Viva la Bacon
I've been trying lately to limit my intake of carbohydrates because my doctor says this is a good idea for people with PCOS. She's right, but I also think she's doing a little ass-covering because about eight months ago, when I first switched to her practice from another endocrinologist, she decided to conduct a merry little medication-switching experiment on me. "You don't need that aldactone," she said. "Here. Take these fancy new birth control pills instead. They'll keep those pesky androgens at bay."
I didn't dump my old endocrinologist because he was a bad doctor. He was actually quite good. Unfortunately, he's also one of those cameo docs who appears in a poof of smoke for a 45-second consult only after you've spent 30 minutes giving an oral dissertation on your medical history to the resident whom you've never met, and whom you will never see again, because said resident is specializing in emergency medicine and is only on an endocrinology rotation because the hospital said he had to.
Then, of course, came the part where the doctor would come in and immediately excuse himself only to return to the room flanked by 9 or so medical students in freshly-pressed white coats. "You don't mind if I show these folks a few things, do you?" the doctor would say, then lift my shirt to point out the abundance of PCOS-induced stretch mark scars that exist on my torso. "Note the healed striae," he'd say, "and after that, have a feel of her neck. Notice the goiter?" And although I fundamentally understood that, yes, this is a teaching hospital, and yes, these kids are going to learn a lot more from prodding my living, erratically-hormonal body than they will from a withered cadaver, it was hard to shake the feeling that I was a medical anomaly featured in some sort of freakshow science museum, especially when all the female students gave me looks that said, I know this is embarrassing for you, and I'm sorry, and thank god my stomach doesn't look like yours, because that would totally offset the sexiness of my naval piercing.
I'd heard a lot of good things about my new endocrinologist, not the least of which was that she performed examinations without an entourage, and although I had serious doubts about her decision to change my medication, I went along with her recommendation.
What she failed to realize is that taking medications out of my body is like offering a smack addict a shiny new quarter if only he promises to stop taking smack. Sure, he'll tell you he'll never touch the stuff again, but as soon as you're out of sight, his ass is making a beeline for the local smack store.
Where was I going with that metaphor? Oh, right. Anyway, my body resists pharmaceutical change, and in this case, as soon as I took away its aldactone and gave it some shiny new birth control pills, it reacted by causing me to gain 25 pounds. A few weeks ago, I called her office to request that okay, we tried this, and that's all very nice, but you need to give me back my fucking pills now. She complied, and I decided to couple the meds with a diet to combat the extra weight, which resides only in my midsection, which when combined with my skinny arms and legs, yields a comically incongruent apple-on-toothpicks appearance.
Cutting carbs is no small feat, especially when you realize that most of the food you on which you live is made up primarily of carbohydrates and sugar. After a week or so of eating not much more than lettuce, broccoli, cheese, eggs, and cold-cut slices, I realized I had to start getting creative with my meals lest I snap and dive headfirst into an industrial-sized vat of bread dough.
Here, then, for the benefit of fellow low-carbers, and for the amusement of those currently stuffing their faces with Wonder Bread and pure cane sugar, is the recipe I developed this evening.
Mediterranean-ish Portobello Mushrooms
1. Go to Costco. Become so amazed by the prospect of buying in bulk that you go slightly overboard. Buy toilet paper in quantities that will likely sustain you through 2009. Upon arriving home, unload goods and wonder whether you really needed eight cans of pitted black olives. Toss package containing eight huge portobello mushroom heads into the crisper drawer.
2. Forget all about mushrooms for 1 week.
3. Decide to find use for mushrooms. Opt to marinate them, then grill or bake them in some fashion. Toss slimy mushroom heads into bowl. Search kitchen for marinade ingredients. Arrive at combination of chicken broth, italian dressing, garlic, and onion powder. And oh yes, might as well toss handful of garam masala in there, too, because you have it in the pantry, and honestly, did you really think you were ever going to get around to making Indian food anyway?
3. Put mushrooms in Tupperware container in refrigerator. Forget about them for 5 days.
4. Open Tupperware container and sniff contents. Notice that smell is somewhat vinegary, but not weird enough to suspect bacterial contamination. Dump out marinade.
5. Pre-heat oven to 350 degrees.
5. Arrange mushroom heads in shallow baking dish and place dish in oven. Set timer for 25 minutes.
6. Notice that pet cockatiel is making screeching noises indicating that pet cockatiel wishes to come out of her cage. Remove bird from cage and place her on windowsill in office.
7. Hear timer go off. Open oven and inspect mushrooms, which appear to need more oven time. Return mushrooms to oven and set timer for 10 minutes.
8. Go to bathroom. Flush toilet. Address toilet using loud, scathing invectives when water begins pouring from lid.
9. Remove Hoover FloorMate vacuum from hall closet and set machine to "wet pickup," as toilet water has now made its way out of bathroom into entryway. Turn on vacuum.
10. Over sound of vacuum, fail to hear timer go off. Leave mushrooms in oven additional 6 minutes.
11. Finish toilet water cleanup. Put vacuum away, then change socks.
12. Notice lack of bird on office windowsill. Where is bird?
13. Bird, vexed by sound of vacuum cleaner, has at some point flown from the office window to the kitchen's greenhouse window, where she is perched happily and relieving herself on lip of flower pot.
14. Extract bird from kitchen window. Return bird to office.
15. Oh, crap. The mushrooms.
16. Open oven and realize mushrooms are now shrively and black.
17. Decide not to waste, despite unappetizing look of mushrooms. Cover mushrooms with hummus, feta cheese, and sliced black olives.
18. Eat half of mushrooms.
19. Throw away rest of mushrooms.
20. Dine on eggs and cheese.
posted by Kate at 5:26 PM link/comments
