Health Class

The brightly lit room evoked a sterile, hospital like feeling. Several cushioned chairs sat in a circle and my stomach had a weird, twisted feeling like it always did on roller coasters. My fit kicked back and forth persistently and my clammy hands clasped together, thumbs twiddling. People began filling the room and the roller coaster in my stomach picked up speed. A voice said, “Hello everyone! Welcome to the weekly Weight Watchers meeting!”

            As a ten-year-old fourth grader I am confident that I was the youngest member of the group. I remember begging my mom to take me with her. The other girls at school were so much thinner than I was, prettier than I was. Thinner obviously meant prettier, right?

            I was a latch-key-kid and although I was active in sports year-round, this is a contributing factor to the pounds I packed on. My brother and I would come home from school and make homemade doughnuts, hotdogs, pizza rolls, chips and salsa; whatever junk food we could find.

            My parents never kept a lot of junk food in the house, but when they did Sean and I managed to ingest every last bit in a day or two.

            “Mom,” I asked one day, “I’m bigger than the other girls because I just haven’t lost my baby fat yet, right?”

            My mom must have sensed the hopeful gleam in my eye as she gently said, “Oh sweetie, the important thing is that you learn to eat right and take care of yourself. Everyone is made a little bit different, but we can treat what we have well.”

            That’s when I begged her to take me with her to the next Weight Watchers meeting. Having the opportunity to indulge after school counteracted my parent’s attempts to treat my siblings and I proper nutrition. It was no one’s fault, really. It was just an opportunity to create a healthy lifestyle from an early age.

            I only went to a few meetings, but my mom and sister took it upon themselves to teach me about healthy meals, snacks and portions. I had the exercising down, with all the sports I played.

            At first the devastation of losing my favorite foods hung over me like a storm cloud, but my dedication to becoming healthy soon swept this away. Did you know that peanut butter, celery and raisins combined actually creates something delicious? “Ants on a log” was what my sister called them. Fruit, vegetable and protein combined into some kind of healthy snack.

            Apples and low-fat caramel dip was a favorite of my mom’s. A little bit of peanut butter, cinnamon sugar, or honey could be used a substitute for a variety of creations.

You know those nasty, orange sweet potatoes? Turns out if you slice them and put a small amount of olive oil and garlic salt on them they can become a healthy French fry.

I became obsessed with creating new and healthy combinations. In fact, I still find myself reading cookbooks, articles on power foods and the latest in nutrition and exercise. I did learn that junk food is okay in moderation, as is every food item, and that it can be important to indulge once in awhile.

My mom and my sister taught me valuable nutritional tools to help teach me a lesson I still strive for today.

It’s not all about size or weight, it’s about treating the body you have well.

Grandma's Potato Soup

            “What was your favorite thing mom used to make when we were growing up as kids?” I asked my brother and sister recently. “I’m really trying to remember my favorites and have mom teach me how to make them while I’m home for break.”

            Spaghetti, roast with carrots and potatoes, vegetable beef soup, and breakfast casserole were all recalled, but one dish in particular stood out.

            Potato soup, the three of has had decided, was my mom’s signature. Not the first dish on anyone’s mind, but once it was mentioned the response was undeniable. Each of our eyes began to gleam and comments of “I love that stuff,” or “I totally forgot about that! Mom hasn’t made that in awhile!” filled the room.

            My brother-in-law made a disgusted face and questions how we could enjoy something so bland. To us, though, this dish was anything but bland. The dish was history and represented home, our childhood, our grandmother and a tradition.

            First you peel about a pound of potatoes and quarter the potatoes. Cut one pound of sausage into eight links. Place the potatoes and sausage into a large pot and fill to the top with hot water. Bring potatoes and sausage to a boil then turn heat to medium. Whisk one egg in a small bowl and set to the side.

When the sausage links are ready they will expand (and possible have a slight split somewhere on the side) and rise to the top of the pan. Take the sausage links out and place to the side. Mash potatoes into the mixture until a mush-like, soupy formation is made. Whisk egg into mixture until bits of it can be seen throughout the mixture. Put sausage back in the pan and let simmer until ready to eat. Add shredded cheese, salt and pepper as desired.

            “Now this is just like my mom used to make it when I was growing up,” my mom told me with a smile.

            I thought to myself, “good, because I want to be able to teach my kids how to make this soup ‘just like my mom did when I was growing up.’”

Smells of Home

                A brightly lit kitchen filled with the lingering aroma of carmalizing onion and garlic, soon to be dimmed by the smell of bubbling cumin, chicken and beans, has become home.

When I left home to come to college for the first time I always knew I would be going back to that place. Although I did go home again, it was never really my home in the same way. Home was more of a retreat from the busy world of a school and a return to all things familiar.

The first time my mom made her famous White Chicken Chili I turned my nose up at it.

“What is that? I’m not eating that!” I announced, scrunching up my nose at the smell as I returned home from swim practice. I went up to my room hoping this stunt would result in a “better” meal. I was a seventeen-year-old junior hell-bent on not being satisfied with anything.

Something magical happened as I sat in my room. A mix of garlic and cumin wafted into my nose, a hint of chicken and a dash of onion trailed close behind. My feet directed me toward the door, gingerly turned the knob and moved me into the kitchen. I sat there talking to my mom and enjoying the warm, loving kitchen created by the bubbling chili. We started eating and I found it hard to stop.

Since that day I have used my mom’s recipe and turned it into something of my own. The ingredients are engraved in my heart, the measurements in the eyes of my mind. When I miss home and all that is familiar, I turn to this chili. The chili that melted my heart soon after I displayed my immediate disgust for it’s smell. I have made the chili for my roommates in college, visiting my friends at other schools and for family friends. The response is the same every time: this is incredible, may I have the recipe?

I invite them home, to my brightly lit kitchen, as I say:

Here is what you will need:

-          Olive Oil

-          Garlic

-          Cumin

-          Diced Green Chili’s

-          A large jar of Great Northern Beans

-          Chicken Broth

-          1 LB of chicken, shredded (canned or however you prefer)

Drizzle the olive oil in a large pan and set on medium heat. Dice the onions and a few spoons of garlic in the pan and toss in the pan until they begin to brown. Add two small or one medium can of diced green chili’s and let simmer for a few minutes. Throw in all of the chicken and the entire jar of beans. Cover with chicken broth, add Cumin to taste and let simmer until you’re nose tells you it’s time to eat.

                My measurements are not exact, but one thing I know is that adding more of any ingredient to your desired taste is recommended. The longer the dish simmers, the more broth you should add. Do not be shy on cumin and garlic. This is a chili that matures as it sits and becomes more delicious with every bite.

Welcome home.