my husband and wonder how we survive without Schimdt’s Blue Ribbon (which, by the way, was never my ‘favorite brand.’ I’m more of a Wonder Bread girl, myself, honestly); there are the curious ones who ask you ten thousand types of questions about your intestinal tract and have no problem with the gory details that even you’d rather not share (“well, it’s called leaky gut syndrome, and it’s um, kinda gross……”  *Inquisitive stare* “No, please – go on!); there are the people that brag about having no food allergies what-so-ever, even though their gallbladders hate them, they have the kind of acid reflex that burns holes in couches and they can’t explain that “strange bloating” that happens every 2 hours or so…..and they’re barely thirty.  Then, there’s the waitress at the local diner who amusingly screeches that it’s all in your head and you just like coming in every Saturday to request no toast, please, in front of all of your neighborhood friends (sure, that’s it Cookie).

The ones I like and appreciate the most, however, are the people just like Tim and I were a few years ago – the desperate-for-a-change-in-their-diet-folks who know that there’s something wrong.  I like them because I was and still am one of them: the ones who angrily struggle between changing their habits and “just dealing with the pain.”  They are the ones that get scared thinking there is no hope without wheat or soy or casein (“What the hell is casein, anyway?!” ), that they’ll never be able to live again without Hamburger Helper, Betty Crocker or Quaker Oats and that their families will hate them and their new-found Glutino bars and sudden distaste for Summer pasta salad. They are the ones who get pissed at buffet tables and the voices in their heads that say, “you really shouldn’t eat this,” which results in a 2 minute inner battle between them and ultimately, themselves (have you ever gotten into a silent argument with yourself before?  It really is quite amusing.  Not so much, maybe to the people around you who are wondering why your left eyebrow keeps twitching every time you glance at the mysterious baked tuna dish on the picnic table and why you suddenly look like The Governator at a bi-partisan convention.  But amusing, nonetheless).

It’s people like this who give me the rare opportunity to delve into my simple but necessary philosophy for allergy-tolerant living. They also enable me to write posts like this – posts I don’t normally write because there really is no one right way of going about this thing, and I don’t like to be preachy.  My cousin-in-law, however, gave me the inspiration to come up with a really simple plan to living with food allergies and intolerances – so simple it almost makes me vomit (not, however, because of that Eggplant Parmesan I thought was Cacciatore Chicken, thankfully).

It’s the KISS…..my ass, you stupid food allergies! list of five guidelines, or for short:

The KISS (Keep It Simple, Sweetness) List!

1. Eliminate.  No, this has nothing to do with a week’s stock of Folger’s coffee enemas and  your  condemned downstairs  powder room.  It simply means pinpointing what might be bothering you and taking it out of your diet for a few weeks.  You can do this with a few foods at a time or just one, according to your lifestyle and susceptibility for nervous breakdowns.  Many doctors, gurus-of-sorts and websites will tell you different, but I really believe that eating is  not just something we do to survive, but rather an emotional, habitual way of living.  So plan ahead and take it easy. It’s okay to mourn the cheese for a little while, too.
2. Say no to Sugar-Crack, or as big companies like to call it, High Fructose Corn Syrup.  I know what the commercials say, but it really has nothing to do with corn.  Anything that has the slang word for getting stoned and the scientific term for something’s molecule in front of the actual name of the plant IS NOT FOOD! There truly is real sugar out there – in every bit of tasty stuff that hits your mouth and starts to breakdown, not to mention the actual product, which you can buy in a store and use in moderation.  Why amp it up with the crack of the sugar gods instead?
3. Go for the whole: whole grains, whole vegetables, and whole meats, a little bit at a time.  All in all, a whole grain diet is best.  We live in a world of modified and bleached flours, foods that have nutrients processed out of them and then re-added, and carrots that are advertised as “babies” but are really sculptured and flea dipped orange-tinted nubs.  It’s not hard to rise above this, however, and you can start small.  Brown rice, for one, instead of the white stuff.  Unbleached flour, or if you are adventurous, whole grain.  Some people like Bob’s Red Mill brand all purpose gluten-free flour mix because it’s easier than mixing a blend of bean this-and-that themselves.  There is even “white” bread out there that is really whole grain, but cleverly disguised as albino for inquisitive 5-15 year old minds.  Frozen things are always better than canned (unless you’re talking tomatoes, low sodium edition) and buying fresh foods can be cheap and easy if you know of a local stand.  The meat part can take a little time to figure out, though more and more grocery stores are carrying organic and un-drugged beef, pork and chicken.  It’s all in moderation and again, takes some time, but a little bit of whole is better than a whole lotta not.
4. Have some fun. I always wonder how happy those gaunt, grisly, and surprisingly waxy-looking health nuts are.  Sticking to a diet of chia seeds,  nori seaweed and quinoa just doesn’t seem like The Life to me. I know I have food intolerances and that I have to be careful, but it doesn’t mean I don’t let my hair down a little from time to time with a very tempting double chocolate brownie (you heard me – a brownie.  Aw, yeah).  I certainly wouldn’t do this with something that causes me  acute symptoms, like mushrooms or eggplant, since hives will never be the new black or a must-have adorable fashion accessory, but part of living to me means having a little fun and if it’s the occasional side of mac & cheese or my one of my cousin’s freshly-baked coconut sugar cookies, well, bombs away.  It’s all about moderation – of sticking to what helps you to thrive as a human being and understanding that a little bit of rebellion is part of that.  It’s called (dada dada): Being Healthy (just ask anyone who works at an “Adult Novelty Store” – but that’s a different story)!
5. When in doubt….., my step-mom always used to say, Throw It Out, but in this case, I’m going to say Go With Your Gut.  You know when something looks just too tempting for your own good – when the sugar crystallizes on top of some glistening dessert a little too much, or when the word ‘spices’ on the back of bag of chips just screams, “modified food starch!” in big black letters?  Yep, that’s what I’m talking about.  It’s hard suddenly training your brain to say no to things you always enjoyed and loved (at least until the symptoms started), but your gut knows way before your conscious brain does what is and isn’t good for you.  Think about it like this: can you imagine the elements that even our flawed human noses can pick up in a mash of noodles, veggies and assorted flavored vinegars?  When the alarms go off in your head and you’re just not sure, start looking at everything you CAN have.  It’s so much more pleasant focusing on what your body can digest and enjoy rather than on everything you suddenly feel deprived of.  There will always be another dish on the menu, another buffet, another opportunity to try something new and exciting to devour. Get pissed for a second and then get moving….onto something else.  Life is way too short to spend half of its precious time brooding at the lunch counter, and the rest of it on the porcelain throne.

