First-Trimester Hiatus Blog 2: "Onions, hormones, and soup...."

First-Trimester Hiatus Blog 2:  "Onions, hormones, and soup...."
Blog Written at 10 Weeks pregnant, November 5, 2012


The onset of hormones and related nausea make for a quick transition from home-cooked meals every night, to no dinner on the table. Needless to say, we've had a lack of meals from scratch lately. I've managed the occasional home made pizza or simple casserole, only to deem the act of cooking worthy enough an effort to warrant dining out the next evening.

One day at around 6 weeks pregnant, I found myself determined to have a good meal awaiting Grayson when he got home from work. I concocted a plan. I would cook in the afternoon, when I wasn't feeling quite as queezy, then let it sit in the crock pot until Gray got home. I even executed the plan! When Zeke went down for his nap, I began washing and chopping potatoes and leeks. It was simple enough, with minimum preparation I sauteed the leeks in a little bit of butter, salt and pepper. To this I added vegetable broth, the potatoes, and some more seasoning. I allowed the soup to cook through for 20 minutes, then I scooped half out, pureed it in the blender, then mixed it back into the pan, creating a finished Potato and Leek Soup (made without cream, but super creamy and delicious--or so Grayson says it was) Into the crock pot I poured it. Dinner was made! I felt quite accomplished for about a half hour, that is, until the usual lovely-but-now-stomach-turning aroma began to waft through the house. Four more hours until Grayson arrived home, meaning at least four more hours of sitting in this house filled with foodie smells. By the time Gray got home and we sat down to enjoy the soup, I wanted nothing to do with it. It's marvelous stench wafting through the house had completely turned me off to the soup. I managed four small bites and then ordered a pizza.

Grayson had a couple of rain days this week, and by his last day he was feeling slightly in a rut from not working. It's funny how a trip to the grocery store and some time in the kitchen can aid this man's ruts. Clam chowder was on his mind. It was definitely not on mine, but hey, whatever to make the man happy! And so he perused through the market and selected his ingredients. Clams, carrots, celery, red wine vinegar  and half and half. Returning home I opted for something quick to fill my sick belly, but Grayson set to work in the kitchen. As usual, his first step in cooking was to consult the internet. He watched three videos on how to make a proper clam chowder. He spent the next hour bent over the counter chopping and preparing his ingredients. He chopped a rather potent (fresh) onion from the farmers market. One onion was enough to send me to tears even in the next room over. However, it could have been the combination of onion juice along with my hormonal self watching Parenthood on Netflix. Indeed, onions and hormones are enough to send any pregnant woman into tears over a sitcom.

As Grayson cooked, I avoided the usually alluring smells from the kitchen, but he found me and commented that, "Cooking makes me feel so much better about life!" His comment made me stop and appreciate what we've been able to accomplish over the past months of eating real food. We've always enjoyed cooking, but throughout this journey we've been pushed and stretched in learning new techniques, and how to properly prepare foods that we'd never even brought into our kitchen before this all began. With the learning curve has also come a great appreciation for cooking. Some days it is indeed a chore, and some days require more time and energy than others, but overall we've found a great joy and creative outlet in the kitchen. Grayson's comment also made me very glad to have my man chef back, even if I wouldn't be enjoying his delicious soup. Unfortunate, too, because there is now a huge pot-- 8 servings to be exact-- of clam chowder sitting atop our stove. I keep telling myself, and I know it is true, this is just for a time.  There are seasons to life, and even some passions might require a break for certain seasons. This is such a tiny sacrifice, anyways--giving up for a time the joy of cooking and enjoying food--to bring this little precious life into the world next May. And I take comfort knowing that in just a short time I will again be able to share great food with my family around our dinner table, and that the dinner table will have one more chair around it.

