I love to cook and I enjoy good food but these days I have to listen to my body, which is attacking me at all times if I don’t eat right. Autoimmune disorders, in my case an inflammation that affects my small joints. Pain, and joint stiffness, endless fatigue, and brain fog I should get a patent for. All gone if I stick to a healthy diet. Too much protein is my downfall, sugar drives me mad, gluten inflames my gut, dairy, including my beloved cheese, has become my archenemy.
It’s one of my go-to recipes when I don’t have too much time to bake. So easy to make, such a great taste, not too heavy and chewy, just the way I like it. A quick pie, not made to impress anything else than the taste buds.
“Ultimately, the roast turkey must be regarded as a monument to Boomer’s love.
Look at it now, plump and glossy, floating across Idaho as if it were a mammoth, mutated seed pod. Hear how it backfires as it passes the silver mines, perhaps in tribute to the origin of the knives and forks of splendid sterling that a roast turkey and a roast turkey alone possesses the charisma to draw forth into festivity from dark cupboards.
When you travel to Africa, North America, or Asia, and you walk away from the typical tourist attractions you will see people sing and laugh, and you will be surprised to notice that often the loudest laughter and the greatest joy comes from the poorest of the poor.
I have a disease that can take up to fifteen years off my life expectancy, and I happen to find this highly inconvenient. I have been setting the age of my demise at 80′-something, so fifteen years less would mean I could say bye-bye with 65, which is just not an option. Don’t you dare cheat me out of my years!
Last week I met an older lady and her senior Wiener dog. She had brought the dog with her, “He doesn’t like waiting in the car,” she informed me and I told her it was fine with me. Our dogs were sleeping somewhere in the house.
“What’s his name,” I asked her and started padding the dog.
“Martini.”
My husband had his first Starbucks coffee a few weeks ago. When I asked him how he liked it, he said it was alright, but not worth the money. Sometimes, his down to earthiness can be a bit annoying. Of course, he is right. I remember how shocked I was years ago when a friend invited me to a cup of overpriced caramel-whipped-cream-madness. I had forgotten and he brought things back into perspective.
My neighbor just signed up for Weight Watchers and she is excited the same way she always is when she finds help on her never-ending weight loss journey. “I was a chubby child, an overweight adult and now I am an overweight older Grandma,” she says and then she tells me about her heavy bones, and how she was doomed to be overweight her whole life. “It’s genetic!”
When the sense of smell is lost you can almost get depressed. Anosmia is the clinical term, something I knew nothing about. Sadly, now I do. Four months after my husband and I tested positive for COVID-19 I still can’t smell a thing.
Sometimes for a split second, I think I can smell my perfume or my husband’s aftershave. When I get our beds ready for the night and spray my favorite room spray, which is supposed to help us to relax and sleep well, I seem to catch a short sensation of Eucalyptus and Spearmint but it instantly fades away. My brain playing tricks on me?
Living a rather healthy lifestyle these days, I was still searching for the perfect beverage. My beloved glass of red wine in the evening is long history and is only remembered when I look at my collection of wine glasses I once thought I could not live without.