Category: Uncategorized

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.

Yesterday morning I woke up and my insides didn’t feel right. All-day no matter what I was doing I was focusing on how bad my insides felt. I don’t know why it takes me so long to realize I am having a gluten reaction to something. Marty had a little something going on as well he told me this morning. 

Whenever I eat gluten or if my food has been cross-contaminated it takes between 12-24 hours for the reaction to start. When we have eaten out or at a friend’s house and start reacting I know I was slipped a gluten Mickey. 

Most people think a gluten reaction is like having a lactose reaction which I also have been lactose intolerant also. A lactose reaction is severe stomach cramping then a few trips to the bathroom. The whole thing is done in under 5 hours. 

Now if a gluten reaction was like that I’d be flying down the NY Thruway on my way to White Castle, real pizzerias, sub and bagel shops, Italian bakeries and to Chinatown for dim sum. Unfortunately, it’s not. 

A reaction for me is a 3-5 day ordeal depending on how much gluten I actually consumed. It starts with my insides feeling like I ate a handful of thumbtacks. I can feel the thumbtacks slowly making their way through my body. I feel like I need to run to the restroom constantly and do because you never know, but nothing happens. My insides start to throb and the only thing that helps me a tiny bit is a heating pad. I can’t sleep and the pain is constant. My belly gets so bloated and hard. Finally, when the gluten has run its slow and tortuous course, I am in the bathroom for hours. 

People who think gluten intolerance is a bunch of bullshit can go straight to hell. I wish they could go through a reaction just once. I wouldn’t wish gluten intolerance on my worst enemy….well maybe I would. 😉

This gluten reaction was a sneaky one because we haven’t eaten out. Marty and I started going over everything I ate or drank in the last 48 hours. It took us until this morning to figure out where it came from. 

When people think of gluten they think of bread, pasta, and other carb foods. News flash…Gluten masquerades around under lots of different names.

• Vegetable protein/hydrolyzed vegetable protein: Can come from wheat, corn or soy
• Modified starch/modified food starch: Can come from several sources, including wheat
• Natural flavor/natural flavoring: Can come from barley
• Artificial flavor/artificial flavoring: Can come from barley
• Caramel color: Now considered a safe ingredient, but if you’re in doubt, check with the manufacturer
• Modified food starch
• Hydrolyzed plant protein Hydrolyzed vegetable protein (HVP)
• Seasonings: May contain wheat fillers
• Flavorings: May contain wheat fillers
• Vegetable starch: May contain wheat fillers
• Dextrin and maltodextrin: Both sometimes made from wheat

It took me a long time when I needed to go gluten-free and of course, I learned the hard way to realize these ingredients were actually gluten. In the beginning, I didn’t know that soy sauce in most cases has gluten in it! 

Marty is actually gluten intolerant as well. This came as a complete surprise to us. He was just being the person he is and was eating what I was. I still made the kid’s food with gluten because it was the last thing I needed to do to them and completely unnecessary. 

One day when Marty was out without me he ate something with gluten in it. He paid for it dearly. His reactions are more immediate and he is not as sensitive to cross-contamination as I am. When his mother was still alive she blamed me for his gluten reaction. When Marty starts with a reaction I know mine will start about 12 hours later. 

Like I mentioned earlier we finally solved the gluten mystery….it came from that fucking hippopotamus meat! That cheap ass shit I bought for my beef wellingtons! Ugh!!!! Talk about rubbing salt in the wound! I didn’t even eat one piece of the meat, but the juices were soaked up by the puff pastry which I did eat. I also ate the bacon because Frugal Fanny just couldn’t throw it away after I unwrapped the beef. I ate maybe 7 bacon bits on my bleu cheese salad. 

I bought Cattlemen’s Ranch bacon-wrapped beef filets. I am always so careful when I am shopping and check labels, but for whatever reason, I didn’t check the ingredients. I know better than this. I also didn’t see that it was a beef “chuck” filet or a heel of a shoe.

There were a lot of reviews of this product and none of them were good ones. Everyone said the same thing I did about its toughness and would not be tender no matter what you did to it. 

It took us a long time to even find the ingredient list for this product. We got the filets at Aldi. The reason why I love shopping at Aldi is that if something is gluten-free the label will say so, if it doesn’t it’s usually not. This cuts down on me having to read labels before I buy something saving me time. 