Whew.  Well, that was exciting.  There is so much I want to share with the world out there about life with food allergies, but I equally want to spend the rest of it actually eating! I hope you feel the same way, too.  In the meantime, eat well, ask a lot of  questions, and lick yours lips when you are done – Mangia!

Cellina – The Hopeful (and hungry) Foodie

Say Moo, Say Me (say gluten free)!

Whenever I feel like taking a nice drive out to the middle of nowhere (and retriving the wedding cake topper from the garage of the farm where we got married three years ago) I tend to find myself driving up Interstate 83 to the cute little town of Freeland, Md.  If I’m going to go that far I might as well have a place to stop and gorge myself for a good half hour.  Good thing I found such a place (thanks to my cousin and partner in gluten free gluttony, Holly – who I miss, by the way.  Hint, hint, nudge, nudge)!

Hopeful Foodie’s Review Number Two:

The Red Cafe

Cows.  Rolling hills.  Farmland.  Ah, Northern Baltimore County.  When you think of the previous bits of scenery and picture them in your mind, the last things you expect to hear next are the words “allergy-friendly environment” much less “gluten-free (optional) café.”  But this is Baltimore, people – where anything can happen (and usually does in the most unlikely places).

My newest unlikely place is most truly in the middle of nowhere.  Think Middletown Road – where there are more horses than people and you’re more likely to see a field of growing (insert your local crop here)  than the newest housing development.  Out here, plunked down in a little spot of freshly mown grass surrounding a tiny concrete pad is The Red Café – home of what I call the best “slap your mama cheese steak” south of the PA line and the only place I know of that far north that will serve it to you gluten free.

Yes, that’s right.  Gluten free.  Sans the very wheat that is practically growing across the next field and boy, people, is it good! I had my first little adventure here about a year ago with my cousin who gushed over the freshly-made allergy-friendly sub rolls.  I decided to bring my husband with me this time to finally meet the mastermind behind the counter, Dawn Wilson, and chat with her between bites of tender beefy goodness.

Dawn and her family have been running The Red Café for about 10 years now (minus one year that she was too sick with severe IBS to step into the kitchen).  The inspirations behind the allergy-free options were ones she drew from her own personal experiences in the food department. After years of symptoms and no solid diagnosis, the prescription was an Elimination Diet – basically a total cutout of the 5 main food allergens (dairy, soy, eggs, wheat, nuts, plus corn and rice) for a total of 4-6 weeks followed by the slow reintroduction of said foods. In realizing her trigger foods, Dawn decided that if she was going through this, then others were as well.  Thus the start of the revolving menu – and what a joy it is!

