Thanksgiving 2014

I feel I must apologize for being gone for so long. I was considering writing something this month, but since I'm working on NaNoWriMo, I felt guilty writing anything else. As it stands right now, I'm less than 10k words away from the 50k word goal, with 5 days to go! So I may actually win this year, and that's exciting! So I decided to take a break and focus on the upcoming holiday.

I've got a lot to be thankful for. Anyone who reads my blog knows that I've gone through many trials and tribulations, especially during the holidays. For some reason, the holidays are when companies decide to unceremoniously dump people, but not until after you've helped organize their company picnics and holiday parties. This year, I was scared. My current contract was coming to an end, and I didn't know if I would have to start looking for another job.

Thankfully, another opportunity came my way and I get to continue to work for my wonderful company. I'm very happy and relieved, so I can finally let my hair down and take a deep sigh without wondering if I've jinxed myself, and give thanks for all of the things I have to be thankful for. I feel like writing a list is gloating (and tempting fate) so I'm going to focus instead on the best part of the upcoming holiday; food.

I asked everyone on Facebook what their family food traditions are. Thanksgiving is a holiday that is unique in that it's not a religious holiday, so every American celebrates it in their own way. We are a melting pot of traditions and foods that may not have been relevant to the culture we came from, but we find a way to make it our own.

As a first generation American, both my parents are immigrants, so they adapted to American culture throughout the years. We always celebrated Thanksgiving. I remember waking up on Thanksgiving morning to the sound of my parents arguing over the turkey (a sound I still hear to this day) before I have to get dressed for church. At church, our priest gives the usual "give thanks" sermon before he dismisses us early so he can catch the football game. Afterwards, we rush home to change clothes, then rush back to the church so we can play soccer in the field behind it.

That's a Thanksgiving tradition that was unique for my family. A lot of families play Thanksgiving foodball, but we played Thanksgiving soccer. A bunch of people from the church would play with us, and we'd go adults vs kids for a couple of hours until the turkey was done. Then, back home in the car, and finally food.

Man oh man the food. See, my family never really saw the point in all the other sides. We have a small family. Mom, dad, me, and maybe my brother and sister (if they were around) and maybe their kids or wife or husband but it was different every year, and never more than five or six people to sit down and give thanks with prayer over the turkey. So we had a big turkey, stuffing, and pumpkin pie. No vegetables, just meat, bread, and pie. My mom wasn't really big on cooking, so my dad did the turkey.

To this day, whenever people complain about how turkey is gross and dry, I thank my lucky stars that my dad never made me experience that. My dad's turkey is ridiculously moist. So moist in fact that I don't use gravy. The leg meat is my favorite, and I can gnaw on that sucker about halfway until I'm full. So yeah,s crew you and your anti-turkey sentiments, but the star of the show was his stuffing. I don't know if it's because nobody ever told my parents how to make turkey and stuffing, but they figured out this magical combination through many years of trial and error. The stuffing is always somehow different. One year, raisins. One year, craisins. One year, both, and always with walnuts, celery and onions. Then, recently, my dad started adding moonshine.

Yes, moonshine.

Don't ask where he got it, because his explanation is "some guys at work".

Being that my dad is a member of the laborer's union, he always worked outside. He was a welder working for VDOT for much of my life, so a lot of his friends were also laborers. This is a class of Americans that still work with their hands, and are proud to do so. They've got all sorts of negative nicknames; rednecks, ghetto, wetbacks, ratchet, cracker, spic. They're the blue collar middle-to-low class of America, and they come in every different color. My dad was one of them, and they accepted him. They would trade stories about their kids, and sometimes they would trade stuff.

So sometimes, dad came home with Civil War bullets from a friend who was really into Civil War stuff. Sometimes, he'd bring home some kind of food a coworker's wife made for everyone. Stuff from India, China, the south, wherever that guy was from. And one day, he brought back moonshine, so. Into the stuffing it went.

The stuffing has never been the same. It has only been better.

