Age Is Just a Number, Unless It Isn't

    Katherine in Italy during WWII

Is one's age just a number? Or does it mean something more than its numerical value?

I have a birthday creeping closer, oh so closer. Not THE MAJOR BIRTHDAY like 65 but a significant one. How do we decide that some birthdays are more significant than others? This is a question I ponder.

I've heard people say, "Oh, my mother (or father) lived to be (fill in the age) so I'm not worried about turning....65, 68, 70.."

Once I hit 50, I started calculating my birthdays in terms of how much longer I will or have lived than my mother. Each year I "made it" passed the age she died, I was relieved.

Sound morbid? Or perhaps realistic? You decide.

Probably to a risk assessing physician who asks at what age people in the immediate family died and who in the family had what illness, my approach is realistic because it is based on data. 

My mother died when she was 55. I was 14, the youngest of five kids.

Katherine is pictured above in WWII in Italy where she served as an Army nurse. 
She looks good, doesn't she?

And here again, stateside after her tour, serving in an New Jersey hospital, hanging around until discharge. This is where she met my father.

   Katherine in New Jersey. Sorry the photo is so grainy.

I received so much from Katherine, in the brief 14 years she mothered me. I took from her an acceptance of difference, an appreciation of adventure (hell, she served as an Army nurse in WWII in Italy) and a fear of illness, and probably the genetics for celiac for those from the European North, the Scots, Irish, and plenty of UKers are celiac (if you doubt this visit Nova Scotia, Canada or Ireland some time. Completely easy and acceptable to eat GF there). Sadly, she was not a model for good health practices. She smoked and ate tons of animal fat and never exercised. Healthy routines, I crafted for myself.

But as every birthday approaches and I log one more past her last birthday, I thank  
modern medicine, my own healthy diet and exercise habits, and Katherine -- as I
roll her into the celebration. When the current cardiologist says I can openly blame my parents for my cardiovascular condition, I nod in acknowledgement to my parents and move on.

I can't change my history. But on my birthday, I like to remember what I have in common with Katherine -- good hair, a sense of adventure, an excellent laugh, a desire to help others (nurse-social worker-therapist not so far apart), intelligence, and a kindness toward animals. She witnessed unbelievable horrors in the war as a nurse lieutenant stationed in Italy and beyond; during the Vietnam War, she bought me a Mother for Peace poster (you remember the one, yellow and black with the words -- War is not healthy for children and for other livings things) when I was 13. That poster lived on my wall for years (I'd show it except the copyright police would get me).

I love how my memories of her have shaped me. I wonder what she would have thought of a woman president. I think she would have approved.
Happy (early) birthday to us.
Love, Gail 


On a different note, check out my guest post on the glutenfreetravelsite.com.

http://bit.ly/27SEMan
Even if you are not gluten free the site is helpful if you want to eat healthier. And I've enjoyed reviewing restaurants while we travel.

    Dim Sum at the Shang Palace, Hong Kong. Excellent restaurant.

The Game of Desserts Part II

    Berries, they look good, don't they?

I thought the game ended. I had admitted defeat, waved my white dinner napkin in the air, stopped protesting dessert delivery. Game over, naïvely, that's what I thought.
But I was wrong.

We are on what is called a back-to-back cruise or consecutive cruises, so we stay on the ship for 30 days. But that means when guests from the first leg disembarked, new guests arrived. For the crew, the first couple of days of a new cruise are busy. This is good news for me.

On the busy embarkation day, only berries arrive for dessert. 
Me: May be he gave up or ran out of recipes.
R: May be he doesn't know you are on this leg.
Whatever the reason, the next night again only berries arrive for dessert.
Me: (Slightly giddy) It's over. He knows he won. (I relax. No more food fights).

Not so fast little white haired celiac lady, you don't know the rules of this game.

Two nights in a row, the chef slightly goofs up on my order, one night forgetting to add rice noodles to a stir fry and the next serving my pasta dry. I pay a price for his goofs.

SERVER: Let's see what the chef has made for you.
ME: (Meekly) Ok.
I'm presented with a little chocolate cake and a big bowl of berries, "I'm sorry for the
goofs" gifts.
The next night, a little vanilla cake arrives and two bowls of berries. I take one bite of the cake and eat as many berries as I can hold. I remind R that the next day I'm heading to the gym.