Escaping the Rut of What We Know

I just devoured one of the greatest meals I have ever had set before me. Truly I would dare to rate this plate of food in the top five dishes I have ever eaten. Unfortunately, I failed to take a photograph of this delectable concoction before I tore it to pieces and thoroughly finished off the entire massive plate-- and so I will do my best to illustrate with this 5-minute sketch:

Okay...so maybe that illustration took me closer to 10 minutes to create, and it may not bid due justice to the brilliance of my brunch, but maybe I can fill the void with a written description. First, begin with a buckwheat crepe of massive proportion. Fill the crepe to overflowing with a great array of fresh, roasted vegetables, including orange cherry tomatoes, shiitake mushrooms, asparagus, zucchini, and yellow squash. Pour over your crepe a well-executed homemade hollandaise sauce. Top your masterpiece with a farm-fresh egg cooked over medium (so that the brilliant, creamy, yellow goodness will pour over your creation when prodded with fork). Crown with two additional spears of asparagus. Serve alongside a fresh salad of spring greens and arugula, garnished with a creamy ricotta dressing. Brunch is served! I discovered this take on Eggs Benedict Crepe-style at a nifty little coffee shop in a college town while Grayson and I had a most-appreciated no-baby date-day. My mom and dad are watching Zeke for us as we explore, sip coffee, process life, and eat delicious food together.

My parents recently moved to the Ozark mountains to pursue their dream of, well, living in the mountains and enjoying life together! This is Gray and my first time down to visit (first of many, I'm sure!), and we are thoroughly enjoying our time in the Ozarks. Fortunately, my parents also enjoy a plate of good food, and we've been eating plenty of it while here! We're approaching week three of our month-long-stay, and here are just some of the delicious foods we've tried: Real southern BBQ, southern chicken, some of the best macaroni and cheese I've ever tasted (Zeke was a huge fan!), fried okra, real small-town breakfast including biscuits and gravy from scratch, very authentic Mexican cooking, local elk, wild razorback hog, and plenty of scrumptious peach and blackberry cobbler!

Now, let me add my disclaimer here:  I claim my blog to be one focused around real, wholesome cooking and eating--that which benefits our bodies and health. So what place does biscuits, gravy, and cobbler have here in my real-food blog? Well, as explained in one of my "First-Trimester Hiatus" blog posts, there is a "time for everything"! This month while we visit my parents, we are, to a degree, simply resolving ourselves to enjoy good food and pursuing the experience of food in another culture! (Although I am currently planning our "detox" diet for when we return home) You see, Grayson and I are very intrigued by the culture of food. Let me explain by taking you to a small little "dive" buried deep in a valley in a tiny little town nestled in the mountains.

Mom and Dad had heard great reviews of this small-town cafe, and so we set off on an all-morning adventure to drive a couple of hours and explore this notorious joint.

Now, when we pulled up into the almost-packed parking lot, and set sight on this trailer-like restaurant, I stepped out of the truck with slight skepticism. Grayson always says that a packed parking lot is a sure sign of a great restaurant. However, even the lack of empty parking spaces did little to ease my apprehension. When we stepped inside, I quickly took inventory and began my cross-examination of the place. I know I should learn by now to hold judgement until I can judge by way of taste, but still I couldn't help but notice the small room to the right with two household freezers, the sketchy buffet table boasting a small bowl of iceberg lettuce, a well-picked-over tray of olives and who knows what else was on it, a banana pudding and a plate of oreo-like pie.

We found our seats at a table situated between another table of older woman sipping coffee on one side of us, and on the other a space heater plugged into a wall adorned with sports paraphernalia and mismatched antique photographs--and dust. A kind, plump waitress, who we would soon discover to be the owner, approached our table and asked us in a southern accent if we'd like to order something off the menu, or try the buffet. "Fried chicken on the buffet today!" she exclaimed, pride lacing her drawn-out accent. Although I'm no fan of fried chicken, I opted for the buffet for ease of decision. I grabbed a plate off a pile of mismatched ceramic and plastic dishware and embarked upon the lunch buffet line. Corn, baked beans, fried chicken, some sort of substance--gravy, perhaps? And about 4 empty containers hinting at some fried side dish and mashed potatoes. It seemed to be a "first come first serve" sort of buffet, and we had not been first. The owner had kindly explained that the buffet included "...anything you can find lying around! Just don't wander too far back, or we'll have you washing dishes!" And so I began my search for additional goods to fill my plate. To the left was a side table with a pan of dinner rolls, and flat corn bread pancake sort-of-things, and a couple more picked-over desserts. I took a roll.

