Author: Julz

I woke up on the wrong side of the bed today for no particular reason. I slept well and woke up on my own, and didn’t need my alarm to yank me out of dreams. 

It was cold and gloomy when I got up. We needed to be in the production kitchen earlier than usual since we had some supplies to pick up and deliveries to make in the afternoon. 

I wasn’t in a bad or crabby mood about any one thing, in particular, just everything. I usually stick to eating protein-based foods for breakfast and lunch and whatever I want for dinner, but I stuffed myself with carbs for breakfast today. 

Marty got up before I did and had everything set in the production kitchen for me to walk in and start making batter right away. Production went smooth, and we got done quickly. We had a quick lunch; I ate all carbs again. We changed our clothes and had to head to Saratoga to make a few deliveries. 

I hated myself for eating all carbs and felt like garbage. Overstuffed and disgusting. Everything I put on didn’t feel right. Too casual, too dressy, too tight, too loose. Ugh. I threw on some leggings and a soft gray tunic, and that was that. What really went with muck boots anyway? We were going to a farm, and they are necessary.

We had 3 delivery stops to make, which went off without a hitch. I haven’t been out of Arlington for 8 days, so I was looking forward to going shopping; I needed socks desperately. By the way, I hate shopping, so I must have been more desperate than my sock situation. 

We went to Dicks, and I needed to find the restroom before I could shop. At least I was keeping up with my water consumption. After walking around the entire store, I finally asked someone; it turns out the bathroom was tucked away in the furthest corner with no signs. 

Then we walked around the entire store looking for ladies’ socks. We found baseball & golf socks. Men’s and kids’ socks. Ladies’ ankle socks, but we couldn’t find regular crew socks, in black, preferably Adidas. Going through each section of the store was putting me into such a tizzy I almost left. “These bastards set these stores up like this, so you have to look at every fucking thing before you find what you want!” I guess Dick didn’t get the email that I hated to be there in the first place, so his hide and seek bullshit game wasn’t going to work. I told you I was in a bad mood.

Finally, we asked a couple of employees where we could find womens’ socks; they weren’t sure if they had any. Oh, and what size did I need? Socks for giraffes…I thought women’s socks were women’s socks and men’s were bigger; come on, guys. Ugh…WTF? Really? 

I found a clearance sock bin on my own, and after some rummaging around, low and behold, I found a three-pack of socks. They were actually exactly what I was looking for. What are the odds of that? They were on sale; maybe things were looking up.

Next, we crossed Route 50 and went into the brand new Aldi because I wanted to see it. It was set up like the one in Bennington, just bigger and newer, nothing to make me want to go there specifically. Then I went into TJ Maxx. I am not into retail therapy but wanted to see what they had for spring. Growing up watching my adopted mother’s shopping addiction, then having to get rid of tens of thousands of dollars of clothes, shoes, and handbags all still with price tags on them after her stroke still makes me sick to my stomach. I was shocked at how much money she spent, I ended up selling a few items at a consignment shop, but then just donating everything. I didn’t want any of it by the time I was done cleaning out her apartment. She ruined shopping for me.

TJ Maxx and Home Goods are stores that people love to go to. When I see women in those stores they all look happy with their eyes glazed over and their shopping carts full. While my father was still alive my mother had to hide and lie about all of her purchases. After he passed away she went hog wild and pissed through all his insurance money and the money from the sale of their home. I realized I wasn’t in the mood to shop and definitely not in the mood to look at spring clothes on carb overload.

As we drove through the town of Greenwich on our way to Saratoga, we noticed a food truck called Miller’s Backyard BBQ. I found them on Facebook and sent them a message inquiring about their gluten-free options. They answered me immediately, which was pretty damn impressive. 

It turns out they are very GF friendly, and we could eat almost everything on the menu except for their macaroni and cheese for obvious reasons and a few other items. 

On our way home, we were going back through Greenwich, and as luck would have it, they were open. They are only open from 4-8, and it was 4:30.  When we walked up to the food truck, I complimented them for such a quick response to my questions and how knowledgeable they are. He told me they had a lot of gluten-free customers. 

We got a sampler of all their proteins; smoked chicken wings with chipotle sweet chili sauce, sliced brisket, pulled pork, and bbq ribs. We picked potato salad and beans as our sides. We wanted to try it all since we’ve been binging on bbq shows on TV almost every night and want to go to Austin, TX, just to eat bbq when all this Covid shit is over. They have a great music scene as well. 