    Vanilla cake and double berries. Game back on.

SERVER: You don't like the cake?
ME: Not really.
SERVER: Some times they are good and sometimes not.
These guys are always optimistic.
Unable to simply watch this drama without joining in, the head server and the maitre de 
assume roles.
The head waiter starts monitoring my food consumption. That evening, I eat half my 
enormous salad.

WAITER: You don't like the salad?
ME: It's too big. Too much food. (Immediately, I know I've uttered the wrong words. He'll take what I've said as a challenge).
WAITER: Maybe tomorrow I make it smaller.
ME: Ok.
By now, I know that will not happen because I live in the world of opposites. The next night, my salad is larger than R's. My words are meaningless.
We are now three days at sea and apparently the maitre de, growing restless, needs a 
project.
That evening, bread arrives.

HIM: Try this. You haven't had any bread. I had the chef make this for you.

He presents me with four pieces of gluten free focaccia.
ME: Ok.
I force R to eat a piece and I eat part of another.
HIM: We'll have this for you every night. We'll just keep it in the back.
ME: (Forcefully) No. I don't want it.
HIM: Ok, just tell me the night before when you want it.

No one listens to me.
Dessert arrives. Something new with chocolate. I'm thinking when will this guy run out of 
recipes?

The head waiter takes my order for the next night, a salad and salmon.
WAITER: That's all.
ME: That's all.
WAITER: I saw yesterday at lunch what you ate, you don't eat enough.
ME: I eat plenty.
WAITER: No, not that much.
He tells R that tomorrow at lunch he wants to see us in his station. My thoughts turn paranoid. I wonder if the kitchen has a watch list, a kind of "America's Most Wanted" for
 those accused of under-eating on the cruise ship. My thoughts worsen, perhaps there is a surveillance camera? I'm being watched?
Honestly, even my parents never monitored my food intake this closely.
I rouse myself from my paranoid thoughts and on my way out of the dining room I chide the maitre de that they are trying to fatten me up. He laughs. Regrettably, I think they've 
succeeded.

A First Thanksgiving (as a Pescatarian-Veganish Celiac)

It is the Thanksgiving season, the season of gratitude, feasting, turkey, stuffing, rolls, friends, family, pie, and all things gluten, and on and on.

I am entering a season of food challenges.

The newish food identity I'm wearing is as a fish eating vegan who is gluten free, or a pescatarian-vegan who can't eat gluten? Or a ....oh geez, I don't know, I'm just about to call myself someone who has to think way too much about food. 

As all my food choices have fallen into place, I've morphed into a UDG -- Undesirable Dinner Guest. I think some people want to invite us to dinner but after a few minutes of quizzing me on what I can eat, move off the topic and on to one less confusing and frustrating, like when to collect social security, the best way to have Americans embrace the metric system, or when the Fed should raise interest rates.

This will be my first Thanksgiving as a.....pescatarian-vegan-dairy-free Celiac. And we've been kindly invited to a large gathering of folks, many of whom I do not know, some who also have food restrictions. 

Weeks ago, I decided to learn more about veganish-pescatarian cooking and took to researching food blogs. I figured I could always offer to bring my own food in the event someone wanted to invite us to dinner. While I found lots of good blogs, two stood out as 
particularly useful and user friendly -- cookieandkate.com and ohsheglows.com. 
My own little veganish test kitchen has produced Spiced Vegan Lentil Soup from www.cookieandkate.com which I was bold enough to serve to guests on two different occasions

    Vegan Spiced Lentil Soup

 and below, Glazed Lentil Walnut Apple Loaf  from www.ohsheglows.com

    Pictured here with Roasted Rosemary Sweet Potatoes.  Looks pretty good, doesn't?

In the process I've collected some amazing recipes including Curried Lentil Soup and Vegan African Peanut Stew as well as Quinoa, Black Bean and Mushroom Burgers. I've 
also gained an appreciation for all combinations of simple, healthy rice bowls -- like those with black beans, tomato, avocado or rice noodles, steamed vegetables topped with spicy peanut sauce.

