Dinner For One: Part Six
“All love that has not friendship for its base, is like a mansion built upon the sand.” - Ella Wheeler Wilcox
“When one is in love, one begins by deceiving one’s self and ends by deceiving others. That is what the world calls a romance.” - Oscar Wilde
Two quotes this time. I just liked them.
The other day I made 84 meatballs, each of which weighs in at around two ounces. It’s quick enough math. I made ten pounds of meatballs. I’m simply not used to the idea of cooking for one person yet. Want more proof? There’s the gallon of chili sitting in my refrigerator and freezer. Also, there’s the two quarts of frozen fifteen-bean soup in the freezer, currently resting under around eight pounds of meatballs.
Allow me to explain for the uninitiated. When Bonnie was alive, we lived with her mother and her two brothers. Long story short, it was saner to have someone who could watch over Bonnie while I was at work and there were her mother’s health issues to consider as well. So, not only do I come from a large family to begin with, but I also married into a decent sized crowd.
Here’s the way it broke down: Bonnie’s mom had a few serious health issues to contend with, most of which are now, thankfully, under control. She also lost her husband a few years ago (a loss of spouse, oddly, is something I’m beginning to understand.) and went into a rather substantial depression in addition to her health issues. So, for around five years, I did the cooking in the household. My schedule at work was flexible, Bonnie wasn’t up to cooking because her health simply did not allow, and her mom had different levels of emotional and physical readiness that left the task to me. Why me? Because Bonnie’s condition also required a rather strict diet and that meant somebody doing the cooking who understood what those rules meant. No or extremely low sodium. As little potassium as possible. Calcium? Got to watch that intake. Fluids have to be considered carefully. Want to have beans with dinner? That means soaking the beans repeatedly in warm water until the potassium levels have been leeched down to a reasonable level. Magnesium is an issue with any and every legume, bean and grain. Potassium is high in potatoes, tomatoes and citrus fruit. Got to watch that. Of course there’s the diabetes to consider, and that means monitoring the level of carbohydrates taken in. Too little and you have an insulin reaction. Too much and you have a different problem entirely. Did I mention phosphorus? Got to watch that, too. Phosphorus overdoses mean brittle bones and heart issues. Really, damned near everything means heart issues.
Try to make the food not taste like nothing, please. Cooking for large groups means making certain concessions. Can’t use salt, but with the right balance either lemon juice or vinegar can replace salt in recipes. Spaghetti (or any recipe involving tomato sauce) must be offered in moderation. That includes chili. Macaroni and cheese? Limited. Too much calcium. Everything is limited.
Fresh vegetables? They have to be prepared the right way. Canned vegetables? Only if they’re cooked without salt. Careful on the beans. Carrots? This one doesn’t like cooked carrots. That one could do without the onions. The flavor is okay, but the texture is weird. How about onion powder? That’s okay. Pepper? Very small amounts please, but if it’s on the table you can add your own. Trust me, I could go on.
All of which was just part of being in a family and all of which is entirely different than trying to remember to cook for one person. I’ve changed my dietary habits radically. Seriously, I can’t clarify that enough. I don’t eat what I sued to and I don’t eat in the quantities I used to. These days when I want a snack, I normally grab an apple. I have not consumed anything from McDonalds since Bonnie passed. It started as a side effect, really. Just didn’t have any appetite and nothing appealed to me. I asked the in-laws what they wanted to eat every day, because I just didn’t care. I’d cook it, sure, but I didn’t want to think that hard about food, and I had no appetite with which to consume it. As a diabetic there are certain rules. I HAVE to eat, because the medicines I take will knock me into a coma if I don’t. So, yeah, I’m still eating, no worries there.
But you know what? I’ve lost six inches off my waist, last I checked, since Bonnie passed. Probably it’s closer to eight inches, because the pants I bought the last time around aren’t snug any more. They’re looking a little saggy in the seat. I call it “The Grief Diet,” with tongue firmly planted in cheek. I don’t recommend it, but it’s damned effective.