This is my America. This mixture of cultures that makes us all different, but wholly special. Nowadays, I bring pumpkin tartlets made with Stevia (because we have diabetics in the family), and my mom cooks more vegetables. But that turkey is still the moistest most delicious %&$*ing bird I've ever had, and the stuffing makes me lightheaded just thinking about it.

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone!

Soap boxes of the world colliding..

Well, last night ended on a stupid note. I check my phone around 9 (after dinner, shower, ect.) to find that my Facebook wall exploded with an argument between two people on my friends' list. I've got a lot of friends. Some are fans, some are family, some are buddies I met through World of Warcraft. They're from everywhere, and some can't help but argue. Well, here I am giving the middle finger to the Boy Scouts of America for kicking out a kid who came out as gay, and someone from my list argues his stance as an Eagle Scout.

I'm gonna be honest with you guys. There's something about the Boy Scouts of America that I've always hated. Even as a kid, their little uniforms weirded me out. I never joined the Girl Scouts (too busy with music), and I always thought Boy Scouts were weird. The only kids I knew in Boy Scouts where white kids, and being from PG, there weren't a lot of them. They were just outside of my comfort zone. As I grew older, I got a little more accepting of this American tradition, but I don't know. Something about them always weirded me out. Well, now I'm seeing all this controversy about them not allowing gay kids, kicking out gay parents, ect. They claim it's because of their Christian beliefs, which is what this particular Facebook friend argued, and all I can say is... COME ON.

Guys, I'm a Christian. I love Jesus. I love God. I love all the good stuff about this religion, and I'm not ashamed to admit that there is some pretty ridiculous shit in the bible that we've been actively ignoring. Like... slavery. Multiple wives. Marrying your rapist. Things that people are A-Okay with ignoring, you know? But as soon as the whole gay thing comes up, wooooah, holy shit, we can't allow THAT kind of "sin". Are you fucking kidding me? What is up with these people and gay folks? Why do they actively pick on gays, especially? I do not understand. They say "it clearly saays in the bible...", but then they get tattoos and have babies out of wedlock. I'd love to see the BSOA kick out a kid for being someone's bastard child. Give me a break, people. There's something about gay people that this sect of Christians just doesn't like, and I do not get WHY. Hell, I know priests who are more accepting of gay people than these Christians. I say "accepting" because I'm starting to hate the word "tolerant". Like.. when you tolerate something, it's when you grudgingly accept it. Like someone's bad behavior. I hate the idea that people are just grudgingly accepting someone's sexuality as a bad behavior. Number one, it's none of your business, and number two, you should be ashamed of yourself for thinking you can judge someone in that way. Isn't that God's job? And doesn't God love all his children? Don't you sit there and tell me that being gay is a bad example that you can't have your precious Boy Scouts be exposed to. I'm pretty sure he's gonna meet a gay person at some point in his life. The kid's gotta buy a suit sometime, right?

I just don't understand this hatred. Some people get so worked up about why they don't like gay people and it bothers me. Maybe because I hear some people use the same hate speech toward Latinos, I don't know. But it bothers me a lot and I hate hearing it, especially from people who are supposed to be friends and/or family, who claim they're Christian. Being Christian doesn't just mean going to church and reading the bible. You're supposed to show your love and acceptance. You're supposed to be like Jesus. There's a lot of crazy shit in the Old Testament that Jesus kinda pushed aside. We don't just follow everything in the OT. That's why we're CHRISTIANS. See that "Christ" in there? It means we follow Jesus' example, and never once did he say to kick the people you think are sinners out of your organization and hate on them. Never once did Jesus say, "forgive everyone, but not the gays. Those guys are icky," and never once have I heard a story in which Jesus told a gay dude that he can forgive the infidelity, the tattoos, the not honoring of the Sabbath, and all the other crap this does in front of everyone... but being gay is not allowed, so kindly leave the village and never come back.

I don't like using the word "retarded". It's offensive, and I understand that. But seriously, you guys are being retarded and I just can't come up with a better word for it. Excluding gays is retarded. You are retarded. And you're shitty Christians, so fuck you.