But I've gained much more than a variety of recipes. I've acquired a renewed respect for difference, how people accept and manage difference and work with what is not traditional 
and expected. For that I'm thankful.

Stay Calm. Carry On. Eat Well. Just not too Much.

Food Wars -- Traveling in Peru as a Celiac Fish Eating Vegan

We've safely returned to the states after our Peruvian adventures, back to toilets that readily flush toilet paper, bug repellent that actually prevents bloody bug bites, and drivers who mostly respect car lanes. Before reviewing how the new food identity worked out, I just want to say -- Peruvians just may be the worst drivers I've ever encountered.

Last spring I thought Italians were the all time worst drivers and road time there certainly activated my fear (a.k.a screaming) response. But Peru, especially Lima, is a nightmarish tangle of horns, rusty metal, and screeching tires. Part of the issue is that about 11 million people live in Lima and 10 million of them drive cars. I'm convinced that all 10 million cars are driven at exactly the same time and usually crammed into just one lane. Simply stated there are just too many cars on the road. And then there are the loose interpretations of rules of the road.  One guide pointed out that "the lines on the road are just decorations" which allows drivers to creatively turn three clearly marked lanes into six or more chaotic messes, with drivers pushing and bullying their way through the muddle. Eventually, I stopped counting the number of near misses, almost collisions, potential wheels-off-the-
road-and-down-the-cliff experiences. It seemed implied that no space, alley, mountainous dirt road is too small or too crowded to attempt to wedge one more shuttle bus or car or both on through. The primitive part of my brain surprised even me with its new arrangements of panic cries.

Of course, none of this has to do with food and travel. I'm just providing providing a little 
warm up on Peru.

On to food. Here's my overall assessment of Peru-- a vegan would probably starve in Peru, 
especially in the Andes.

 While Andeans eat lots of vegetables, especially potatoes and tough, chewy corn, they
also love to add cheese to food. And they eat guinea pig and cute, cuddly looking Alpacas which they turn into steak.

We traveled from the states to Lima and on to Cusco for a walking tour of the Sacred Valley, Machu Picchu, and beyond. This trip was my test to see if I could travel and maintain a healthy gluten free, vegan diet that includes fish. 

How'd I do?

I'm happy to report that I did not completely fail, although I did not succeed 100% of the time, either. Prior to setting off, I thought eating in the land of quinoa, potatoes, and seafood would be a breeze. Now I know that I need to stop fantasizing about how I imagine something will go and become a little more realistic and strategic. Traveling in most countries with so many dietary restrictions will just be.....challenging.

For instance, Peruvians cook with butter so it took me a day or two to figure this out and to ask that my food be steamed or prepared in oil. Potatoes, which I ate frequently and are plentiful (4300 varieties of potatoes in Peru) could be roasted in oil rather than butter. This seemed like news to Peruvian chefs. Never did I imagine that innocent, healthy quinoa could turn against me. Sometimes it was prepared with wheat, sometimes with cheese, and at times with both or infrequently when I hit the jackpot, with neither, just vegetables.
While I was determined not to eat saturated fat-laden cheese, I did end up eating some grilled white meat chicken and felt, at those moments, that I was cheating on my pescatarian cardiologist. I had a couple of completely vegan days, mostly forced upon me because vegetables and rice were my only options when others were being served guinea pig, pizza, or jumbo sized burgers with bacon. You'd have thought we were in the states, except for the roasted guinea pig. Peruvian salmon trout and white fish, when prepared with oil were excellent options, when I could find them on the menu.

Guinea pigs. Usually home raised. I told them to make a break for it but they seemed content to chew grass and sniff one another. They are blissfully unaware of their fate.

I found myself frustrated with the tour company guides'  (VBT.com which on previous bike tours had done a stellar job) inattention to my food needs at group meals. At a highly touted picnic on the seventh day catered by Cusco's best restaurant dish after Peruvian dish were presented to the group, most all made with wheat and off limits to me. While group members stuffed themselves with Andean quiche, roasted Alpaca, quinoa patties, quinoa encrusted chicken and other specialties, I ate roasted potatoes, some kind of salad, guacamole, and sliced tomatoes and avocado. Not bad, but not what we paid for. Going forward, we'll think hard before booking a group tour.

