Why I'm a food snob (and think you should be too)

There is quite a hot debate right now over an unexpected source: Kraft Macaroni and Cheese.  (What about war?  You scream.  Or clean water?  Or women's rights in third world countries?  Who needs those, says I!  Let's talk powdered cheese.)

Here's the thing: I don't give a lick about the blue box.  To those who like it, I say go for it.  Is it good for you?  No.  Will it kill you?  Probably not.  Does it contain all kinds of preservatives and other icky stuff?  Um... yathink???  Don't tell me you were laboring under the delusion that any cheese made by man or beast is that color.

My beef (so to speak) is with the people who have an issue with this.  To you, I say: GET OVER IT!  And more importantly, like anything else - no one is forcing it on you.  Want to hear a better option than whining about dye in what is clearly an overly-processed food? 

Hold on, this suggestion is going to rock your socks off:

 

Make your own!

That's right, I said it.  Want to know how long it takes to make macaroni and cheese that isn't pre-packaged?  About 7 seconds longer than it takes to make macaroni and cheese that is.  Instead of lodging all kinds of complaints, why aren't we educating people about how to avoid the blue box altogether?  No offense, Kraft, but we can do better. (See below for recipe overload.  You're welcome.)

Cue the soapbox, because I feel even more strongly about jarred baby food. 

It's not that I'm against it, exactly.  It's just that - like the choice between Kraft and mac and cheese made with, well, cheese - given the choice between two alternatives, one is (to me) an absolute no- brainer.  I feel the same way about breastmilk and formula.  If you can, you should. 

Riddle me this: have you ever actually tasted the jarred stuff?  Or read the labels?  I know that with the growth of the organic industry, enormous strides have been made to keep the unpronounceable chemistry terms out of baby food, but c'mon... wouldn't you rather know exactly where it came from and exactly what's in it?  You and I both know that good foods go bad.  Even under the best of circumstances and intentions... if it's in a jar, there has to be something else in there that keeps it from doing what nature intended. 

It's not that I'm opposed to all of that forever.  Will my kid eventually eat McDonald's?  Sure.  But Baby's brain grows faster in the first year than at any other time of life.  Ever.  Isn't that something worth feeding, and feeding well?

The other thing is, it's easy.  Like, really, really easy.  Honest. 

If I invest about four hours over a weekend, I can feed Logan well for two weeks solid.  Or, I can spend an hour or two here and there replenishing my stocks or offering more variety.  There is no need for fancy-shmancy recipes (although I do absolutely adore this book.  I highly recommend it, as it's filled with not only good recipes, but also tons of information about nutrition and development), just a really good hand blender, a steamer and a few icecube trays.  With those things as allies, you literally can't go wrong. 

In terms of the cost, I admit that I haven't done a side-by-side comparison.  I don't know that I'd even know where to begin on that front, because I have no idea what a "serving" actually is.  My little man can down three icecubes-worth of food, but what that equates to?  No clue.  I know that babies cost a lot regardless of which route you take, and that I'm lucky enough that I don't notice the increase in my grocery bill when I purchase extra fruit and veggies for pureeing purposes.  I have a sneaking suspicion, though, that it would come out roughly equal in the long run. 

I recently had a conversation about jarred baby food with a colleague of mine at school.  I asked him if he used the jarred stuff with his two kids, and he looked at me as if I'd just asked if the sky were blue.  "Of course!  My wife and I both worked while the kids were little." 

I get that.  And I work, too.  And frequently have to single parent while Hubby is out of town on business.  I understand the demands on every minute of time.

To me, though, I just can't help but feel like this is an important investment to make in your child's life.  I wish someone would cover this in birthing and new-parent classes, so that at least people know that the option is out there, and that it's nowhere near as big a deal as you might think. 

We can do better. 

In that spirit, here are a few super easy recipes.  30 minutes or less, minus cooking time on the beef stew. 

Tomato, cauliflower and carrot with basil

3 medium carrots, peeled and sliced

1 head cauliflower, stems mostly removed

2 tablespoons unsalted butter

4 medium tomatoes, peeled, seeded and chopped

1/2 cup grated Cheddar cheese

2 or 3 fresh basil leaves (or a few dashes dried basil)

 

Put the carrots in a saucepan, cover with boiling water and simmer, covered for 10 minutes.  Add the cauliflower and cook, covered, for 7-8 minutes. 

