Acid: 1. Joan: 0.

Dear friends,

soup

Joan’s Miso/Soba/Tofu Soup. So simple, so clean, so comforting.

A few months ago, I had a vivid dream I was having a heart attack. I woke up groggy and fairly suspicious I was having a real heart attack instead of a dream about one. I even awakened Mr. Mom, but after a few moments of assessing my symptoms, I realized I really was suffering from a wicked case of heartburn.

I had been waking up miserable for a long time — bloated, gassy, and nauseated but without the tell-tale “burn.” It wasn’t until the heart attack dream that I bothered to Google “heartburn,” after which I figured out I had all the classic symptoms of acid reflux.

My first instinct, of course, was to load up on over-the-counter medicines. Surely a cocktail of Tums, Pepto-Bismol and Zantac could quell the fire within, I reasoned. It wasn’t until Labor Day — when an excessive platter of barbeque chased by beer and pie resulted in 24 hours of misery — that I was finally prompted to consult my physician.

The prescription-strength Zantac my doc prescribed did nothing to calm my symptoms. I went back to my doctor and ended up with a prescription for a popular proton pump inhibitor, although I was more than a little unnerved by the two-page list of possible side-effects.

I had been joking with colleagues that food is my only joy in life, so I wasn’t about to declare my diet the enemy. But there was something about the warnings on my medicine bottle that persuaded me a lifestyle change might be advisable.

Thus, I’ve spent the last two weeks keeping a detailed food diary in an attempt to identify possible culinary modifications.

It may be a little too soon to go all Sherlock Holmes on my case, but it appears that cutting back on meat (where cutting back = eating vegetarian) has helped quite a bit. It also appears that with the exception of chocolate (to which I have an immediate reaction), various foods and spices aren’t the triggers as much as timing and quantity.

For example, I ate yellow curry three times with no reaction. (The curry was plenty spicy and oily, the combo of which can be troublesome for many folks.) Then I ate spicy Mexican twice, with painful results. The difference was that I ate modest amounts of the curry at least three hours before bedtime, while I consumed far too much Mexican food not long before turning in.

Big meals or regular snacking after 7:00 pm are a recipe for middle-of-the-night disaster, it seems. So far, making a few timing adjustments and eating far smaller portions appears  more manageable than what I feared would be the wholesale elimination of all joy in my life.

I’ve always been a fan of tofu, so switching from meat to soy has been easy-peasy. And loading up on vegetables and whole grains has been similarly effortless. The biggest adjustment has been staying out of the kitchen/pantry after 6:00 pm, when every snack known to man calls my name.

Acid Reflux may have gotten the first punch, but my footwork is improving and I wouldn’t count me out yet.

With gratitude {for a new emphasis on culinary diversity and moderation},

Joan, who, after months of acid-reflux insomnia and 4:45 am wake-up calls to run, spent somewhere north of 15 hours in bed on Saturday and finally woke up heartburn free and well-rested, praise the Lord

 

Kitchen therapy.

Dear friends,

yellowcurry

Whenever life beats me up, I retreat to the kitchen. There’s nothing like a day spent puttering over the stove to help me find my center. Chopping, measuring, blending, sauteeing, frying, tasting, stirring . . . all are a form a meditation for me. Eating my creations afterwards is my Zen moment.

I spent a good portion of Sunday making a shopping list and visiting the grocery store to restock my empty pantry. I cooked chickpeas, which I later turned into hummus, and quinoa, which I turned into this yummy Asian salad I found on Pinterest. I chopped bags and bags of veggies, then I fried up some firm tofu in order to pack “Super Bowl” lunches next week. (By the way, if you like tofu as much as me and don’t have a tofu press, get one now. I love, love, love mine!)

But the highlight of my day was a yellow curry that surpassed the one Mr. Mom and I ate at a new restaurant last Thursday. We’re longtime fans of Thai food so we were thrilled when a new Thai restaurant opened up in our town. Their yellow curry was so good I was inspired to make my own.

I consulted several recipes on the internet but couldn’t find a single one that was precisely what I wanted. So what follows is Joan’s adaption, culled from a variety of sources. It’s not difficult, and it doesn’t have to cook long, but it does take time to prep. The payoff is totally worth it, though, so I hope you’ll give it a try soon and let me know what you think.

And you don’t even have to wait until a bad day.

***

Joan’s Yellow Curry

1/2 recipe yellow curry paste (see recipe below)

1 cup cooked, chopped chicken (I used leftovers from a rotisserie chicken)

1 medium potato, peeled and chopped small

1/2 medium white onion, cut into thin slices about 3″ long

2 carrots, shredded and chopped

1 7-oz jar of pickled baby corn, drained and rinsed

2 TBLS vegetable oil

1 cup chicken broth

2 13.5-oz cans of coconut milk

Chopped fresh cilantro

Hot cooked rice, I prefer Jasmine

Put vegetable oil in large saucepan and heat over medium high heat. When sizzling, add onions and carrots and saute until tender. Add coconut milk, chicken broth, and curry paste and stir well. When mixture is almost boiling, add potato and cover until mixture boils. Lower heat just a bit and cook about 15 minutes or until potatoes are nearly tender. Add chicken and corn, cover again, reduce heat to low, and allow to simmer for another 15 minutes or so. Taste and adjust flavors as needed. If not salty enough, add salt or fish sauce. If too sour, add brown sugar. If not hot enough, add cayenne pepper. I made several adjustments while cooking my curry, adding salt, sugar and cayenne until it was “perfect.”

Serve a cup full of hot curry over a bowl of jasmine rice. Top with chopped cilantro.

Yellow Curry Paste

You can buy curry paste in the Asian aisle of many stores. But I always prefer to make mine fresh. It’s easy, and you can taste the difference.