Once again, Think Thin gluten free  protein bars saved me a few times. We flew overnight from Dallas Fort Worth to Lima. American Airlines provided meals for everyone on board but me. The customer service person graciously said I was "entitled to a flight but not a meal" and the airline held firm on that policy for they had nothing on the long flight safe to eat. Must say that LAN airlines did a much better job on the return flight.

What did I learn? Traveling with dietary restrictions is challenging and will always be that way. I need to accept that and work with it. But hey, just attending a party or going to someone's house presents eating challenges for me. The up side? I actually lost weight while traveling around the Sacred Valley and Machu Picchu and returned home, after eating in Lima, at my usual weight. Not bad.

    Ceviche in Lima. Gluten free and surprisingly good.

   Could have been worse -- this woman is eating cow's head soup. Notice the teeth.

    Machu Picchu -- land of biting little bugs and great beauty.

Forging a New Food Identity

I'm in the midst of a food identity crisis. Ok, crisis is probably way too strong a word. Perhaps it is more a transition. That's it, I'm in a food transition.

Am I a celiac vegan who eats fish and egg whites? A pescatarian with celiac who avoids dairy?  I'm just not sure; I just feel confused.

About eight years ago, I was diagnosed with celiac.  Mostly, I have figured out how to eat and travel with this autoimmune illness. But what the doctor is now saying to me.....Oops, I'm getting ahead of myself. Let me back up.

Not long ago, I was sitting in the exam room intently looking at the new, highly recommended doctor. I was fresh from an EKG and echocardiogram and I had my dreadful Cardiac Calcium Screening report gripped in my hand.

Then he spoke.

"This is the one time you get to blame your parents."

In a nanosecond, I pondered what he had said and considered possible responses to the doctor's remark.  I'm thinking that some part of me has wanted to hear someone say just this -- Yup, for  these crappy heart reports, you can blame the parents.

I even considered that perhaps my former patients at times wanted me to say this to them. That they too could blame their parents for their situations.

But this is not a therapy session for me or one of my patients. The man seated across from me dressed in a summer plaid shirt, Keen hiking shoes, and cargo pants -- the typical physician uniform in Bend -- is my new cardiologist.
And he is giving me the go ahead to blame my parents for my sucky genetics. Oddly, despite his delivering rather unpleasant news, I like him. That's the best part of the visit.

Once I've digested the less than appealing test results, we move on to discuss what can be done. It is this discussion that has led me to a food identity crisis.

Despite my having eaten a fairly healthy diet over the decades, the nice new doc is suggesting I switch to a modified vegetarian diet, one that includes some healthy fish.

Many vegetarians eat dairy (lacto-vegetarian) but I try to avoid dairy which is more vegan-like. But vegans don't eat fish or egg whites.....and both vegans and vegetarians eat grains and I don't because I'm celiac but I do eat legumes and rice.

May be you understand my confusion? 

And I haven't even considered how the new food identity, whatever it is, will impact travel.
More to come.....and to ponder.

Until next time Gluten Free Black Bean, Quinoa, and Corn Vegetarian Patties. Sadly, they were kind of crumbly but tasted great.

Traveling With Celiac Italian-Style and screaming along the way

Recently, I've taken to screaming several times a day. It is not like I've adopted this as a hobby or something. I'm screaming because, at the moment it seems very much like I might die. So I scream. Just a good old-fashioned fear response, which has been occurring since, at the Rome seaport, we rented a small car. I've been unusually frightened ever since.

Of course my fear is occurring for a reason: Italians either drive 120 miles per hour because they believe they are Batman test driving the newest Batmobile or 15 miles an hour because that's the speed they drive farm equipment. The problem is these slow-moving obstacles are almost impossible to circumvent because those driving 120 miles per hour come flying out of nowhere like stealth bats-out-of-hell, scaring witless Americans who then become too frightened to pass the slow-moving obstacles. It is indeed a game with unclear rules. A part of this game I have figured out is that those in the Italian Batmobiles are keenly aware of the slow-moving obstacles. This I know is true because no one seems to crash. Ahhh.  Unfortunately, those of us in-between, the sort of law abiding, hapless foreigners on holiday who stupidly rented a car in a foreign country rather than taking the train and who don't understand the rules to this driving game are left panicked. Or in my case screaming.