 

Meanwhile, melt the butter in another pan, add the tomatoes and saute until mushy.  Remove from the heat and stir in the basil and cheese until melted. 

Oh yeah... I added green onions to this, because I'm wild like that.  And also?  Yes, it looks like cat puke.  But it tastes de-lish.  For reals.

Puree the carrots and cauliflower with the tomato sauce and about 3 tablespoons of cooking liquid.

Yield: about 24 icecubes

 

 

Broccoli and Cauliflower in Cheese Sauce

1 head broccoli

1 head cauliflower - all stems removed

Steam the cauliflower and broccoli for about 7 minutes or until tender.

 

Meanwhile, make cheese sauce as follows:

1 tbsp unsalted butter

1 tbsp all-purpose flour

1 Cup milk

Dash of nutmeg

1/2 cup grated Cheddar cheese

Melt butter in hot saucepan.  Add flower and mix until chunky.  Add milk a little at a time, stiring constantly until sauce thickens.  Add cheese and nutmeg.

Puree together until smooth to desired consistency.

Yield: about 24 icecubes

 

Beef Stew

1 1/2 tbsp vegetable oil

1 onion, chopped

1 clove garlic, crushed

1 1/2 tbsp flour

1 tspn Paprika

1lb stewing beef

1 3/4 cups chicken stock or water

2 medium carrots, peeled and chopped

3 medium potatoes, peeled and chopped

Any of the following: celery, mushrooms, corn, peas (others?)

Heat the oil and saute the onion and garlic for 3 minutes.  Mix the flour and paprika together in a small bowl and toss the meat in to coat.  Saute in oil until browned.  Pour in the stock, add desired vegetables and herbs.  Bring to a boil and then simmer, covered, for about 1.5 hours or until the meat is tender, adding more stock if necessary.  Puree with as much of the cooking liquid as desired.

 

Yield: 24 icecubes

 

And, if you're not convinced yet, there are at least a dozen recipes as complicated as: peel, chop, steam, blend.  Apples, pears, squash, carrots, not to mention the no-cook baby food (I'm looking at you, avocado)... even Casey can do it.

 

Stovetop Mac and Cheese (unabashedly stolen from another blogger - you know who you are, with my gratitude!)

1/2 lb elbow macaroni (bonus points if it's whole wheat!)

3 tbsp butter

1 egg yolk

5 oz evaporated milk

1/2 tspn hot sauce

3/4 tspn Worcestershire sauce

3/4 tspn yellow mustard

6 oz Cheddar cheese

salt and pepper to taste

Cook macaroni according to package.  Drain, return to pan and add butter, cheese.  Whisk together remaining ingredients, stir into pasta and heat over low.  Stir continually for 3 minutes.

The best part is, it's totally customizeable.  Don't have evaporated milk?  That's cool.  Use the kids' whole.  Don't have Worcestershire sauce?  Use a dash of soy, or nothing at all.  There are no rules here, and you can't go wrong.  Kraft, eat your heart out. 

 

Bragging rights?  Those are optional. 

Having it all: The biggest myth since Prince Charming

Ladies and Gentleman (but especially ladies):

Let's get real for a minute.  I think we know it deep down in our bones, and yet we continue to propagate this silly, unattainable myth. 

The post that I have gotten the absolute most flack about since I've been writing this blog is this one, which I wrote last year as I was contemplating Leah's birthday.  I'll admit that it surprised me that this one became such a conversation starter.  Please believe me when I say that I wasn't trying to be controversial, simply sharing my own experience.

Many of you have e-mailed to tell me that you're in a similar boat (mothers, all, I might add).  A few have written to express how selfish I'm being in setting the priorities of children and family above my friendships (singles all, either by admission or omission).  I even recieved one e-mail from a random someone who was quite enfuriated by the post and felt the need to tell me.  I believe the words naiive and stupid were bandied about.

While I'll never understand the idea of fishing through the internet with the intention of correcting the opinions of someone you've never met and whose circumstance you don't know, I will admit that it got me thinking.

I respect the perspective - the belief that mothers ought to remain as they always were; the ones who feel baited and switched after their friends (or employees, for that matter) have children - but I disagree.  Adamantly. 

It got me thinking about the messages that we send to women in our society.  Particularly the one that declares, "women can have it all."  I feel like that statement deserves three exclamation points and a poster of Rosie the Riveter for emphasis.