After digging around on the internet I found the ingredients on the website Fooducate. It had hydrolyzed vegetable protein from soy as an ingredient. Basically, it was the seasoning they used. I never thought they would season a piece of meat wrapped with bacon, but when you are trying to sell hippopotamus meat to people, it needs seasoning I guess.

So the moral of the story? Life is too short to be a cheapskate and buy shitty ass hippopotamus meat wrapped in bacon. Also, If you are gluten intolerant read the damn labels and don’t be a dummy like me. 

I love my new candelabra! Not bad for a $5 find at Goodwill. I bought myself a $5.99 bottle of silver cleaner/polish from England, I figured they have a lot more old silverware than other places so I went with that one. Plus I am an advertiser and marketers’ dream customer because I buy things if I like the way they look. For example, I liked the stately navy blue bottle, it looked like it would work. The bottle of Tarn X looked meh.

I was actually amazed at how well the silver cleaner worked. I kept showing Marty, I know it must have been annoying. I kept repeating over and over, “Marty look how shiny it’s getting!”

Today my candles came from Amazon, I was giddy running out to the mailbox to get them. These are special candles, they are Roots candles. The four candles came in a nice box and cost $26.00 and some change. Now hear me out about these candles, they are worth every penny. They are unscented which is necessary for any dining room or kitchen. They are completely dripless and burn very slow. You can get 20-30 hours out of a single taper. This is the brand candles that churches and synagogues use. If it’s good enough for God’s house, then it’s good enough for our house.

These candles are hard to find in person. I actually found them at a local shop called Christmas Days. I was so bummed when I found out that they are closed for the season. There’s nothing like being able to see and touch things when I am shopping. I spent over an hour in there just before thanksgiving picking out my holiday candles for our dining room.

The Roots selection at the store Christmas days was huge! They came in so many sizes, shapes, styles, and colors. I finally decided on two nutty colored regular taper ones for Thanksgiving. I also picked two thicker 7” red ribbed ones and two thicker 9” white ribbed ones. We used them a lot and they barely burned down at all. Spending money on good candles isn’t a waste since we eat by candlelight at least 3-4 times a week. Why only have candlelight for nice dinners? We also use real cloth napkins every night. I do have paper ones for when we are eating some messy food. I’m not a glutton for punishment trying to get the napkins clean.

To me every time I go into Goodwill or a thrift store I feel like I am on a hunt. I have a “get the hell out of my way” attitude when I go in. When I spot something I can move faster than a bobcat. Once I find a treasure I never put it down for a second. The only people who are more ruthless than thrift store shoppers are bingo players. I know this first hand since I was dragged to at least one hundred smoke-filled bingo halls when I was little and watched how serious and nasty these people were. Bingo players are there to win, plain and simple. Thrift store shoppers are there to hunt. To find those diamonds in the rough, like my new candelabra.

Last night was gorgeous out. Yes, you heard me right. I absolutely hate winter, but it really was beautiful. I was cooped up all day inside and started getting cloudy-headed. The snow stopped and it was warm out. Warm is a relative term, but it was warm enough that I didn’t need a hat or gloves and my face didn’t feel like it was going to fall off.

We got another 4-5 inches of snow yesterday, it was perfect snowman or snowball snow. I played with Otto & Klausie-boy our dogs for a long time making snowballs and watching them having fun catching them in their mouths. After I brought them inside I stayed outside and just enjoyed how quiet and calm everything was. I felt so much better when I came back inside.

I am not the outdoorsy type. Are you shocked? My son Sam jokes and says, “Oh you like the outdoors Julz, as long as it includes drinking cocktails, eating, cooking, grilling, sunbathing, swimming in a pool, and reading.” He is 100% right. It took me until last summer for me to finally admit that and how much I hated to garden.

When the kids were small we had vegetable gardens. We planted all sorts of vegetable plants and it was fun. The we turned into a me when it came to weeding, harvesting, putting the gardens to bed in the fall, and trying to force them to eat the vegetables we friggin grew. When we bought our house a garden club member was the former owner and put in gorgeous perennial gardens. I have always had flower pots of all kinds of flowers on our front porch and petunias hanging.