Millers did a really nice job! Hats off! Better bbq from a food truck than the last few bbq restaurants we’ve tried in the past. Restaurant quality from a food truck is the norm all around the country. Chefs that get tired of restaurant hours and want flexibility and creativity in their menus. Marty and I dream of having a food truck when we retire and travel to different warm places in the winter. 

Millers smoked all of the proteins perfectly, the right amount of smoke and a gorgeous smoke ring. Their homemade bbq sauces were good. Marty really liked the potato salad which was like a baked potato salad. 

Our favorite thing was the smoked chicken wings. They beat the wings I had two weeks ago in Hudson, NY at American BBQ by a mile. Really delicious! The sauce was incredibly balanced and flavorful. 

I said that Marty liked the potato salad. I only had one bite and stuck with all proteins. So I ended up flip-flopping my way of eating today, big shit. Tomorrow is another day. 

Instead of a glass of Chardonnay or the beautiful Sparkling Rose I had last night, I cut to the chase and went straight to the bourbon with a splash of ginger ale. One of my go-to favorites in the summer when we have a fire going in the fire pit. 

I know when I get up tomorrow, I’ll be out of my crabby mood. Sometimes I just need a crabby day. It doesn’t bother Marty because he gets a kick out of it and tries to make me even more cranky. When he gets into his funk some days, I do the same thing to him. 

As part of my blog journey, I’ll bet you never thought you’d know so much about me and my bowel habits. TMI right? As a person who has gluten, lactose, and ulcerative colitis issues, I think it’s important for people who don’t know, have, or live with someone to understand what it’s like. 

If you look at me or know me you would never know when I am sick. I am still my Julzie self for the most part. When I speak with one of our celiac or customers with gluten sensitivities, we have an immediate connection. 

Over 75% of our customers do not have gluten issues which exceeds my original goal of providing a delicious and easy to prepare gluten-free pasta. I started out just making it for Marty and myself; then we decided we had to share it with people. 

People love our product because it is delicious and easy to prepare, but also a blank slate for any dish or cuisine. The gluten-free folks love it because it doesn’t fall apart, can be used as leftovers that don’t turn to mush, and it tastes great, not with a funky after taste that most gluten-free pasta leave. 

Our gluten-free customers are so happy when they find our spätzle. But they are even happier when they meet someone who knows and understands what kind of struggle they face: a struggle not only every day but with everything they put into their mouths. 

Like me 99% of our GF customers look normal, vibrant, many are young, strong, and healthy-looking. You would never guess all the things they have been through before they were diagnosed with their issues. Many of them have other intestinal issues as well as I do. 

I feel like since you are on my journey with me I can share what it is like knowing someone with intestinal issues. If I had diabetes, RA, heart disease, or much worse conditions I know I would be writing and advocating for them as well. 

As a cheerleader throughout my whole teen and childhood years, I supported my team yelling and shouting about it. That’s how I feel about gluten sensitivities and inflammatory bowel disease. I feel so strongly about it that I developed and we manufacture a gluten-free pasta that has changed not only our lives but thousands of others’ lives as well. 

I have met so many small children and their moms who tell me about their GF health nightmares, and they know I understand. I can only imagine how terrible it must be for a 2 or 3 year old child feeling so sick all of the time. When I give someone, especially a child, a sample of our spätzle that I just sautéed with a little butter and watched their reactions, it’s so rewarding and emotional.  Nothing beats making people happy, finding something they like or their lives easier.

Getting emotional about a pasta? It’s not just about the pasta, it’s about the connections I make with people, not just the GF ones for sure. Marty and I make wonderful connections with the other 75% of our customers. We love to see them smile when they taste their sample. The best is when even the biggest skeptics sample our product and are ready to hate it because it’s gluten-free, I almost do a victory dance when they admit they like it. 

Marty and I cannot wait for this awful Covid thing to be over for many obvious reasons and we can go back to sampling at our farmer’s markets as well as doing demos in stores. The connections we make with people are immediate and we thrive off of it. We love to see how much people love it! It’s been our goal since the beginning to spread the spätzle love.❤️

I am blessed to have a strong personality and a cheerleader for things I believe in. Sometimes I get up on a soapbox and tell people how I feel about things. I have this blog to not only teach people about food or how to cook but to share with my readers about the other exciting, good, bad, or shitty things that are happening in my life. Yes, that was a pun.

I hope that the stories that I share on my blog people can relate to, whether they are food memories, places in NJ, emotional or medical issues. Some may read my blog just because they want to become a better cook or to follow along with me on my up and down journey. 

Every time I am gluten poisoned I forget how bad it is. This recent gluten reaction lasted 4 full days. My doctor over at the IBD Clinic or the Inflammatory Bowel Disease Center at Dartmouth Hitchcock explained to me that after every gluten poisoning, it will leave my intestines with further damage.