My screaming is not planned, it is certainly not appreciated by my driver-husband, and it is wearing me out. Then yesterday, I started screaming for a new reason. Something dark, competitive, and alarming has awakened in R who seemingly has determined he'll beat the Italian Batmobile drivers at their own game. It seems the American Dark Knight has risen, looks exactly like my husband, and is driving me around Southern Italy -- but in nothing nearly so safe, or cool, as a Batmobile. During those brief moments when I open my eyes long enough to glance at the odometer, and I see that my husband is now driving 115 miles an hour with the speed edging up, I scream.  Right now, my life scares me.

All this makes traveling with celiac seem much less important and easier to handle, especially since after a day of screaming I'm much less hungry and more interested in making red wine my meal.

Back to the topic at hand we will go --  eating in Italy when one has celiac -- once we return the car. Can't wait to join the bike tour!
Ciao.

Crusty, yummy gluten-free bread in Matera.

Traveling with Celiac

Currently, the bed count is 82 -- but more about that in another post.

I'm sitting in my cabin looking out at the tranquil Mediterranean Sea watching small fishing boats chug into port. Enormous, ah well-fed, seagulls circle the boats because these birds know what I know -- Spanish seafood is delicious. Eating in Barcelona is a pleasurable feast of simple, fresh food. When I was first diagnosed with Celiac, I worried that traveling, especially to a foreign country would prove almost impossibly tricky. While staying healthy when traveling can be tricky, it has proven less challenging than I had feared -- as long as I plan ahead.

Since receiving the diagnosis in early 2009, I've had two major attacks and a few minor ones. Both major attacks were in the states and occurred years apart.  The recent one in Palm Springs, CA following a family celebration dinner in a restaurant reminded me that I best always be careful when it comes to eating food away from home.

During the years between attacks, I'd traveled to Argentina, Halifax, Nova Scotia, Prince Edward Island, Canada, Ecuador, Galapagos, places in the Mediterranean, Prague, other parts of the Czech Republic, Germany, Austria, Budapest, Baja, Mexico, Amsterdam, Belgium, Ireland, Scotland, Denmark, Norway, Hawaii, Australia, New Zealand. All without any significantly detectable incident. Here are some random thoughts on how I've managed while on the road.

1. When I visit a foreign country, I'm on guard about food and focused on eating safely more so than when I am in the states. Unfortunately, in the states there are times I assume, like in Palm Springs, I know what is safe to eat and that assumption lands me in trouble.

2. Generally people in foreign countries tend to know much more about Celiac or even gluten sensitivity than people -- chefs, servers, food service workers -- do in the states. For example, eating in Halifax was easy because restaurants understand Celiac in part because a high percentage of Nova Scotians have Celiac. This holds true in Italy and Ireland.

3. For many travelers, street food is a genuine pleasure and a way of experiencing a different culture. I, however, view street food as poison and avoid it completely. Even if the vendor tells me the food is gluten free, I'm suspect of cross contamination and hidden gluten.  I limit myself to admiring the food's appearance.

4. I carry packaged food with me. Think Thin gluten free protein bars are easy to pack and have substituted for a meal in more than one country or on a long distance flight.

5. Celiac Cards!  We don't leave home without them! Several years ago, R found a web site that posts downloadable, printable Celiac cards that state exactly what I cannot eat, what I can eat, and what happens if I ingest gluten. The cards are available in every language imaginable. In a foreign country, I show the server the card who then may show it to the chef and we figure out what I can safely eat. I must say that universally, servers are happy to help me. The cards allow me to travel with less anxiety to countries where I do not speak the language.

6.  The Internet makes managing Celiac while traveling so much easier.  We search ahead of time for gluten free or gluten free friendly restaurants so that we arrive with a few restaurant options. Tripadvisor is a great resource as are the many sites or blogs written by others who have issues with gluten.

7. I've learned to ignore comments or observations about my diet. Many times I meet someone who knows someone else who is reported to have Celiac but can eat so much more than what I do. I'm glad for that person. However, I've learned what works for me and when I'm on my game, I stay safe.