Now, my husband has taught me well, and I should have known better than to allow such pessimism to creep in before I set bite into the food because, let me tell you, it was good! It just goes to show that good food is found in unlikely dives. With each bite I began to realize the authenticity of this small little place. The women next to us sipping their coffee had now pulled out a game of sequence, surely this was how they spent their mornings. The owner's family had arrived and she had sat down to catch up with them. She had earlier explained to us that she, her aunt, and her mother ran the place and did all of the cooking. I'd guess this place to be the sort of restaurant where a woman simply found her house full of friends drawn to her great southern cooking, and decided to make a living out of it by slapping a "cafe" sign out front and setting up a few extra tables inside.

Let this cafe be a reminder to me to be more optimistic and embracing of culture in my food endeavors. For little did it matter that the womens room was located through another door outside, and was adorned with fake flowers in a plastic basket resting in a urinal, or that a posse of cats outside the kitchen door were feasting on leftover chicken bones. This place had character! And character is a necessary ingredient for good food.

We also got to experience the Ozark's offering of local food culture at a winters farmers market. Although small, I was quite impressed by the vendors offering local pork, lamb, chicken, beef and sausages, along with fresh chicken and duck eggs, winter produce, bakery and crafts. Ezekiel ran from vendor to vendor, and settled down with dad in front of a woman who spent her days carving wooden spoons. Although not my idea of retirement, she was quite interesting and her spoons-- a work of art. We left with a basket of fresh apples, along with some strudel, a pecan pie, and amazing ginger cookies. Farmers markets being right up my alley, I really enjoyed strolling through the small tent and taking in the offering of local culture and handiwork.

 Sometimes we can get stuck in a rut of returning always to what we know. Out of ignorance, or simple hunger, we resort back to what we know is familiar. This morning as I stood in line at the little crepe coffee shop waiting for a refill on my (delicious) sport tea, I overheard a young boy of about 13 complaining to his mom as he looked over the drink menu that they did not have a "Frappuccino". He lamented to his mom that, "They have to have a Starbucks around here..." They set down the menu and walked out. He sought a label--the "Frappuccino" he knew--and that blinded him to trying something new. I ached a little for them, knowing they were missing out on a great taste of local coffee and culture.

I would feel comfortable claiming that food is 50% taste and 50% culture, and that if we never step outside of what we know, we will only enjoy a mere 50%, at most, of what food has to offer. This would be why Grayson and I rarely find ourselves inside of a chain or franchise restaurant. We enjoy far too much the adventure and discovery of food prepared with thought towards ingredients, composure, and the resulting flavor. For a young family on a tight budget, when we go out to eat we want it to count. We seek not only a full belly, but memories to coincide with where and what we ordered. I would scarcely remember a dish served to me at a mediocre chain restaurant. However, the inspiring plate of food I was served this morning while sitting with my husband in a small coffee shop-- that plate I will remember, equating it with creativity and deliciousness, and pairing it alongside a memory of fond time spent with my hubby. Food is not solely substance, not solely flavor, but culture, inspiration, and memories.

First-Trimester Hiatus Blog 1: A bump in the Belly, a Bump in our Plan to Better Eating...

As promised, from time to time I will post a blog I wrote during my first trimester of this pregnancy. My hope is that these posts may both cause a laugh and give a little insight into how to handle life when circumstances call for us to make allowances, for a time, in our goals and plans. This was my first blog written during my 3-month hiatus from cooking.