My reaction started last Tuesday morning and didn’t finish running its course until Friday, or so I thought. Since the reaction stopped, I have still had lots of intestinal issues, to put it mildly. My insides actually feel sore and after I eat I have lots of stomach cramping. It’s hard to believe that the juices from that shitty ass meat made me so sick.

The running joke with my gastroenterologists is that since I had the upper half of my colon removed in 2006, I should only have to pay half price for the colonoscopies I need to have every other year. You would also think the reaction would go faster since it has only halfway to go. Of course, none of this is true, but joking about it is the best way to deal with it sometimes.

I am not sure how long it will be until my insides finally heal this time. At least I definitely know this is not my ulcerative colitis flaring up. Thank goodness, I know that special kind of hell all too well.

When people think about March, they think of the saying that it comes in like a lion and leaves like a lamb. Not always the case here in Vermont; sometimes, the lamb doesn’t arrive until mid-April.

I like to think of March as either the light at the end of the tunnel, or holy shit is that a train coming? This week’s weather is a perfect representation of what I am talking about.

This week’s forecast has temperatures going from the ’40s into the single digits like it did last night with the wind gusts to rub it in further. Today it will be in the ’20s and Wednesday close to 40. Thursday back in the 20s…you get where I am going, and this is only the first week in March. These temperature fluctuations are completely normal for March.

Yesterday I saw the light at the end of the tunnel with my snow and ice-free deck that I worked so hard on over the weekend. I started imagining how I will set up the dining table and smoker grill, what kind of herbs I am going to plant, and where to put them. I could already see the flowers that hang from a hook and a bar set up on a rolling cart.

Today I see that train coming towards me again. It’s windy and bitter cold. I needed to put a coat on this morning to run into the production kitchen. My feet were cold during production, and it never really got that toasty warm.

Today I also see the train tracks with a train derailment. My blog post from yesterday, “Looking inside,” went off the tracks, going off in too many directions. I knew when I was writing it that I was getting sidetracked when I started writing about American Cuisine, but I kept going and going.

This whole writing for people thing is new for me, so please don’t mind a couple of derailments here and there. I am going to try to keep the train on the tracks and head straight into the light.

When I was a kid walking to school, I walked with all of my senses turned. Back in those days, everyone’s TVs had tubes and antennas. As I walked, I could hear the high pitch frequency sounds coming from houses. I could pretty much figure out what house had their TVs on. Then for a couple of blocks, I would try to figure out who and what they were watching. On my way to school, I figured they were watching the morning news and on my way home, soap operas or kids cartoons. We didn’t have 100+ channels; we had 7 so there weren’t many shows from me to choose from.

The other thing I did while walking to school was sniff the air and identify what people were cooking. I could smell coffee and bacon. Sometimes something baking. On my way home, I could smell meats roasting and sauces simmering away. In those days, most women still stayed at home, unlike today when women, men, moms, or dads are racing home from a long day at work and have to start dinner. That began to change when I was in upper grades.

I remember walking home from school one day with a friend, and she asked if I wanted to come over after school the next day. We were in the third or fourth grade, which was the first time anyone invited me over after school. I often saw friends after school; it was at the park or playground when we rode our bikes everywhere. I got permission from my mother to go; I was surprised and happy.

The next day after school, we got to her house, which was only around the corner from where I lived. Her mom wasn’t home. Her mom was a single mother and was at work. She left a note on the table and an after-school snack. We grabbed the snack and heading into the living room, and watched tv. It was great not being interrupted, badgered, yelled at to start my homework. I realized that to come home from school, which was our workday, and relax for an hour felt amazing. Why couldn’t homework wait an hour? Why did I have to do it the second I put my school bag down?

My friend also had to start dinner. I was so impressed with how grown up she was. She had to be, and her mother needed her to be. She also had chores to do and got an allowance. I had a shitload of things I had to do after dinner and Saturdays, like cleaning the house, washing my own clothes, keeping my room clean, and ironing my school uniform shirts.

When cable tv came to town, there were and still are shows that I really like to watch. I liked the Food Network, but my favorite shows were Doorknock Dinners and Take Home Chef. In Doorknock Dinners a host would take high-end, famous, sometimes an Iron Chef to a random person’s home and knock on their door. They would ask the surprised person who answered the door if the chef could come in, look in their refrigerator, freezer, and pantry and make them a gourmet dinner with only the things they found. Only a few people said no then the producers had to scramble around to find another house and pray they were willing to let them in.