So hey, I lost a pound this morning! :D I'm also gonna see Batman tonight, so I'll probably post a view... after the weekend.

Not gonna be easy...

So I'm trying to figure something out. If Willy wants to diet, why does he place the blame on not getting to eat junk food on me?? He seems incapable of eating out unless it's junk food. He can't compromise. If I suggest going to a steak house, he'll tell me that he is going to break his diet. Never mind the fact that it's perfectly easy to eat a steak, veg, salad, soup, all sorts of things on our diet. No, eating out = junk food. So I've got to make dinner. Every night.

Now, I don't mind making dinner.. but after a long ass drive from Pennsylvania, I kinda wanted a break. Nope. Had to run to the store to buy broccoli.

So lemme tell ya what happened today! Willy and I needed to go to VA to turn in our last bill for the old apartment. On the way, we were invited by his younger brother to visit one of the cousins at he and his wife's house. In Pennsylvania. Now, I don't mind driving that far, but the fact is, we drove from VA, through MD, to PA, and then found out.. once we got there... that they had dogs. Once we discovered this, Willy went livid and we didn't even go inside. We just left. Why? I AM DEATHLY ALLERGIC TO DOGS. Everyone knows this!! I tell people this whenever they discuss getting a puppy. They have SEEN me while sick! Whenever I am near any type of dog, I get a hacking cough, runny nose, itchy eyes, and severe asthma. Even more severe since I don't have Advair. I am nasty sick for at least a day, sometimes two. Even if I take a shower.

So even when Willy explained this, his brother gets mad. Like it's our fault for leaving!? Why the fuck didn't you tell us he had a dog before we drove through three states?! I feel so hurt. Nobody seems to understand, except my own husband. We just wasted 4 hours of our Saturday in transit to a place we couldn't even visit. Thanks a gaddamn lot, what a Saturday.

Lame.

Well here it is, Wednesday. One of my two actual days off, the second being Thursday. What really sucks about working at the place I'm at is the schedule. It's seemingly impossible for me to work a regular Mon-Fri thing, and instead they have me scheduled to work on Saturday AND Sunday. This does NOT work for me. I need to at least have Sunday so that I can practice with my other band, and you know, spend some time with my freaking husband.

Nobody seems to get this. The people in charge don't come in all weekend, because they have lives and families, and I suppose they expect me not to because I'm young. But I just got married and it would be super nice if I could see that guy every so often. This is why I miss working my 9-5. Our schedules were the same. We had our weekends. I never had to worry about whether or not I worked on a Saturday.

This weekend I went to Pennsylvania to see my parents, and holy hell was it tough to just leave early on Saturday. When we had hardly any customers and it RAINED. But I got out at one, so Willy and I made the trek up to see my mom who has been diagnosed with Type 2 diabetes. Just like her dad. Which means that I'm at risk, too. Which sucks. I tried to help my mom out, telling her what food she should avoid, and I can only hope she'll listen to me. Atkins is a no-sugar diet, so I told her all of those rules. The doctor said she should lose weight and such too, so I figure it couldn't hurt. What hurts is that there, right in front of me, is my reason to avoid sugar and bread and all the other crap that makes me fat and could possibly make me diabetic if I don't freaking watch myself. It's a very real situation, considering that I was obese once, and I know it's not impossible for me to go back. I'm an emotional eater and sometimes I eat things because I'm depressed, which, due to this job, happens fairly often.

My boss once told me I have a lot of will-power. I'm not so sure about that. I think that what I have is a lot of fear. I'm afraid of being fat, and I'm afraid of what I will feel like if I remain as fat as I am today. Not that I'm clinically overweight, but I want to know what it's like to be thin. I want to feel that sort of freedom that those girls at the beach in their bikinis feel when they just run around having fun. I've never felt that before in my life, and I'm already 25. When is it going to be my turn?

See, there's that depression popping up again.