First-Trimester Hiatus Blog 1:  "A bump in the Belly, a Bump in our Plan to Better Eating..."
Blog Written at 8 Weeks pregnant, October 22, 2012

My poor husband may suffer through this first trimester a little more than I will. Well, okay, I take that back as I veg out on the sofa, deemed useless by nausea and exhaustion. However, he will suffer this first trimester more than he did during my first trimester of pregnancy with Ezekiel. With Zeke, the early weeks of my pregnancy brought about a strong aversion to anything fresh--fruits or vegetables. This really wasn't big deal because there wasn't much of that matter in our diet anyways. The early weeks also brought a strong inclination to processed foods. Again, this was no big ordeal, as we were accustomed to our occasional frozen pizza or Mac N Cheese dinner. These would now simply become a more prevalent staple on our dinner menu for a while.

Zeke may have to take over some of the responsibilities in the kitchen for a while...

However, between my last and present pregnancy, much transition and growth has taken place in our way of eating. Now frozen pizza is archaic, lost in our minds as a past time of old, a mistake, an error in our previous judgment of what food is. Instead our meals are filled with fresh vegetables and tasty whole grains. Grayson has grown quite fond of wholesome, delicious homemade meals on the dinner table virtually every night of the week.

And so, going into this pregnancy, I resolved to continue our current way of eating. It has become such a primary importance and priority in my life to feed my family well, to fuel them up for their days with energizing food, to bring them around a table of good conversation centered around delicious food. I couldn't give this all up, not after all of our work, progress, and growth.

Zeke doesn't always want to eat his veggies either...

And so we set out, as ritual on Saturday mornings, to the Farmers Market. As we strolled along, Grayson commented on the great array of colors and variety of produce that week. I was just approaching my 7th week of pregnancy. My normal feelings of excitement and adventure surrounding the possibilities of new and unfamiliar produce was now replaced by a queezy unsteadiness in my stomach. I just wanted to get in and get out before the once beautiful produce turned my breakfast of carbs in my stomach enough to expel them in front of one of the vendors....

Instead of our usual overflowing stroller packed with fresh veggies, we left the market that day with some potatoes, cranberries, and decorative gourds (oh, and cookies!). The potatoes and cranberries still stand untouched on my hutch a week and a half later. For a first of the season, we didn't even visit the market this week.

And so, Grayson, so accustomed to delicious meals at the end of his work day, now comes home to a wife laying on the couch, water and crackers on hand; a wife who has no desire, and in fact a strong aversion to step foot in the kitchen.

Staying active during early pregnancy

It has been a blow to my confidence, yes, but humbling all the same. I set out this first trimester telling myself, "We need a plan." I thought that maybe if I just forced myself to cook despite my nausea, or maybe if Gray cooked a few nights a week, or maybe if I could focus on what I could stomach and only cook those meals, we could press on. However, I've come to see that I need to focus less on the "how" we will go about this, and more on the "why". Why have I been so adamant on continuing just as strong as I have been in cooking and seeking better nutrition for my family? Part of it was pride, my avoidance to admit a weakness, that I simply cannot handle as much responsibility in the kitchen while I'm growing a little being in my belly. Especially to admit, here, to my readers, that  there have to be allowances in our diet for times such as these.

I kept focusing on the plan, the how of making this work for the next few months, when all the while I was ignoring the why. Why, in the first place, did we begin this journey? We did it to better the health of our family, to set our children up with a healthy understanding of food, and how God designed to bless us through it. We did this to protect our family from disease and harm. I realize, now, that all the stress over "how" to cook well while pregnant is more damaging to my baby than a grilled cheese sandwich from Culvers. The stress is what I must avoid. We set out on this venture to learn. A new challenge always presents opportunity for further education and a deeper knowledge. That's just what I must see this as. Yes, a bump in the road, but one I must see as an opportunity to learn and grow even further in our venture of good health. I take it day by day. On good days I take advantage of the opportunity to cook, even if not the healthiest of meals, it's still cooked in our kitchen by my hands. On days I find myself comatose on the couch watching Netflix for a lack of ability to do anything else, those days we will reserve for pizza (takeout--we draw the line at frozen pizza, now), or Chinese. It's give and take, but not so much stressful anymore. I recognize my limits and embrace them, as this is a time of rest, a precious time of nurturing this child within me.