I loved seeing what people had in their fridges and freezers. I loved seeing how messy or organized their pantry was. The best was when they had a Japanese Iron Chef be truly confused about what some of the American food was. He didn’t understand what things were. To be fair, if the tables were turned, many American chefs may not know all the things one would find in a Japanese kitchen.

In one episode, the people only had premade frozen foods and a couple of canned goods. You could see how ridiculously hard and foreign this was to him. He put together something with fish sticks and a couple of other ingredients. It didn’t look good at all; I am sure it didn’t taste good either.

The Take Home Chef was Chef Curtis Stone. First of all, he is handsome and has an Australian accent. He would hang out at the grocery store and ask women, shoppers what they were making, and cook dinner for anyone. He would pay for the groceries if she let him follow her home and cook dinner with the ingredients she had in her shopping cart.

I am sure the show wasn’t preplanned because the women were always apologizing for their homes’ condition and were truly flustered when 10 TV cameras and sound people, producers, and a director would cram into their place.

He had the women cook along with him, and he taught them some cooking techniques. The women were swooning over how gorgeous he was with that intoxicating accent; I am shocked no one ever cut off a finger. The meals looked fabulous, and the people they cooked it for were impressed. Mostly, but maybe not the women’s boyfriends or husbands. LOL.

My favorite show is House Hunters and has been on since the birth of HGTV. I love seeing the architecture and styles of homes in different parts of the country. Beautiful homes and dumps that are called fixer-uppers. I like seeing what you can get for your money and seeing people’s reactions to homes. Some of the things that are deal-breakers for people are amusing. What is a palace to one person is a shit hole to another.

I am sure that many things are fixed and staged in this show; they would have to be. Never the less I still like it along with House Hunters International, the Caribbean, and Mediterranean Life. Tiny House Hunters, Living off the Grid, and all the remodeling shows.

Marty and I do everything ourselves in our home, so watching other people tackle projects is interesting. Seeing other people run into boo-boos and obstacles makes me feel better. The Irion way is always the hard way. The Irion way is always being a 1/2 cup short of a gallon of paint, then having to buy another whole gallon to finish the job.

I keep a mostly organized and clean home. When we are super busy with the business, and 4 of us were living here, it was hard to get a handle on, but it’s easier with just the two of us now. I will say, “This place is a total mess,” my family will laugh and say, “Mom, you have no idea what some people’s houses are like.” They aren’t talking about things being dated or messy; they are talking about homes that should be condemned. I am not sure if they tell me that to make me feel better or true.

So am I a peeping tom of sorts? Is it weird to want to look in people’s kitchens and refrigerators? I think I am just curious and like seeing how people live. Maybe that’s why I have always been interested in food anthropology. Last summer, during my Hamilton addiction, I found a recipe and made George Washington’s favorite cake. It was really delicious; it was a spice cake. I love looking at food and recipes from different time periods and cooking methods.

Regional dishes and drinks in our country came from the people who settled here. They used whatever land, sea, rivers, and lakes offered them. I never thought about exactly why cornbread is a staple in the south. Not just because they like it, they have corn! The first Thanksgiving had things like venison, root vegetables, cranberries, and fish dishes. Those were some of the things that were available in the Northeast. Hard cider comes from areas where apples are plentiful. Beer, whiskey, and other spirits came from areas with grains. It all makes perfect sense.

The settlers learned hunting, farming and agriculture, and cooking methods from the Native Americans. They also learned how to use animals for fats and clothing. Slaves and other immigrants brought with them their recipes, ingredients, and cooking methods. They created dishes with what they had available. They created dishes when they had nothing. These are some of the most iconic dishes in our country. Other dishes came from being practical, from food that miners took with them into the mines, people working in the fields, traveling on horseback, etc.

In America, the melting pot, we are truly a nation of melting pot cuisine. You can find any ethnic food in fancy restaurants, food trucks, or people’s homes that are as good as where the food originates. People brought with them special ingredients that are now found in supermarkets or specialty stores. The Food Network and PBS have introduced ethnic food to people in our country that is approachable and less scary for people, leaving them wanting to try new foods and cuisines.

So looking inside…it can be so many things. From figuring out smells and sounds, how people lived in the past, and how they live today. What types of homes they have or looking for. Looking inside one’s self is what I have been doing a lot of. Knowing that other people’s homes aren’t perfect; they suck at home improvement projects or have poorly stocked kitchens makes people feel human. It shows people that we all can’t be perfect like Martha Stewart, Ree Drummond, or Bobby Flay. Besides, they have other people doing all that shit for them anyway, which they don’t show on their shows.