Last summer I was working in our front yard transplanting perennials, laying down mulch, weeding, all the stuff I hate to do. It was hotter than hell and buggy AF. Marty came to check on me to see how I was doing. When I said, “fine,” he said, “Oh my God just admit it already! You hate to garden! You always have!” I started cracking up and agreed with him, I do hate to garden…big time.

I like the idea of doing outdoorsy things like hiking, tubing down the Battenkill River, and all the other things Vermont has to offer. I like the idea of doing them but without bugs or creepy-crawly things. I may act like a tough guy, but I just don’t like things flying around my head and my ears. I am that one person out of a group of people who will get bit by every mosquito.

I am counting the days until Spring like everyone else. I look forward to when the daffodils and the violas will start to pop up. I am excited to see all the things that I transplanted and if they survived. I know that I will have to weed, lay down more mulch, prune things, plant my herbs and flowers in my flower pots because that all comes with the upkeep of a home. I hate scrubbing toilets and bathtubs, but I have to do those things too, but at least I don’t have to shoo things away from my ears while I’m doing them.

This blog and the journey that I am on are taking me to places I never thought I’d be. Learning to be true, honest and authentic is harder than it sounds. Much harder. 

I have so much that I need to share and talk about….good and super fun things. Foodie things and recipes. Interesting things, but also things that I feel bad and insecure about. Talking about being tortured emotionally, manipulated, and disappointed over and over again by people who you love isn’t an easy thing to do.

Not sharing who I am now, and why I am the way I am would be a lie; a lie I’ve been telling my whole life to protect the feelings of others. I’ve been terrified that if I talk about my true self, I will make people upset and mad. What if they never talk to me again or not have anything to do with me? I have tried to be my true self and it came back at me with a backlash that would make your head spin. One of those “people” I am talking about is my adopted mother, but there are others that I still have to dance around as well. 

Over time I know that I am going to write about things I am not comfortable with and it will be very hard for me. I’ve chosen to share my life with all of you instead of only having a cooking blog. If I was just writing a cooking blog I would be burned out in 6 months and would be done.

The one person on my journey who stands by my side, helps to push me along and often times lifts me is Marty. I’m so lucky to have someone like him in my corner, he loves me unconditionally and is very supportive, plus he accepts me for who I am. 

I hate pampering. There I said it for the world to hear. Since this is a blog about my living as well as cooking I decided to come clean with my opening statement. 

I know that millions of people love to be pampered. Most of my friends like pampering in one way or another. Please know I don’t mean to discredit, discount, or talk bad about spas and salons or the folks that love them. It’s just not for me.

I’ve had my hair cut, colored, highlighted, and permed. I’ve had my nails done. I had one pedicure, massage, and facial. I used to get my eyebrows and bikini line waxed, I even got a Brazilian wax done twice. All leaving me with a meh feeling. I do have to say the Brazilian wax left me with a, “Wow that hurt like hell!” feeling. Please don’t take it personally how I feel about pampering, you can just say, “Fuck you Julz, I like pampering and you are from a different planet.” Fair enough I am good with it.

On social media, I see how excited people are to have a mani-pedi day. A few years ago I actually scheduled one for myself. All I could think of was, “Get me the hell out of here!” I sat there thinking how much time I was wasting and that I was going to spend a bunch of dough being miserable. I hated the pedicure. I hated having my feet touched. I felt the same way about all the other pampering treatments I have had. 

I can actually cut hair pretty well, I understand the basics of it. I’ve cut other people’s hair along with my family’s and did a few friend’s hair and make-up for their proms back in high school. I can’t do complicated cuts like my boys have now, but I can do basic stuff. I’ve been cutting and coloring my own hair for years. I tried almost every color blonde, red, burgundy, black and red, highlights, and an unsuccessful purple but didn’t like any of them. I especially didn’t like my mousey medium brown that has a lot of natural red in it. My natural hair color gets so brassy I hate it. It turns orange in the summertime. My father once told me my hair looked like a doorknob. Thanks, dad!

I started coloring my hair darkest brown, not black when we started the business almost 4 years ago. We were taking some Vermont Spätzle photos for social media and I looked at myself. It was summer and my hair and tan skin were the same color. I had a one-dimensional look. I figured I had the chance to have a new look at our new business. We were literally meeting hundreds of people every week, this was my chance to shake it up. I really liked the way the darker hair made my face and features pop. For the first time when I looked in the mirror, I thought it looked like me. My son Noah and my siblings all have dark hair I have recently found out, maybe that’s why. 