1/2 stalk lemongrass (this is only occasionally available at my grocery store; they were out this week so I omitted it)

2-4 serrano peppers, chopped with seeds left in (I used 2 but recommend 4 because I had to add cayenne at the end to boost the heat)

2 shallots, sliced

4 garlic cloves

1 thumb sized piece of ginger, peeled and sliced

1 tsp coriander

1 tsp ground cumin

1/2 tsp cumin seeds

1-2 TBLS cinnamon (I used 2 but Mr. Mom recommends 1)

2 TBLS fish sauce

3/4 tsp turmeric

1/2 tsp white pepper

1/4 cup brown sugar

2 TBLS ketchup

1/4 cup lime juice

1/4 cup coconut milk, or just enough to keep your food processer blades moving

Put all ingredients in your food processor and blend thoroughly. Store in the refrigerator in an airtight container for up to 3 weeks.

With gratitude {for a day spent in my happy place},

Joan, who has no explanation for why it’s taken her this long to cook a yellow curry since Mr. Mom orders it every time we eat at a Thai restaurant

Gathering up all my brave.

Dear friends,

For the last few weeks, I’ve been acutely attuned to the distressing situation that has unfolded a mere 90 miles away from me in Ferguson, Missouri. I’ve followed social media intently, I’ve devoured information on news sites, and I’ve given a lot of thought to what it means to me as a Missourian, as an American, as a mother, as a human who cares passionately about social justice and civil rights.

I’ll refrain from drawing conclusions at this moment about precisely what happened between the police officer and the young Michael Brown. There are ongoing investigations and I suspect we’ll be years down the road before we have anything close to “clarity” on how the particulars of the incident and the aftermath reflect on our system of policing and justice, not to mention our right to life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness.

But here’s what I know. Whether we acknowledge it or not, there are distinctly different realities of life in America based on race, gender, age, sexual orientation, education, wealth and geographic location. What one man calls justifiable force, another calls oppression and discrimination. What one man deems “justice,” another deems “just us.” Socio-economic factors create a unique “lens” for each of us and until we can view the world through multiple lenses, many of them foreign or possibly distasteful to us, we cannot begin to approach “truth.” To say otherwise is to ignore that evil and corruption thrive despite our best intentions, or to fall prey to the myopia that threatens to permanently disable our nation.

***

So it is through this dismaying, nay disorienting, perspective that I am saddened to tell you Mr. Mom and I recently received devastating news. We lost our lawsuit.

Our attorney sent us the judge’s verdict a couple of weeks ago with an email message that said “It will make you want to throw up.”

Not in the “gag me” way you might refer to when something is annoying. In the “fall to your knees and retch” way until you are hollow-eyed and certain the injury is mortal.

I haven’t filled in many of the blanks for you about the condemnation trial we attended in April. I honestly haven’t been able. I felt in my gut it didn’t go “our way” and I guess I wanted a few months of denial between what I thought was the reality of the trial and the resulting ruling from the judge. But reality gut-punched us recently and we still haven’t caught our breath.

Losing our case means our land remains inaccessible (except via a 10-mile hike through the adjoining national forest). It also means our family is responsible for the Unfriendly’s legal fees. If their testimony is to be believed, they have spent three times what we have. At one point in the trial, their attorney referred to one of our claims as “outrageous.” During a break shortly thereafter, our attorney whispered to me “The only thing I’ve heard in court today that’s outrageous are the fees their damn attorney is charging them!”

We will appeal the ruling. It is our opinion, and our attorneys’, that the judge ignored the instructions handed down from the Appellate Court. That she ruled in contradiction to case law. We won our last appeal when the prior judge contradicted case law, so who knows?

***

Late into the night when we first heard the news, when Mr. Mom and I lay in bed, silent, unable to fathom the future, financially or emotionally, I finally said this:

“Listen. I understand. I understand the inclination to become fatally cynical. To succumb to rage. To believe that everything you’ve thought to be true about life is a lie. I feel it right now with an intensity I cannot describe. I am angry and I am disillusioned and I want to hurt somebody equal to our pain.

But here’s the thing. Our loss represents land and money. Land and money. We are not angry or cynical because our child is dead through injustice. We are not suing because some big corporation poisoned our water and gave us cancer. We are losing land and money. In the meantime, we are managing to put our children through college and they are by all accounts thriving. We have a strong and loving marriage.

We are losing land and money. Let’s remember what we still have before we risk sinking with this ship.”

***

So, I’m thinking of Glennon Melton and her words of wisdom. I’m gathering up all my brave and trying to do the next right thing. It ain’t easy, believe me. I’m not nearly as kind and patient as I want to be. I have long stretches of despair and regret and bitterness. I’m clinging to a faith that love and hope prevail in the end, even in the face of evidence to the contrary. I’m limping on tender feet, hurt beyond words, unsure how one keeps from drowning in the tsunami of fear and trouble and worry that rises over us.

Still, I refuse to end with anything other than gratitude. Despite this very big thing that has gone grievously wrong for far too many years, so much has gone right. I know it. I see it. I feel it. And if I can gather up enough brave, maybe I can trust in it.

With gratitude {for, as always, the partner that makes this journey bearable},

Joan, who welcomes your good thoughts and kind words but asks that you not dwell on injustice. If I’ve learned anything, it’s that justice is in the eyes of the beholder and what feels like a travesty to us is heralded as right and proper by the Unfriendlys. Please don’t tell me how shocked you are or how unfair this seems. Life is ridiculously unfair to legions of souls every day, most of them far more afflicted than I. If you have anything to offer, offer us equanimity, in the belief we will rest in it, heal in it, and pass on more than our share to those around us.