Whenever I say I will stay in my p.j’s and relax all day, I should know better. I started the day wanting to make myself a breakfast I’ve had in my head for a couple of weeks. 

When I was writing about my 18th birthday meal at the Shadowbrook, I started thinking about the dish I had. It was veal oscar. Now I am not about to make veal oscar, but I wanted to use the elements that top the veal in this dish: steamed asparagus, crab meat, and hollandaise sauce. I also was thinking about my all-time favorite brunch dish, eggs benedict. My brain started working at 6:30 am when I woke up. How can I combine the two?

I decided that I was going to make a dutch baby as the base. A dutch baby is a giant pancake-like popover that rises as a popover does but then deflates when you take it out of the oven. Dutch babies can be either sweet or savory and very easy to make if you have a blender, an oven, and a cast-iron frying pan. 

I had to have everything ready to go because once the dutch baby came out of the oven, I needed to top it right away. I blanched some fresh asparagus, got out a little crab, baked a couple of bacon pieces since I didn’t have any Canadian bacon. Next, I made a hollandaise sauce, put together an egg poaching station, and had the dutch baby’s ingredients in the blender. 

The first thing you have to do is put a 10 inch cast iron pan in a 450-degree oven for 25 minutes. I pretty got everything done in that time. After 25 minutes were up, I blended the batter at the last moment to be light and airy and poured it into the hot pan with a little butter. I got the pan quickly back into the oven, and it needs to bake for 20 minutes. 

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When I had 5 minutes left, I warmed the crab and asparagus and started poaching the eggs, and crumbled up the bacon. When it came out, I topped it with all the components. I invented a “Benedict Oscar Dutch Baby!” It was exactly what I had in my head! Yay, the day is off to a good start.

After I digested my breakfast, I went out to the gym to workout. I worked out on Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Years’ and now my birthday. These are all days that I would have used as an excuse not to work out. Not this time, I am committed. 

Yesterday afternoon instead of doing 30 minutes of cardio on the treadmill, I shoveled the driveway, and I started chopping away at the 2 feet of ice and packed down snow on our decks. I got tired of looking out the patio doors and being depressed that I couldn’t even get to my grill. What a workout that was! I was red-faced and sweating like a pig afterward.

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Today after my bicep & triceps lifting session, I went back out to chop more ice instead of doing my regular 10 minutes of hard cardio after lifting. I was in beast mode. I was breaking through the ice and hurling it off the deck. Guess what? I did the whole thing, then did the lower level deck where my outdoor kitchen is. Success! Yes!

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I’ve been craving a grilled burger with bruschetta topping and melted mozzarella cheese. I whipped two burgers out of the freezer. I made the bruschetta topping and started grilling. It was great to cook outside again. The bruschetta burger was so delicious; it was what I have been craving for two months. 

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It’s all about food with me, so I wanted coconut shrimp and rice for dinner. No veg, I had those for breakfast and lunch. I did make an orange Thai chili dipping sauce for the shrimp, so that’s a fruit, right? The shrimp and rice came out so delicious. Yum is all I have to say.  It’s impossible to find gluten-free coconut shrimp in a restaurant, so unless you make it yourself, you are out of luck. 

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Marty came through and got me that gluten-free bakery birthday cake! A strawberry and white chocolate cake with that bakery frosting I love. When I wanted to have a slice, I took it out of the refrigerator, and it was still frozen. While I am writing this piece, I am waiting for it to defrost.

This morning before I started thinking about the food, I laid in bed and tried to meditate and focus on gratitude.  I also asked my father for a message from heaven.

I have so many stories about messages from my father after he passed. He works very hard to get his messages across. Most signs are pennies or feathers, but when I want to make sure, I say, “ Daddy, I need a sign from you today for my birthday. I want to know that you are still around. Can it be something different so that I know it’s from you? If you can’t, it’s ok; maybe someone needs you more than me.” 

When I was up in our gym getting ready to workout, I picked out some music on Spotify, a new 2021 alternative playlist. I liked the playlist for weight lifting; I like to listen to harder stuff than cardio. The songs were a mix of rock and rap or hip hop. In the middle of a tricep set, a song called “Nothing Good” came on. I listened for a minute; then I put down my weights. The chorus came back in, “Nothing good happens after 2 am.”

I lived at home with my parents until I was 23 and got married. Even though I paid rent every month and had to clean my mother’s house every week, I had a curfew.  When I was younger, my curfew was always at least an hour before everyone else’s. Before anyone could drive, people’s parents drove us to wherever we were going, and someone picked us up. 