Some of the specialty dishes you can order on any given Thursday through Saturday when The Red Café is open aren’t really specialties at all, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t special in the least. For instance, Dawn makes homemade buckwheat pancakes that she uses as wraps for almost any sub and sandwich on the menu and one of every three soups is always vegan and gluten free.  If you call ahead, she’ll even whip up a gluten-free desert for you and your party (her cheesecakes, I was told, are the gem of the shop).  Of course, there is always pizza (and there aren’t too many places around that make them totally homemade like Dawn does).  Like she says, “Can you imagine being five and never being able to have a pizza?” Feggitaboudit.

The motherload, however, are the cheese steaks.  Sure, you can get almost any sub in the shop served on a wheat-less roll, but really?  Give me the beef!  Dawn’s freshly baked gluten-free sub roll is more like a hot-out-of-the-oven slab of Italian focaccia.  You can not only smell the herbs (basil, oregano, and rosemary are my guesses) wafting from the crusty surface, but actually see them, too.  It’s not overly-crumbly, either, like some half-baked attempts at wheat-free bread.  The cut of steak used is a superb choice and goes nicely with either the roll, or my choice, the whole wheat wrap, which was toasted to an almost toothy texture that had me wailing “Al Dente!” to any stray farmer who happened to stumble in. If that wasn’t enough, the lettuce and tomato wedged in this culinary creation were at the peak of freshness.

After talking each other’s ears off for way over 2 hours (including some very colorful topics brought up by Dawn’s hilarious mother, Pat), ranting about the American food culture and writing down more contact emails than I have in a long time, we finally forced our satisfyingly bloated selves out the door and back into Rural Town, USA. The Red Café is more than worth the drive -the atmosphere being so laid back and friendly and of course, the menu which has a little bit of allergy-friendly goodness in a very unlikely place.

Mangia, Mangia! The Hopeful Foodie’s First Food-a-licious Review!

Marrone!

This is my review of Frank’s Pizza and Pasta that first appeared in The Valley Times column, The Gluten-Free Glutton and has now officially been adopted (and branded) by and as The Hopeful Foodie!

For those of you in the Baltimore area, you know how good this place is.  Now, it’s even better being that the lepers of food-allergy-affliction like you and I can finally say yes to croutons yet again!

Mangia to you, my friends.

Cellina – The Hopeful Foodie

Frank’s Pizza and Pasta

Gluten-Free Heaven

By: The Hopeful Foodie

I remember the first time my husband, Tim and I did the walk of shame down to our most favorite Italian pizzeria – it was a few weeks after we both found out we had some serious food allergies (me – yeast and mold, him – gluten) and we just couldn’t get ourselves to break the news.  Imagine our delight when we discovered we could still enjoy some of the best Italian food in Overlea – slightly modified, but as good as ever.

I’m talking about Frank’s Pizza and Pasta on Belair Rd – a 26 year old neighborhood staple run by Armando Buontempo and his wife, Jo Ann. They just introduced a new gluten-free pizza crust to their customers six weeks ago, but the healthy modifications and accommodating atmosphere have been a long time running.

Jo Ann Buontempo says she and her husband started looking into gluten-free options when a friend of hers was diagnosed with Celiac disease (what is said to be a product of the genetic marker that separates the gluten-tolerant from the gluten-repellant).

“I felt bad that she couldn’t enjoy something as simple as pizza,” says Jo Ann. That’s when she noticed many of her customers had the same complaint and decided to up the ante on her research, since she simply felt that “people should have an option.”

And options they will get at Frank’s, who will also serve their well-known pasta fagioli soup minus the noodles, hold the Parmesan cheese from any dish, and make a superb steak salad with gluten-free croutons (my personal favorite) upon request. Every dish is also made with non-hydrogenated oils, which Jo Ann discovered stopped her then-young children’s chronic acid reflux in its tracks years ago.

But back to that crust.  Topped with the shop’s signature sauce, and blend of Italian cheeses, the slightly buttery-tasting shell (which they special order from Canada) more than holds its own next to the rest of the shop’s traditionally-made pizzas (and this coming from a company who resides on the ironically-named Wheat Road).

Frank’s won’t stop with pizza, however.  In the future, the Buontempos plan on bringing in gluten-free pasta (they already have a whole wheat option) and a few wheat-free desserts, something I’ll be waiting in the wings for with fork in hand.  In the meantime, though, reserve me a steak salad – hold the parm, please.

 

Frank’s Pizza & Pasta 6620 Belair Rd, Overlea Plaza 2 topping gluten-free pizza (ten inch): $14.99 Steak salad: $7.50 Pasta fagioli soup, cup: $4.69