I have to “refresh” my color every 4 weeks. I use professional hair color and not drug store products anymore. There is a huge difference! I hate touching up or coloring my hair. I absolutely dread it and make up excuses, wear a hat, or use a product called Style Edit which blends the grown-out areas beautifully. That is until I suck it up and color it. 

A hairdresser once told me, if you don’t keep up with your hair color you will look like a whore! WTF? It was a high-end salon and he was highlighting my hair. If you don’t keep up with it, don’t tell anyone I am your stylist. Screw you pal, that was my one and only time going to him. Another one left the highlighting color on too long and my hair broke off at the roots. See why I don’t like going? Every single stylist tries to talk me into cutting my hair short. I listened to them a couple of times and regretted it. Worse was when they did what they wanted and cut more off than I wanted. If I wanted to cut my hair shorter I would have asked for it. Capeesh?

Yesterday, I decided it was hair coloring and pedicure day. I had to psych myself up all week to do it. I had my hair done by 8:30 am and my toes finished before noon. Was it a waste of time? No. While my hair color is processing I run around like a damn idiot getting projects or cleaning done. You can get a lot done in 35 minutes! The thought of being stuck in a chair for that long at a salon gives me the screaming meemies. 

For someone who thinks it’s a chore when it comes to self-maintenance, I never minded spending 3 hours getting ready for belly dance gigs. Maybe it’s because I am transforming myself into someone else? Maybe it’s because I love performing and dressing up? Most definitely! Every gig I had a different look whether it was different hair, makeup, or costuming. We had gigs almost every week so I got fast and efficient at it. I hope when the pandemic is over we can perform again, I’ve missed it. 

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Yesterday morning I heard the birds chirping. What does that have to do with this post? To me when the birds start chirping again spring isn’t that far off. Instead of my usual dark toenail color, I went with light lavender…a sure sign of spring in my mind. A sign of hopefulness.

Why do I hate being pampered? Is it a deep-rooted thing? Maybe it’s that I hate relying on other people and can’t sit still long enough to enjoy it? The definition of pampered is being treated with extreme and excessive care. Am I nutty enough to not feel like I am worthy of it? Whatever the reason…it’s just not for me. 

I wrote about my one grandmother that I called Nana a couple weeks ago, but today I want to tell you about my Mema…my other grandmother.

In my post about Nana, I was the nurturer when I spent time with her since she lost her eyesight. Mema always took care of me. As much as I loved my Nana, I loved Mema with a different kind of love that I can’t explain. I loved it that she paid attention to me, made me snacks to eat, and played with me.

As I mentioned in my Nana story, I told you that I spent quite a lot of time with both my grandmothers. My grandfather Russ, Mema’s husband passed away very suddenly when I was 9. My other grandfather passed away when I was 4.

I remember my grandfather who I called Pa. I recall that he was one of the first real deaths that I understood. It was strange going to Mema’s house after Pa died. My dad took his father’s death very hard. They were extremely close and it was painful to watch. Mema moved to a smaller place after Pa died. I loved her upstairs and downstairs house and missed it after she moved. We used to drive by to look at it and it always looked the same.

We used to go to Mema and Pa’s house a lot for holidays and Sunday dinners. After his death, I would take a ride with my dad after work to go say hi to Mema and check to see how she was doing.My dad had tons of family members around, but he was also very close to his mother.

Saturday nights were the nights I slept over at Mema’s if I wasn’t at Nana. I was company for both of them and they babysat me…a double win for my parents I guess.

When I slept over at either of my grandmother’s houses I slept in the big bed with them. I slept on the right side at both of their places and that’s the side I’ve slept on since Marty and I got married. Side note…Marty wanted to switch sides on our 10th anniversary which I agree to for 5 years, then I told him it was ridiculous and I wanted my side back.

Mema used to go to the beauty parlor and get her hair done once a week like most women did. I loved sitting on her bed while at her dresser she would wrap her head with pink toilet paper and secure it with bobby pins when she slept. She said it helped her hair stay in all week. I guess it did because until she got a perm in the 1980s her hair always looked good to me.