This list of things that women are supposed to be is long.  Ambitious career woman.  Nurturing mother. Healthy meal-preparer. Clean house-keeper. Thank you note-sender. Birthday party-planner.  Errand runner.  Patient teacher.  Master of fun activities.  School volunteer. Accountant.  Chauffer.  The list goes on (and on and on), all while keeping ourselves in good shape, making time to have cocktails with the girls Sex and the City-style and still keeping things spicy with the hubs.

Say it with me, people.  YEAH, RIGHT!

The way I'm learning to see life is as a pie chart.  Yep, a math analogy.  Probably the only one you will ever see me use.

There are times in each of our lives when the radius of our pie is bigger, meaning we can slice it up many ways and still serve sizeable pieces.  There are other times - the past seven months or so of my life, for example - when the size of our pie feels about as big as the period at the end of this sentence.

Regardless of how large or small your pie is, the point is that you can only fit in so many things before the circle is full.  Period.  Making any one slice of pie bigger means another slice of pie somewhere has to be smaller. 

At the end of the day, this chart demonstrates the priorities of our lives. 

The important thing to remember here is that each of us gets to determine how big or small the slices of pie in our lives are.  Each of us has our own paradigm for how that circle should be divided up. 

For me in my life, the division of my pie is dramtically influenced by having children. 

Research has demonstrated the importance of the parental role in the lives and development of children.  The absolutely critical role of the caregiver.  Not to mention that as I teacher, I've observed many times what happens to a child when that role isn't filled well.  But it isn't this that impacts my own desires and priorities.  It is the intangible.  The magic that happens between a parent and a child.  My own desire to be present for my children on a daily basis.  To be the one who provides the feedback that my children need to grow and develop.  To be the one who rises with them in the morning and sings them to sleep at night. 

For me, as a woman, it is my highest and most challenging calling. 

I understand that not everyone feels that way.  I also understand that other people divide up the pie-charts of their every day differently.  It's okay. 

But I have to point out that this ideal that a woman should be so many things to so many people is, to me, as limiting as the 1950's ideal of womanhood.  We're so proud of our "liberating" femminism, but in my view we've traded one limited, narrow-minded paradigm of womanhood for another: the first was due to lack of options and the belief that women couldn't; the modern version creates an expectation that is both unrealistic and unattainable that all women should. 

The worst part, though, is that as women we are so critical and feel so empowered to judge each other based on this model. 

Shame on me for not being more open minded!  Shame on me for chosing to devote a larger piece of my pie to children instead of _______ (insert: friends, exercise, career, and the list goes on)!  Shame on me for not trying to have it all!

The truth?  I don't want it all.  I want my pie chart to be a reflection of the things I value most: God, family, children, home.  I want to do less, and do more well. 

And so I'll leave you with a final word (or 300).  One that resonated strongly with me. 

And then?  Seriously, let's just go easy on one another. 

The one where I compare having a baby to winning the lottery

The most interesting part of my journey over the past many months has been coming to terms with people's opinions about our situation. 

It's funny how people respond when I tell them about my miscarriage.  Mostly, they don't think it's a big deal - I get a lot of it just wasn't meant to be-s and Relax!  It'll happen when it's time-s.  Although I know that people truly mean well, it's hard to explain just how isolating and invalidating these comments are. 

It's just that, if you haven't experienced trouble getting pregnant, it is extremely hard to relate. 

So I was trying to think of an analogy that might be appropriate and relatable.

Imagine that you play the lottery.  One day, by some miracle, your numbers come up!  You've won millions!  You're elated, extatic!  In an instant, your entire future has changed, just like that.

But when you go to claim the prize, you discover one tragic fact: you can't find the ticket.  At first, it's no big deal.  You're sure you'll find it.  You check everywhere you can think of: the pockets of your jeans, your wallet, the deep, dark recesses of your purse, the glove compartment of the car.  Feeling a little aggravated but still completely confident that you'll find it eventually, you check less likely places: under the couch cushions, the trash in the bathroom, behind the washing machine, in that drawer of miscellaneous junk every household seems to have. 

No luck. 

As the days and weeks go by, your confidence in finding the ticket begins to fade, and frustration, disbelief and disappointment set in in their place. 