Made in Spain

Okay, so I wasn't exactly made in Spain. More like... made in America with Spanish (and Salvadorian) parts. While my brother takes directly after my mom's side (tall, long nose), and my sister takes directly after my dad's (sturdy build, round features), I went right down the middle. People usually do a double-take when they see my parents; my mom is really blonde with green eyes, and my dad is "chocolate skinned", as he used to say. My skin color is right down the middle, I have my dad's round face and my mom's long nose, with my dad's hair and my mom's small bone structure. All right down the middle. (I'm the one in the wedding gown!)Problem with coming right down the middle is, I didn't understand at a young age the evils of common American eating, and of course, neither did my parents. My brother and sister grew up thin (especially my brother), and my dad, believe it or not, used to run around in the shorty-shorts of the 80's with six-pack abs. Even my mom wore a petit size at my age. Yet as they grew older, and I just... grew, we all became overweight. I know my mom and dad don't like it, but I don't know if it affected them as much as it did me. Of course, that could just be me being selfish. I know my mom would like to lose weight, but I don't think she'd trade in the traditional food of our families to do it. That's one of the things I've had to do.

The title of this blog post is "Made in Spain", which is a show on PBS I've fallen in love with. The show follows the adventures of José Andrés, a chef from Spain who travels to and from different parts of Spain to show you recipes, and the origin of those recipes. I have a love/hate relationship with this show, because every time I watch it, I want to try the recipe. Or, I know the recipe, and it makes me sad because I can't make it on my diet. I definitely inherited my mom's taste for food, but one other thing I got from my dad is the aboriginal American's metabolism.

I've blogged in the past about how aboriginal Americans are a huge demographic in the obese and diabetes numbers of the US, and how unfortunate this is, because it's caused by them not have access to traditional food. See, we didn't exactly have Little Debbie and Checkers back in the day. In fact, aboriginal Americans didn't eat a lot of excess carbs at all! Want to know what they ate an abundance of? FAT. Animal fat, specifically. American "Indians" would try to hunt for the fattest animals that they could find, because eating that fat would sustain them longer than anything else. Yes, they ate veggies and root vegetables like potatoes and carrots, but, considering how long they worked in the day, those carbs were used. Nowadays, there's very little hunting going on. Many Latinos (if not most), have aboriginal American blood. Many of them, like me, can't handle excess carbs as well as our European cousins.

Now that kind of sucks when I'm half European, and I absolutely love Spanish cooking. If I were a marathon runner, or if I could even work out (which I can't, due to not having medicine for asthma), I might be able to indulge in a few things. Unfortunately, due to my mostly sedentary lifestyle, sprinkled here and there with lifting a few enormous pots and watering LOTS AND LOTS of plants, I just don't have the energy output to enjoy classic Spanish cuisine. And it makes me sad. So I watch Made in Spain, and I remember the awesome food, and the awesome locations he shoots at, and I wish that I could be there.

Yes, there's plenty of other things that I could enjoy from Spain, but I'll admit that food is my favorite. Well, no... the location is my favorite. Eating Spanish food is nothing if I can't be there. And I can't right now, so food is the second best thing. So, damn you José Andrés!! Damn you for making me remember paella and turron and other carb-laden Spanish foods which would be ruin me.

..but thanks for this (fairly) low carb recipe!

Pollo al chilindrón
Chicken with peppers, tomatoes, onions and Spanish ham.

Chilindron is a wonderful vegetable stew that comes from Aragon, where they grow astonishing vegetables in the fertile land near the Ebro River.

Serves 4

* ¼ cup Spanish extra-virgin olive oil, plus 3 tablespoons
* 4 chicken legs, thighs and drumsticks separated
* Salt to taste
* 4 cups diced Spanish onions
* 1 cup diced green bell peppers
* 1 cup diced red bell peppers
* 2 tablespoons minced garlic
* 1 cup dry white wine
* 1 cup thinly sliced and diced jamón Serrano (Spanish cured ham)
* ½ teaspoon sweet pimentón (Spanish smoked paprika)
* 2 cups plain canned tomato sauce
* 1 fresh rosemary sprig
* 1 bay leaf
* 2 cups flat mineral or filtered water

Heat 1 tablespoon of the olive oil in a 12-quart pot over medium-high heat. Season the chicken pieces with salt then, working in batches, brown them on all sides. Transfer the chicken to a platter and set aside.