Happy Travels. Gotta go. More of Barcelona to see.

Traveling With Celiac in Italy

Bed count 89. Locations of beds 87, 88, and 89 -- the magical land of southern Italy, Puglia, the heel of the boot. Let me just go on record that I think the Italians really know how to live, minus their limited use of air conditioning, terrible highway driving, and roads in need of repair. And I guess I'll add to the list their tradition of starting dinner each evening at 8 or 8:30pm which can be a bit late for an American. Beyond those complaints, I think Italy is heavenly and mostly makes up for the minuses with sunny, warm days, slower pace of life, amazing scenery, and abundant, glorious food.

On this segment of the trip, we traveled to Siena in Tuscany, the old port town Bari on the Adriatic, inland to historic Matera and then with the bike tour to small villages like Alberbello, Ostuni, Fasano, Otranto -- all beautiful parts of southern Italy, a region fairly easily traveled when one has celiac.

Here's a summary of what I've learned about dining in Italy with celiac--

1. In larger, frequently visited (think day trips from Florence) cities, like Siena that serve international tourists it will simply be easier and more convenient to find safe food. In Siena our hotel Palazzo Ravizza recommended a restaurant only a few minutes from the hotel. The restaurant owner's wife has celiac, diagnosed when she was seven. While this is an unfortunate situation for her, for a traveler with celiac it has yielded a restaurant owner who deeply understands celiac and manages his kitchen in a celiac-safe way. It was such a joy to safely eat delicious Italian food that we ate there twice and recommended it to a couple we met on a tour. His restaurant is Vivace (vivacesiena.com). The owner of Vivace recommended another restaurant that makes safe gluten free pizza. We delighted in Siena's considerable charms and  ate well.

2. In Italy, food service workers are required to understand celiac and food allergies  and in my experience they are well educated. Once I mastered the important phrase "Senza glutine" (without gluten or gluten free) and handed over my celiac card, which every server knowingly brushed away, I was in business. The Italians, no matter how limited their English wanted to help me have a delicious, safe meal. Celiac wasn't an annoyance to them. I wish that were true in the states.

3. Make friends! Not just in life but when traveling, especially in smaller cities where dining options may be more limited. Richard befriended the gregarious Italian gentleman who ran the tourist office in Matera. He recommended a wonderful restaurant, Fornaci, and phoned the chef to confirm he could accommodate celiac and to tell him we were heading his way. On our arrival, the chef came out to greet us, took my Italian celiac card, wrote on the reservation "gluten-free" and told us to come back in an hour. When we returned, I was greeted with fresh gluten-free rolls and told I could select anything I wanted from the menu and he would prepare it gluten-free. In Matera, I found gluten free heaven and excellent, affordable wine. It is very good to have friends.

    The remains of my wonderful fish soup!

4. Traveling in a country that values fresh, quality food mostly makes eating safely easier. Beyond pasta and bread, much of southern Italian cooking is naturally gluten free. Zuppa di pesce, a luscious tomato based fish chowder of mussels, shrimp, white fish, and clams is 
made without any wheat filler and easily found in many restaurants, even in small villages.
And many a small restaurant in a small village offered gluten-free pasta.

5. With some advanced notification, even organized tours that include meals will provide excellent food. I've been on tours where styrofoam-like, overly wrapped pseudo-food was presented (or tossed at me) as my included meal. Not in Italy. On a day long tour of wineries that included lunch, I enjoyed antipasto, salad, and pasta with the group and the chef asked specifically if my gluten free pasta was to my liking. It was and I came home with six pounds as proof.

    A Puglia specialty -- which is gluten-free. Black rice, vegetables, and fresh mussels. Heavenly.

6. While my preference is to be as stealth as possible about food, that often isn't possible because fellow travelers are curious about what I eat. I'm always prepared to answer questions about celiac, but I do grow annoyed when others want to know why I'm 
receiving "special" food. Thick skin is a good thing to pack when traveling.

    Seafood pasta found in the small village of Monopli.

Is it no wonder that my current day dreams feature extended stays in sleepy Italian masserias, long bike rides along the Adriatic, and multi- course meals enjoyed late into the night? Oh, Italy.