There was absolutely no flexibility in the curfew, so I slept at people’s houses to stay out with my friends and not end the night early for everyone. I hated that everyone else’s night was cut short because of my curfew. If my friend’s curfew was midnight, mine was 10:30 or 11. It was a drag. I ended up lying about where I was and who I was with. When people could drive, it was even worse. If an event was over at midnight, it didn’t matter; I still had to be home. I made my parents come and get me on those nights; it wasn’t fair to everyone else.

One Friday night, I was at the rollerskating rink and everyone from school was there. Of course, I had to leave before everyone else my father was going to pick me up. When they said 11:00 pm, they meant it. Just as I was about to take off my skates, this guy who I had a crush on forever asked me to skate a couple’s skate. I thought, “Fuck it,” and I skated with him.

My father usually came to get me himself, but my mother went with my father to pick me up that time. As I was holding hands and skating to Aerosmith’s song “Dream On,” my mother came marching onto the roller rink floor, yanked me, and started yelling at me. Ok, I wanted to die. I wondered how many people saw. I left the roller rink in a puddle of tears. I hated her for treating me so poorly in front of my peers and front of my skating partner.

If someone else dropped me off and one of my friend’s parents were late picking us up, it didn’t matter. If I came home even a few minutes late with a good explanation, I was already grounded the next weekend. There were lots of other tricks and traps my mother played just to ground me as well. I won’t ruin my birthday and talk about her anymore and all the games she played. 

When we were old enough to go out to the bars, I would beg my father to stay out later. My curfew was 1 am, and the bars all closed at 2 am. All we wanted to do was to go to the diner after dancing in a club all night and grab some breakfast or gravy fries. My father would say every single time I asked, “You want to go out to breakfast then leave the bar earlier. Nothing good happens after 2 am.” 

When I listened to the lyrics “Nothing good happens after 2 am, ” I actually laughed out loud and said, “ Ok, daddy,  I got your message. Thank you.” He worked extra hard to get that message to me for sure. 

Today I received so many birthday wishes on my blog, Facebook page, The Vermont Spatzle Facebook, and Instagram pages. It was so nice that people took the time out of their day to say Happy Birthday to me. The absolute best gift that I received today was that everyone wished “Julz” a Happy Birthday. Thanks so much, everyone! 🥰

Tomorrow is my 55th birthday. I was just thinking about some birthdays that stood out and wanted to share them with you.

My 4th birthday was a Snoopy party and it was me and 7 boys. We lived in Elizabeth, NJ and our entire neighborhood was all boys and me. This was before I went to kindergarten, these were my neighborhood friends. 

My 5th birthday was going to be fantastic! I was so excited because I had friends that were girls in Kindergarten! I woke up a couple of days before my birthday with a “mosquito bite.” Yeah, it wasn’t a mosquito bite, my whole class had chickenpox. No party. 

My 6th birthday was going to make up for the party that didn’t happen the previous year and sure enough, the phone started ringing on the Saturday morning of the party, no one was coming. I remember being so disappointed and cried my eyes out. It seemed half my class was sick, so again no party. The party was never rescheduled. 

My family felt sorry for me so they told me I could pick anywhere I wanted to go out to eat to celebrate. I put on my party dress and my parents, Nana, Aunt Claire, Uncle Steve and my cousin John went out to one of my favorite restaurants Howard Johnsons! It was a tough pick because whenever they gave me birthday dinner options it was a toss-up between Chinese food, Italian food, or Howard Johnsons. 

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Like I said I remember it being a hard decision for a 6-year-old. I really wanted those shiny lacquered, red spareribs with fried rice and an egg roll. I also wanted baked ziti or chicken parmigiana and spaghetti. The clincher for me was the fried clam strip dinner at HoJo’s! 

We went to a Howard Johnsons near our house, not my all-time favorite one that was down the shore, right on the boardwalk in Asbury Park, NJ. That was ok with me, as long as I had my fried clams! My mother brought the bakery birthday cake for dessert. It turned out to be a nice birthday after all. 

I never planned another party. The next memorable birthday was my 16th birthday. Sweet 16 was still a special birthday back then. My parents took me to a place on MacArthur Avenue in Newark, NJ called Don’s 21. I don’t remember who went with us or what I ate, but I remember this place was like something out of a mob movie. Goombas galore with some entertainment no less. 

I snuck off to the bathroom after dinner to smoke a cigarette then the next thing I know people were screaming for me to go back to our table. As I walked out the entertainer was singing Neil Sedaka’s song “Happy Birthday Sweet 16” to me. I was mortified. I hated my parents for this and pissed I wasted a perfectly good cigarette. 