To add insult to injury, someone puts up a billboard advertising the unclaimed millions.  A billboard you have to see each and every time you drive to work, to and from lunch, and home again.  Without fail, every time you look at that billboard, you get a sick feeling in your gut reminding you of what you almost had; what you still could have if you could only find that darn ticket!

Now, you might decide to stare straight ahead, blocking out everything but the road each time you pass the billboard.  You might tell yourself not to think about it.  You might even take the long way home just to avoid that stupid billboard.  Either way, you can't get around the knowledge that the only reason you're doing those things is to avoid being reminded of them in the first place, which, of course, makes you think about it all over again. 

With millions of dollars at stake, would you give up looking for the ticket?  Of course not!  You'd turn over every stone, sort through every piece of trash, jump at each and every measly scrap of paper that even kind of resembles the ticket.  Because each piece of paper could be the piece of paper. 

And you'll do this forever.  The only way to end the cycle is either a) find the ticket or b) come to the genuine conclusion that you wouldn't have been better off with those millions after all.   

The only flaw I see in this analogy is that, in the case of a lottery winner, everyone is going to sympathize.  We can all imagine how we would feel and react in that circumstance.  People would turn out in droves to help find the lost ticket - some out of genuine care for the person who lost it, others for their own selfish hope of being rewarded with a part of the prize; either way, the result is the same.  You've got loads of people to lean on who will thoroughly lament the injustice of the whole situation.   

Can you imagine someone saying, well, I guess it just wasn't meant to be!  Play again when the time is right! 

Um, yeah.  Didn't think so. 

So there you have it.  That's a little glimpse into the fabulous world of trying - and failing - to get pregnant. 

I don't say any of this with judgement.  None of it is directed at any one person, or even any group of people.  I feel extremely grateful to have had so many offer such shows of support, and I know that none of it comes with the intent of hurt feelings. 

Just know that, like having lost out on millions in the lottery, this isn't something that is easy to let go of.  It's not something I can just relax about or suddenly be okay with.  Like anyone who is hurting for whatever reason, sometimes it's better to acknowledge that certain things in life just hurt, and there isn't anywhere to go with it but on.  And you know what?  It's okay.

Pre-gestational cyberbullying. It's a thing.

There is an interesting phenomenon going around Facebook.  I've termed it, "pre-gestational cyberbullying."

In other words, nosy people.  Nosy people who virtually butt-in to others' reproductive plans via Facebook.

It seems to be an epidemic, and I honestly don't understand it. 

For example, I have a girlfriend who is from a large Catholic family.  She and her husband have been experiencing some reproductive difficulties, but they want children desperately.  They've shared this info with close family and a few friends, but the majority of her family doesn't know - and they aren't afraid to tell her what they think about her childless situation.  Publically.  In writing.  Often.  

Another friend of mine has been married only 6 months.  She and her husband are not ready for kids, and yet her married-with-children friends keep encouraging her to get pregnant.  Each time she goes on vacation, they post: "What a great time to make a baby!"  If she's not drinking in a photo, they comment, "Does this mean you're pregnant?"

Even my sister - who is 22 and not married - has gotten posts saying, "You and [the fiance] would make beautiful babies!"

To all of this, I have to respond: WTF, Facebook commentators?  WTF?

While I'm sure inquiring minds want to know if and when it happens, the issue of making a human person is not one that should be subjected to peer pressure.  Perhaps high school has changed since I've been there, but I do not recall the cool kids passing out pregnancy tests and exclaiming, "C'mon, everyone's doing it!"  Granted, I lived in the pre-16-and-Pregnant era, but still...

This is a big, big deal!  Perhaps the most life-changing decision of all, not to mention one that can be touchy and painful. 

And, to quote pretty much every after-school special I've ever seen... No means no.  It doesn't mean pester some more until the answer changes.  It means you've been politely invited to mind your own business, so don't bring it up again, thankyouverymuch.  It may be uter-"us," but unless that us includes you, leave it alone.  For serious.

In general, though, I don't understand why people even ask.  Even before I became a baby-making obsessed mamma, I never asked anyone.  I knew that the contents of someone else's uterus was none of my business, and that asking someone if they were pregnant when they weren't was a quick way to make that person hate you.  Let alone trying to force their hand on Facebook. 

So really.  To the picture-commenting, uterus-watching, family-hounding Facebook friends: enough is enough.

Particularly if your subject is my 22 year old sister.  Just sayin'.