birthdays are fun, getting older? hmm...

About this time every year, I really start thinking about my age and about my mortality. Not so much in gruesome terms, more like a startling afterthought, as in oh! forgot that for a moment. As much as I think, talk, and write about health and diet issues, I often forget that we are all transients on earth.

Obviously from my morose verbiage, I'm guessing one can tell my birthday is coming up, February 20th to be precise. I love birthdays---I think. It could be more like how I love giving parties and celebrating holidays. It's mostly the idea I like. The actuality, not so much. I love looking forward to birthdays, for sure. I love giving myself permission for little indulgences that I might forgo other times of the year. Yesterday for instance, I spent half the day at a spa after having breakfast with my daughter, Kristen, and followed all that with pampering from my hairdresser, Michelle. This whole day thing was a first for me.

Yes, the little indulgences part of birthdays is not the rub. The getting older part? It can't be all bad. It has it's good points. Compared to the alternatives, older is better. As I mulled this post over in my mind, I thought of talking about my age, my specific age in years, as part of a whole picture, full disclosure sort of thing. A this is who I am kind of thing. Then I remembered something my sister, Beverly, shared with us recently. She said a spiritual leader and teacher who we both respect said one should never tell her (or his) age. Not to be secretive or deceptive, not to pretend to be younger or older, but because we limit ourselves and others enough as it is. We label and define even without meaning to do so much of the time. He said not to add yet another meaningless bit of data to that limiting mess. So I am not talking specific numbers.  I may stop that entirely. For much of my life I have felt the need to reveal more than was needed, probably more than was wanted. For now I'll refrain and rethink those habits.

I will say, for me this is a significant birthday in many ways, my age being only one of them. In recognition of this, my daughter is planning a small celebration with my family. We met yesterday to talk about what we might do and what we would serve. As she started with a list of favorite party foods that we've loved and served over the years, I realized I could no longer eat any of those dishes. Wow! Times have changed. I now control everything that comes into my kitchen and as a result, everything that comes out of it. I focus on good foods I can eat and enjoy and all but forget about the rest. I tend to forget that not everyone cooks or shops the way I do. Not even those very close to me. Of course, if this were a party for someone else, I'd just eat first and no one would notice. Since the birthday celebration is for me, it feels a little different. We have worked it out, I think. Works well for me, anyway.

I love grilling or broiling shrimp even for cocktails. These are from US Wellness Meats.

So far we're planning lemon chicken sate with Sunshine Sauce via Well Fed, lots of beautiful fresh veggies like asparagus, cucumber, sugar snap peas, red peppers, grape tomatoes with a dairy-less dip as yet to be determined. We'll also have rare, grilled steak strips or chunks, shrimp in some form, baba ghanoush, mixed olives, our marinated mushrooms, fresh fruit, and a couple of versions of almond flour crackers. Did I mention this is a very small party? Well, my family is not all that small, but if we didn't overdo the food, we wouldn't recognize ourselves.

On what I find an interesting note, Kristen often says she's afraid to cook for me, even before I knew I had major dietary issues. She is especially hesitant to cook in my kitchen. I don't think I'm that picky, but we never know those things about ourselves, do we?

the whole30, day twenty-seven

Did I just write 27? Yes! Yes! Yes! While I may not be making any radical changes at the end of thirty days, it will, nonetheless have been thirty days. Not that I'm excited or anything.

When I have food ready to go, mornings are so easy. I know I've mentioned this before, but overstating it seems impossible and repetition is almost demanded. This morning I grabbed the container pictured below and an apple and was on my way.

Last night I grilled a rib-eye steak on the stove using a Le Creuset grill pan.  GK was having bean soup, and my planned vegetable soup had not quite materialized. I was at a loss for what to cook, as I'd planned on the veggie soup and hadn't made it. He asked, "Don't you have a hunk of meat you can cook?" He loves to give me a tongue-in-cheek bad time about my meat consumption, partly, I'm sure, because I prefer it rare, and he prefers it on someone else's plate. I did have meat, though, hard as a rock in the freezer. I am almost ashamed to say that I pulled it from the freezer, added a bit of Kosher salt, and laid it still frozen on the heating grill pan. As it started to thaw a bit, I sprinkled a bit of dried garlic and ground some black pepper over the top. It cooked surprisingly well given my less than careful preparation. I kept the heat lower than I normally would to grill a steak and let it thaw as it cooked. The outside caramelized nicely with dark grill marks as the interior stayed rare, though heated through. While it cooked, I threw (almost literally) a halved zucchini sprinkled with sea salt on the grill pan along side it. I had a rather nice dinner with plenty of leftovers for breakfast and lunch today.


rare steak and grilled zucchini packed for lunch

Remembering how unlikely I am to want to start a slow-cooking process when I get home from work, I also tossed half an onion, a dash of cider vinegar, a quart or two of water, and what was left of my roast chicken in the crock pot. The only tricky part is that GK is going to turn it on this morning, and I do not dare insult him by calling to see if he remembered.


soon to be chicken soup

When I get home, hopefully, I'll just need to strain the broth and add it to a few sauteed vegetables. I'm looking forward to it. And when I wake up tomorrow, it will be Day 28.