The place had a couple of hundred people packed in there all looking at me. While I loved performing at dancing school recitals on stage and as a cheerleader, I hated being surprised with this. I didn’t talk to them the whole way home. 

My 18th birthday was a fancy birthday. My parents took me to a place called The Shadowbrook in Shrewsbury, NJ. It was fancy AF! One of those old-school white tablecloth places or joints my father would have said. It was impressive, I guess turning 18 was a big deal. My parents told me to enjoy it, now the “balloons and streamers were over.” 

I had Veal Oscar, one of those old-school lost dishes that was love at first sight for me.  It was a veal cutlet pounded thin, topped with lump crabmeat, asparagus, and hollandaise sauce. After the horrible shrimp curry ordeal years before, ordering this dish was going out on a limb for me. I never had anything like it before. OMG it was fabulous! 

After dinner there was no surprise happy birthday stunt, they told me we were going to Atlantic City. At 9 pm I thought? It was still at least an hour and a half drive south. Wow, this was something I wasn’t planning on. My parents had been wanting to go to AC so since I was legal they decided to take me with them. I didn’t tell them I wasn’t sure I wanted to go.

It was interesting and different. The casinos were like the ones I saw on tv, but I remember everything being a complete dump except for the casinos. There were junkies, pickpockets, prostitutes, and beggars everywhere. I honestly don’t remember anything else, but I really wasn’t impressed, gambling wasn’t my thing. It was my mother’s thing though, the bingo nut job. We got home just before daybreak. It was weird. 

Next, I wanted to take advantage of being “legal” besides gambling and buying cigarettes, I wanted to go to a XXX dirty movie theater. Why?? Because I could and I always wondered what they were like when we drove by them. It was not the actual sex on the screen thing we wanted to see, we were just curious about everything else. 

I found a couple of willing people to go with me. A couple of my friends from Edison, Connie, and John. They were up for it so why not. We went to a place over the Edison Bridge in either Matawan, Sayreville, or Old Bridge. I tried to find a photo, but not surprised there wasn’t any of this sleazy, stick to the floors strip mall place that isn’t there anymore.

It cost $10 to get in, which we thought was pretty expensive. We had no idea what to expect, which was why we were going. After we paid the creepy guy we went in. It was pitch black in there and we practically had to feel our way around to find 3 seats. By the way, you do not want to feel your way around in a dirty movie theater! 

After our eyes adjusted all the movie patrons turned around and started staring at us. One by one they started to get up from their seats to come to sit closer to us. They weren’t focusing on the bad acting that was happening on the big screen anymore, we had their undivided attention. 

We lasted for not even 5 minutes and one of us said, “Holy shit, let’s get the hell out of here!” We ran out of the place laughing our asses off. When we got into the car Connie said, “ I can’t believe how disgusting that place was.” I came back with “and can you believe there was no popcorn or snack bar?” Connie, John and I just about died laughing that I even thought about something like that. 😂

The last and probably the most important birthday memory is my 22nd birthday. Marty made a reservation at my favorite Italian place that was just over the Edison Bridge heading down the shore. Everything was over the Edison Bridge! It was snowing like a bastard and as we were going over the bridge we noticed Marty’s windshield wipers on his Alfa Romeo were flaking out. 

The restaurant was in a house and was very cozy and charming. I thought it was weird that Marty kept his topcoat on while we were eating. I’m sure the food and wine were good, but I don’t remember.  On our way back home, just as we were going back over the bridge the windshield wipers stopped working. Marty couldn’t see a thing since it was snowing so hard. The bridge is a long bridge with lots of traffic and this wasn’t good. He yelled to me to push the wipers from my side so he could see. Really? WTF?

I had to unbuckle out of my seatbelt, roll down the window of the passenger side and push with the wipers with my hand. “It’s working!” Marty shouted to me. Let me paint this picture for you. It was cold and snowing hard. I am sitting on the rolled down window, hanging out of the convertible freezing and covered with snow. I was dressed up and my hands were so cold pushing the wipers back and forth they felt like they were going to break off. Completely a true story. 

After we got off the highway Marty went to where we used to “park” when we first started dating. He took me to the Edison Lightbulb. I thought he was nuts since I looked like shit and was wet and freezing to death. He pulled out a big green pacifier ring and handed it to me. He pointed to the light bulb and said, “I have a great idea!” My heart started racing and I forgot all about being cold. Then he pulled out a real engagement ring out of his topcoat pocket and proposed to me. Now I know why he kept his coat on in the restaurant.