Add the ¼ cup of olive oil to the same pot, and when the oil is hot, add the onions and peppers. Reduce the heat to low and cook slowly until the vegetables are dark golden brown, about 30 minutes. Add 1 tablespoon of water if the onions start to burn. Add the garlic and cook for 5 more minutes. Then add the white wine and cook until it evaporates, 4 to 5 minutes.

Add the jamón and browned chicken pieces, as well as any juices that have collected, and cook for 5 more minutes. Stir in the pimentón, tomato sauce, rosemary, bay leaf and the water and simmer over low heat for 1 hour or until the meat starts to fall off the bone. Season to taste with salt before serving.

Spain and Christmas

Around this time of year, I start remembering my grandmother. She died when I was in college, and I never really knew her, but her loss impacted me more than I ever imagined. Suddenly, we didn't get any fantastic Christmas packages from Spain. My uncle sends a few things, but not like my grandmother did. She'd pack us turron (almond candy), chesnuts, wine (from our vineyard), chocolate, olives, and there would be so much of it it would last us several months. I remember not really liking the turron, but now, as I've grown older, I suddenly have cravings for it. Maybe it's because I haven't had it in several years.

My grandmother died around Christmas time. In Spain, we celebrate the Epiphany, which is in January. I went to Spain during this time to see her in the hospital. It sucked having the entire country be happy while my family was going through the worst possible thing we could ever imagine. My mom never really got allong with her mom, but she took care of her more than anyone else. The first thing my mom did after coming to America was spend her hard-earned money to buy my grandparents new furniture. They being pretty well off as land owners, it was no big deal, but to my mom it was everything. Anyhow, my mom stuck by my grandmother until after the Epiphany. My grandmother had an annurism so they thought she might pull through. About a week after my mom returned home, she flew back to Spain. Made (pronounced mah-day), had another one, and she wouldn't recover. They pulled the plug, and she died a day after my mom got there.

Like I said, I never really knew my grandmother, but I realize now how much her loss impacted my family. My dad, being an indian and somewhat of a rarity in my mom's tiny town, was deeply saddened by the lady who never once showed any sort of racism towards him that the rest of Europe did. My mom, while she had complained about neglect as a kid, fell into a depression that only recently has begun to lift. My uncles became even bigger assholes, fighting over their inheritance, and one of them even threatened my mother with leaving my grandfather to his own devices if she didn't sign over her own inheritance. I never asked her if she did this or not, since he's the brother who lives with my grandfather, and takes care of him, and my mom can't do that. I hope she didn't, but I'd understand if she did.

To me, I remember a few things about my grandmother, nameley the time I was offended when she called me "morena" (dark skin and hair), because I was too dumb and young to realize it was no big deal. Then, during my high school goth phase, when I was putting on black lipstick, and she made a scared face after seeing me. I laughed, but I felt awkward at the time. We didn't speak eachothers language, but she communicated with me enough that I knew she loved me.

I've had this overwhelming need to go to Spain, for the past few months. Getting ready to marry Noj has made me realize how much I miss my own second home. His whole family is here, mine isn't. More than anything, I miss the atmosphere. The heat during the summer, the view of the mountains, the endless stars at night, the smell of chickens and rabbits in the back yard. I miss the cooking, because holy shit, my family can cook. My mom is an aweful cook, but for some reason when she is in Spain, she seems to communicate with my grandmother's spirit and manages to cook the most amazing food imaginable. You can't get that kind of stuff in the US, not even imported, because it doesn't grow here and it tastes shitty if it's not fresh. My eating disorder makes it impossible for me to enjoy any of these memories, because they're coupled with guilt. In my family, food is life, food is love. To me, food is torture. So love and life go hand in hand with torture, making my memories of Spain worse than they should be.

I miss it so much. I'd give anything to take Noj there, to show him where I come from, and why I love it so much. I have a feeling through, that I won't be able to for another few years. That much is about as depressing as my weight.