Tuesday, July 20, 2010

If you fry it, they will come.

I realize it's been awhile since I've written. I've been thinking about it, but I've just not been inspired. I've also got a few books I want to write, but I've not had the time.

I sat down determined to write something tonight. I've started about 4 different entries and nothing seemed right. I started one about how I left my iPhone at work tonight and I feel lost without it. Bor-ring! I started one about this last weekend. Da-umb! Then it hit me! FRIED BUTTER! Yes. You read that right. Fried Butter.

My husband and I went to the Three River's Festival a few weeks ago. As we walked down the aptly named, "Junk Food Alley", we saw the traditional cotton candy, fried cheese, and other junk food glory all laden with gluten, sugar, and fat. As we rounded the corner, I saw one of the newest additions, Fried Candy Bars. These have been around for years now, but this booth had a little something extra. A few somethings actually. One was a Doughnut Burger. It consisted of 2 doughnuts with a burger in the middle. For only $0.50 you could add lettuce and tomato, and although I'm all for trying to make it healthy, that just sounded even worse than a burger on a doughnut. The final nail in someone's clogged artery coffin however was the fried butter.

Matt and I walked up closer assuming it was a typo or we were reading it wrong but no. Deep fried sweet cream butter. I overheard a rather rotund dude say to his buddies, "I tried that butter, man. It was amazing! You have to try it!" That was just before he was hauled off to the closest hospital. (Not really but I expected it.) How could that be good?! Admittedly, it's been ages since I've had real butter. The thing is, I never just ate it. It was always on bread or something. I rarely ever said, "Hmmm...I think I want butter." and then went to the refrigerator and took out a stick. 

I ventured up to take a closer look. Sitting in a grease laden paper boat were about 6 or 8 small dough-balls lightly fried and dusted with powdered sugar. They looked pretty innocent but I could not get over the fried butter. That's all it was. Butter. That's like eating a stick of butter let alone the butter that is in the batter. It was a moment that for once, I realized: people will eat anything if it is fried.  I'm a little afraid to see what's next. The mind reels with possibilities.


Wednesday, July 7, 2010

In NYC...the city that never sleeps

And here am I...never sleeping. Okay, okay. It is 10:30 and I went to bed about 10 but I've been up since 4:15 "not sleeping." At dinner I thought going to bed early was a great idea. Why is it though, that sometimes, your head hits the pillow and it's like you accidentally pushed the restart button? I was getting ready for bed and felt like I could sleep standing. Light's off, head hits pillow, and "HELLO! Did you order a "Second Wind" for one? We have it right here with a free side of 'Here's what you need to do instead of sleep'!" My travel partner is my mom. Her head hit the pillow and a few minutes later I hear her asleep just like I'd hoped. Even as I type, she's counting sheep. Me? I'm counting keystrokes.

Monday, July 5, 2010

Cooking became fun when I tried it.

Gluten Free Girl is at it again. A challenge. "When did cooking become fun?" Well, I'm not a huge cook lately, nor am I a professional trying to make my own recipes. But I think cooking became fun when I tried it. It was fun to create a recipe and have it turn out to the ooh's and ahh's of the table. So what if the Russian Borscht didn't turn out good. Is Borscht ever good?  When I tried to make a traditional English Roast Dinner though, that really knocked it out of the ball park. Bisto gravy included.

I went through a phase in my pre-teens where I wanted to go to Russia. I wanted to experience another culture. My parents took me to the library and I looked in the kids section for any cookbook that looked good. Yes. I was judging a book by it's cover. I chose Russian and my daring parents and 3 year-old brother allowed me to make it. They still tease me to this day. I can't remember what it ended up like and I remember most good meals. It was fun though. I was experiencing another culture from my little home in Grabill, Indiana.

When I returned from a year in Cardiff, Wales I missed the food. I bought a British cookbook and made the roast dinner. I've made many things from that cookbook. All great. Indian food. Great. It's the other cultures you can taste. That's what makes cooking fun. Experiencing other cultures or even celebrating our own with a homemade Thanksgiving meal. That meal, I'm happy to say, faired out far better than the Russian one.

I am woman hear me...wimper?

I don't like to think of myself as weak. In fact, I prefer to think of myself as invincible and able to leap tall buildings in a single bound. In reality, I can't. I can barely jump up a few stairs in my house. Well, let me tell you, this last week was a struggle.

A week ago almost to the minute actually, I had my appendix removed. Stupid appendix. Who needs it? It succeeded in knocking me down all week and tomorrow, I'm to face the throngs of work for a day before going on a business trip. The thing it taught me was this: I'm human. Shocking, I know but I always thought I could do whatever I wanted or get whatever done that I needed to get done. Not so. Especially when you are wearing one of those darling hospital gowns that serve to flatter no one (my backside in particular). To be so vulnerable and tiny sucked. I couldn't get something to drink. I couldn't shower (no worries, as soon as I could, that was the first thing to happen!). I couldn't even sit up without that oh so comfortable hospital bed (and by comfortable I mean stiff as a board) that crinkled every time I moved. I even had jello for my first "meal". Lime jello no less. The anti-jello. I hate lime jello. Any flavor that is red is what I want.

Now here's the thing. I've never had surgery before besides having my tonsils removed so it was a learning experience. As a person with Celiac disease, I am used to having an endoscopy, waking up, falling asleep, and being fine. I expected this surgery to be the same. Wake up, fall asleep, be fine. No, these scars are actually scars, and there is a pain level on a scale of 1 to 10 associated with them. Right now, about a 2. At it's worse, at 10. Sometimes, the surgery pains were worse than the appendix pain when it was still attached. Stupid appendix. So this whole experience has led me to admit that I am not invincible. Especially if an organ the size of a worm can take me down for a week (gross right? organ. Not a fan of the word). Instead of roaring through the week, I whimpered feebly on the couch, bed, couch, bed, floor, and asked for water. Soaking up all of the sympathy until I felt sorry for the sympathizers.

This whole experience did lead me to one question though. Where is my appendix now? Was it thrown away in a trash heap? Poor appendix. It may have had to be removed from me but that seems a little uncalled for. We spent 31 years together. Least I could've had a moment to say good bye.