I loved looking at all the pretty things on her dresser. She had a fancy mirror and brush set that was black lacquer with rhinestones. I loved her wedding ring box. I used to open and close it carefully. She always took her wedding ring off before bed because she put cream on her hands.

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Mema would rub ponds cream on her face and she would do mine too. She also would brush out my long hair. My favorite part was that she would very lightly rub my back until I fell asleep. I guess she did this when I was much younger when she babysat me at our house. The next night after my story and glass of water, I wanted my mother to rub my back the way Mema did, she told me she didn’t have time for that nonsense and to go to sleep. I know she told Mema not to get me used to stuff like that. I heard her complain to my father about it while I laying in bed. I had to maybe 4 or 5 at the time, but I remember it like it was yesterday.

When we would go to Mema’s house on Sundays for dinner I sat on the floor watching tv. I was always sitting way too close, everyone would warn me. Meanwhile, Mema was in the kitchen cooking. I never cooked with Mema, did the dishes, or even cleared the table as I did at Nana’s house or at home. It was great! It was like having a day off to just relax.

Mema was an average cook, she cooked comfort food and I liked everything she made except for her meatballs. I would ask my parents what Mema was making for Sunday dinner and when they told me spaghetti and meatballs I would cry. They had too much oregano in them and they were dry like the hamburgers that she made under the broiler. My parents told me I had to eat them, so I did.

As I got older my dad and I would stop at Mema’s by ourselves or with the other child they adopted, but usually, it was just the two of us. As soon as we would walk in she would ask if we were hungry. We really didn’t have to answer because before we knew it she was in the kitchen making us boiled ham and cheese on white bread “samiches” or my dad’s favorite bolognie and cheese samich. He called them rubber sandwiches.

Other times we would go and she would make the two of us tea and my dad coffee. We would dip Stella Dora Anisette Toast into our tea or sometimes Stella Dora Breakfast cookies. There was usually those wafer cookies that were chocolate, vanilla, and strawberry. I liked the chocolate ones the best. I have Mema’s red apple cookie jar displayed proudly on the top shelf in my kitchen. Such a simple thing means so much to me!

Back to her tea, I am not really a tea drinker but when I do make a cup I made Mema tea which was light and sweet made with regular Lipton tea bags. She had these little teapot-shaped dishes to put your teabag on.

My most favorite thing of all was that Mema played cards with me at her dining room table after dinner. My parents sat in the living room watching tv while we played. We also played tic tac toe and checkers. We would play rummy, go fish or war. We played for a long time and now even as an adult I can say that I really think she liked playing with me and had fun. She and I would howl laughing at some of the things she would say about the cards she was dealt. She did it not out of obligation, and I never once had to ask her if she wanted to play with me. It was her idea and she did it because she wanted to. I could feel that even when I was little.

When I got old enough to drive I would pop in every once in a while to say hi, had a ham and cheese “samich” and a Stella Dora for the road. When I started dating Marty he would go with me. When we moved to Vermont after we got married, we would stop from time to time and visit with her when we came back to Jersey.

I used to go to NJ with Noah when he was little by ourselves. I was a stay-at-home mom and Marty worked a lot so I would go down and visit my parents and Mema. Noah remembers the two of them and playing a game with sponge balls tossing them back and forth to each other. Sam got to visit her as well, but I don’t think he remembers her.

I checked in on her more often after my dad passed away since I was in NJ at least every other week to be with my mother. Mema took my dad’s death hard. I never remembered seeing her cry at his funeral, but I had my head so far up my own ass with my own grief maybe I just didn’t notice. She was stoic and quiet, it was heartbreaking because that wasn’t who she was. She told me a year later that you never get over the death of your child. So sad. I had two children and couldn’t even think about it.

From the time I was very little until I was a grown woman with my own children, I will always remember how she kissed me goodbye. “Go give Mema a kiss goodbye” my parents would tell me. Like they had to tell me? I loved her goodbye kisses. She would take my face in her hands and kiss me on one cheek about 10 times going mmm mmm mmm mmm. When I saw her do this with my boys it made me so happy they got Mema kisses too.

When I think back all I can remember is that Mema was genuinely nice to me. I think we really enjoyed each other’s company. I was her first grandchild and she treated me like I was special. What she and I had was more than special. I am very lucky to have had her as a part of my life. Ok, I have to go wipe my eyes and blow my nose now.