Of course, I told him yes. I had been waiting and waiting for him to ask me. After I said yes I, told him he had to ask my father. He told me that he asked him already and Russ gave him the ok. What a special night it was! I was on cloud 9, this was the best birthday ever! 

So tomorrow I don’t have anything special planned. The only thing I requested was a bottle of Prosecco and this gluten-free birthday cake that they have at Hannaford. It has real bakery icing, the kind that I love. It’s the only gluten free one that is like a real bakery birthday cake. I was the kid at everyone else’s birthday party who would shout, “I want a rose” while I was waving my arms and jumping up and down. 

Other than that, I think I am going to make one of my all-time favorites Coconut Shrimp. It’s not set in stone in case I change my mind. Why am I cooking for myself? I am a complete control freak in the kitchen and want things to taste exactly how I want them to taste, plus there isn’t anywhere I want to go, especially now.

Thanks so much for traveling down my birthday memory lane with me. I’ll let you know how birthday 55 goes.

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Before I start to tell you about my third day into this gluten reaction I wanted to apologize to you guys. In my gluten poisoning piece, I wrote a very harsh and angry statement. “People who think gluten intolerance is a bunch of bullshit can go straight to hell.” Yikes! 😧

After rereading it, it was way over the top. I have so much anger about being gluten intolerant and having people tell me all the time that’s it’s nonsense and all in my head….not my head specifically, but people who claim to be gluten-free. 

Everyone is entitled to their opinion and should not be told to go to hell if they don’t agree. I should take those opportunities to educate people as to why it’s real and not hogwash. 

I was not gluten intolerant 25 years ago. I know this for a fact. In 1993 I had the worst ulcerative colitis flare-up to date. Two years ago came in as a close second. 

I was hospitalized for 8 days and was in a pretty serious condition. I weighed 90 lbs. I was sick for months before Marty rushed me to the hospital after he found me in the bathtub trying to lap up water. I had been unable to even keep water down or in my body. I was severely dehydrated and starving to death from the flare-up. 

After I was stabilized enough to go home from the hospital, I was put on a 6-week complete bowel rest. Just protein drinks and liquids. It was extremely maddening! Everywhere I turned whether it was tv or magazines there were advertisements for food. All I thought about during the bowel rest was food. I was miserable and mean. We have a running joke about how mad I got at Marty for heating up a pop tart and I smelled it. I was craving one so bad I wanted to kill him. Not really kill him, but you know what I mean.

When I finally got the go-ahead to begin to reintroduce food into my body, I had to do it slowly and specifically. The first thing I was allowed to eat was white bread toast. Nothing on it just toast. I can’t tell you how delicious that toast was. The next thing was saltine crackers. Both made with wheat and gluten, not only were my intestines able to tolerate it, but there was no gluten reaction. 

So why the hell did I suddenly become gluten intolerant as many other people? I have my theories and suspicions. I honestly believe that the wheat today is not the same wheat we ate as children. I think that the way we produce and manufacture our food now is making us sick.

The almighty dollar is the mighty dollar and companies wanted to produce more food, they genetically modified foods and started spraying insecticides to protect the food that is being grown. We are not meant to eat round-up and other things they spray on our food to preserve it. Hey, this is what I think and I have absolutely nothing solid to back it up. 

That being said, again I am sorry. It’s not an excuse to make such an angry, chip on my shoulder comment, but just ask Marty how cranky I am during a reaction. 

Ok, now that I’ve apologized to you here’s the scoop. It’s day three of this stupid gluten reaction. What makes it worse is that this time it was my stupid fault so I have no one else to blame. 

I just finished making it through my second production day while this is going on. We have lots of customer wholesale orders that need to be filled. Marty and I have very strong work ethics and so what needs to be done is done. I also went on a delivery run yesterday, worked out, cooked, did laundry, and even went out to lunch on the road yesterday. That was a risky move since we had a 45-minute ride home. I can’t let a reaction stop me in my tracks, life goes on. 

Resting I have found over the years makes it worse for me. I’m going to have the same amount of pain if I am curled up on the couch feeling sorry for myself or going on business as usual and being productive. 

“Business as usual” is something I am used to. I’ve had to learn to work through some tough days with my ulcerative colitis since I am 15 years. I just realized I’ve been dealing with this bullshit for 40 years! Literally! 😜

Hopefully, by this evening I will be feeling better. The last part of the reaction I call and I am sorry for the graphic description is the acid shits or runs. By the time it’s all over, my poor bottom will be so sore and on fire for at least another day. 

So now you know a lot more about me, probably more information than you wanted to read, but it’s part of my life and I am sharing it with you. I appreciate all of you and so happy to have you on my journey.