The grief continues, of course, but my appetite has returned to a certain extent. I just decided to take advantage of the situation and alter my eating habits. The meatballs I made? Fifty-fifty split or turkey meat and extremely lean beef. The chili? Yep. Ground turkey. I don’t eat out much. Once a week on the average I get together with several friends at the local Mexican restaurant and we shoot the breeze and I indulge in a meal with about three times the fat intake I normally allow myself in a day. Beef once a week or so. Lots of fish and chicken and turkey for me, thanks. And vegetables. Oodles of vegetables.
No two ways about it, I let myself go in an epic way. I can look at pictures of myself from a few months ago and I’m appalled at how heavy I am. It’s not healthy.
I also take better care of monitoring my blood sugars than I have ever before. I watch my carbohydrate intake, and I’m still going pretty low sodium. I cook with lemon and vinegar and use salt sparingly.
Did I mention the exercise? Currently I’m riding that stationary bike I bought for Bonnie every day to the tune of around seven to seven and a half miles per day according to the odometer on the bloody thing. I also bought a couple of ten pound weights and am doing around a hundred light weight curls a day. And stretching, of course, because I have the room in this place of my own to do my stretches without knocking over any furniture. That was one of the reasons for renting my current domicile: I wanted to have the room to stretch and do my exercises.
You see, Bonnie wanted me to take care of myself. She wanted me to be around for a long time. So I guess that’s another way of honoring her wishes and her memory, same as following her requests for a cremation and scattering her ashes in the locations we had discussed. I’ve run across a few people who were surprised by how much weight I’ve lost. I’ve heard a few encouraging comments about the exercise regimen. I’m still not svelte. I’ll never be skinny, God knows. But I’m exercising. I suppose that’s a good thing. I don’t know that I’d call this the road to self-improvement so much as a way to survive doing time on Planet Earth, but I am, by God, exercising.
Now I just have to work on not cooking enough food for a small army. I’m pretty sure I have enough meatballs to last me for the next six months. What’s the menu for tonight? Leftovers. Not a problem. I have plenty.
It is what it is.
“When one is in love, one begins by deceiving one’s self and ends by deceiving others. That is what the world calls a romance.” - Oscar Wilde
Two quotes this time. I just liked them.
The other day I made 84 meatballs, each of which weighs in at around two ounces. It’s quick enough math. I made ten pounds of meatballs. I’m simply not used to the idea of cooking for one person yet. Want more proof? There’s the gallon of chili sitting in my refrigerator and freezer. Also, there’s the two quarts of frozen fifteen-bean soup in the freezer, currently resting under around eight pounds of meatballs.
Allow me to explain for the uninitiated. When Bonnie was alive, we lived with her mother and her two brothers. Long story short, it was saner to have someone who could watch over Bonnie while I was at work and there were her mother’s health issues to consider as well. So, not only do I come from a large family to begin with, but I also married into a decent sized crowd.
Here’s the way it broke down: Bonnie’s mom had a few serious health issues to contend with, most of which are now, thankfully, under control. She also lost her husband a few years ago (a loss of spouse, oddly, is something I’m beginning to understand.) and went into a rather substantial depression in addition to her health issues. So, for around five years, I did the cooking in the household. My schedule at work was flexible, Bonnie wasn’t up to cooking because her health simply did not allow, and her mom had different levels of emotional and physical readiness that left the task to me. Why me? Because Bonnie’s condition also required a rather strict diet and that meant somebody doing the cooking who understood what those rules meant. No or extremely low sodium. As little potassium as possible. Calcium? Got to watch that intake. Fluids have to be considered carefully. Want to have beans with dinner? That means soaking the beans repeatedly in warm water until the potassium levels have been leeched down to a reasonable level. Magnesium is an issue with any and every legume, bean and grain. Potassium is high in potatoes, tomatoes and citrus fruit. Got to watch that. Of course there’s the diabetes to consider, and that means monitoring the level of carbohydrates taken in. Too little and you have an insulin reaction. Too much and you have a different problem entirely. Did I mention phosphorus? Got to watch that, too. Phosphorus overdoses mean brittle bones and heart issues. Really, damned near everything means heart issues.
Try to make the food not taste like nothing, please. Cooking for large groups means making certain concessions. Can’t use salt, but with the right balance either lemon juice or vinegar can replace salt in recipes. Spaghetti (or any recipe involving tomato sauce) must be offered in moderation. That includes chili. Macaroni and cheese? Limited. Too much calcium. Everything is limited.
Fresh vegetables? They have to be prepared the right way. Canned vegetables? Only if they’re cooked without salt. Careful on the beans. Carrots? This one doesn’t like cooked carrots. That one could do without the onions. The flavor is okay, but the texture is weird. How about onion powder? That’s okay. Pepper? Very small amounts please, but if it’s on the table you can add your own. Trust me, I could go on.
All of which was just part of being in a family and all of which is entirely different than trying to remember to cook for one person. I’ve changed my dietary habits radically. Seriously, I can’t clarify that enough. I don’t eat what I sued to and I don’t eat in the quantities I used to. These days when I want a snack, I normally grab an apple. I have not consumed anything from McDonalds since Bonnie passed. It started as a side effect, really. Just didn’t have any appetite and nothing appealed to me. I asked the in-laws what they wanted to eat every day, because I just didn’t care. I’d cook it, sure, but I didn’t want to think that hard about food, and I had no appetite with which to consume it. As a diabetic there are certain rules. I HAVE to eat, because the medicines I take will knock me into a coma if I don’t. So, yeah, I’m still eating, no worries there.
But you know what? I’ve lost six inches off my waist, last I checked, since Bonnie passed. Probably it’s closer to eight inches, because the pants I bought the last time around aren’t snug any more. They’re looking a little saggy in the seat. I call it “The Grief Diet,” with tongue firmly planted in cheek. I don’t recommend it, but it’s damned effective.
The grief continues, of course, but my appetite has returned to a certain extent. I just decided to take advantage of the situation and alter my eating habits. The meatballs I made? Fifty-fifty split or turkey meat and extremely lean beef. The chili? Yep. Ground turkey. I don’t eat out much. Once a week on the average I get together with several friends at the local Mexican restaurant and we shoot the breeze and I indulge in a meal with about three times the fat intake I normally allow myself in a day. Beef once a week or so. Lots of fish and chicken and turkey for me, thanks. And vegetables. Oodles of vegetables.
No two ways about it, I let myself go in an epic way. I can look at pictures of myself from a few months ago and I’m appalled at how heavy I am. It’s not healthy.
I also take better care of monitoring my blood sugars than I have ever before. I watch my carbohydrate intake, and I’m still going pretty low sodium. I cook with lemon and vinegar and use salt sparingly.
Did I mention the exercise? Currently I’m riding that stationary bike I bought for Bonnie every day to the tune of around seven to seven and a half miles per day according to the odometer on the bloody thing. I also bought a couple of ten pound weights and am doing around a hundred light weight curls a day. And stretching, of course, because I have the room in this place of my own to do my stretches without knocking over any furniture. That was one of the reasons for renting my current domicile: I wanted to have the room to stretch and do my exercises.
You see, Bonnie wanted me to take care of myself. She wanted me to be around for a long time. So I guess that’s another way of honoring her wishes and her memory, same as following her requests for a cremation and scattering her ashes in the locations we had discussed. I’ve run across a few people who were surprised by how much weight I’ve lost. I’ve heard a few encouraging comments about the exercise regimen. I’m still not svelte. I’ll never be skinny, God knows. But I’m exercising. I suppose that’s a good thing. I don’t know that I’d call this the road to self-improvement so much as a way to survive doing time on Planet Earth, but I am, by God, exercising.
Now I just have to work on not cooking enough food for a small army. I’m pretty sure I have enough meatballs to last me for the next six months. What’s the menu for tonight? Leftovers. Not a problem. I have plenty.
It is what it is.