RECALIBRATE: Quelling Agitation (Digestive Disrupt)

Dreadful to get out of bed (off the couch) in the morning--or should I say, full of dread when I get out of bed this (every) morning since.... A sluggish stress across my chest--too heavy. I have a normal blood sugar level and a moderate blood pressure--adequate sleep--yet the solar and coronary plexuses are perplexing, aching my stomach and heart, breaking my sentences of thought.

Should I have returned to feed upon an old chum, a culinary musing, who remains swimmingly delicious, who for some reason turned from pleasantly peptic to atrociously septic, tanking what used to be my flash face, to flush. Now my chum is an estranged mate, a reflux/reflex that I find repulsive while I sleep through the night--a disruptive gurgle as I sleep through the night, and an acidic awakening--cramped in bed. How do I savor the sated moments we had together.

A fret and afraid, I phoned the doctor who was on call, who recommended that I cease my frenzied relationship with my toothsome friend--the shark who was a convivial contact, who was a gnashing flame: chum-luscious lava flowing through my gorge. I was encouraged to heed, to at least find a hum-drum recipe, frothy with placidity--although possibly a venture mercurial in nature, hopefully, now and then, a comfortable bid goodnight.

Nubilous Innocuous To Be Prepared

Lilly Flower

Baby Arugula

Wheat Noodles

Vine Ripe Tomato (thickly sliced)

Tuna Steak (cubed)

Whole Milk Mountain Gorgonzola (melted)

Recuperation: the Recovery of a Keen Being

With the follow-ups that followed, I had several doctor appointments: the otorhinolaryngologist (the logician for the endoscopic adenectomy surgery), my primary care physician, the adrenalectomy surgeon, and my endocrinologist. Prior to the scheduled appointments, on two separate occasions, I was in contact with the physician on-call to find out what I should do about the abdominal discomfort I was suffering. After each physician went over the symptom "causes for emergency" checklist, I was advised to wait to hear back from someone from the adrenalectomy team and from the endocrinologist--and try to wait until the scheduled appointment. I did receive word to pickup a prescription for my stomach, and that I should have some blood work done for the surgeon and endocrinologist to review prior to seeing them.

The appointment with the otorhinolaryngologist was fine; I was healed from the adenectomy--no residual complications. The appointment with my primary care physician was fine as well; he provided me with some advice in health management. The appointment with my adrenalectomy surgeon proved to me that I am not a hypochondriac. After reviewing the lab results and consulting with my endocrinologist, the surgeon had me admitted to the hospital for additional testing and an x-ray of my stomach, which would conclusively determine whether or not my abdominal problems were a complication from the surgery (i.e. infection) or from the regimen of medicines prescribed to replace the hormones once produced by the adrenal glands and to counterbalance the effects (diabetes, osteoporosis, high blood pressure) caused by the toxic levels of cortisol (Cushings Disease).

After a few days in the hospital, the physicians concluded that my body was in cortisol withdrawal and was adjusting to the prescribed medications. Relieved that there were no complications from the surgery, I could focus on recuperation, recovery, and remaining loyal to my endocrinologist's recommendations--she, who reminded me that my brain was/is still "swimming in cortisol," which is being reduced gradually and needs to be closely monitored until the disease abates and hormone levels are normalized. Understood, however, my appetite had not increased, nor had my fulsome taste perception become less sapid.

Perniciousness aside, when I was admitted to the hospital, as I had before, I was asked if I had any religious beliefs that would become a factor regarding my medical treatment options. I claimed that I did not have any doctrine-based concerns. However, since having my adrenal glands removed, the effects on my physiological systems makes this layperson ponder this profundity affecting my psyche--a hypothesis: a glandular soul in conjunction with an ethical one? The futility taxing my natural brain, calling upon a non-existent gland to automate my immune system, now "naturalized," reminding me to take action or else my health would progressively deteriorate automatically. My will is exhausted.

This depression would pass within time, I was informed during my preoperative consult with the surgeon, who indirectly encouraged me to "keep the faith." In respite, I had been able to contrive two recipes. An espresso has invigorated my ability to contemplate the renewal of my vitality.

A Successful Dilemma: A Cut-Out of Alacrity

When I signed the consent form (June 2011) to have the endoscopic transsphenoidal adenectomy (pituitary surgery through the nose), there was a clause stating that my sense of taste might alter for a unspecified period of time. Three months later, I am into my second week of recuperating from a laparoscopic adrenalectomy (surgical incisions located in the abdominal area). I needed to have this surgery because the partially removed pituitary gland continued to be "active" in triggering my adrenal glands to produce toxic levels of cortisol. The consequence from the surgeries on my eating habits, thus far, is that I have a decreased appetite. I am eating, however, not as enthusiastically as I had months ago.

I noticed the change in my sense of taste when I was on the post-andrenalectomy liquid diet, which consisted of broth, fruit-flavored gelatine, pudding, cranberry juice, iced tea, and water. The hospital cafeteria broth was the most alarming when contrasted to my memorable broth, made from fresh chicken stock. My broth should taste better than the water boiled with instant (powder) version. However, the other meal items tasted just as "funny." NOTE: the adrenal surgery was at the same hospital as I had in June for the pituitary. The menu's meal combination had not changed, nor had the vendor of these menu items, provisions that were well within their expiration date. The taste comparison was not the difference between two recipes, but the change in the evaluator's conclusion (due to his altered faculties): my memory of singular item(s) prepared no differently than before.
I did not fuss over the taste matter for fear that the issue might rouse a pedigreed reaction as opposed to a symptomatic classification. If either fear (or both) were provocative, I did not want to delay. I wanted to move bravely onward to solid food as quickly as possible without a hint of this incident. After all, the adenectomy and andrenalectomy were not about the purpose of heightening my ability to fathom seasoning "irregularities." (Follow-up to follow.)

My first solid meal was spinach quiche accompanied by a sausage patty. The breakfast was over-spiced; I did not take a second bite. Fortunately, the biscuit with margarine was bland enough. The decaffeinated tea (lemon) was swigalicious. For lunch, baked turkey sliced with gravy was accompanied by cheese and macaroni. Dinner was a fish fillet with paprika, roasted potatoes in addition. The turkey and fish overpowered my palette. The cheese and macaroni (likewise for the potatoes) was less sickening to the stomach.

My stomach was distended, not in contentment, but in need of relief. The stitches scarring my plumped belly were not a laughable gaseous distraction. A suppository did not make me sit and contemplate, nor did relaxation in the form of a pill soften my faecial expression or assist in the dispense of my airs.

At home ad nauseam for nought! Gladly, I am progressing since being discharged from the hospital. The depletion of hormonal toxins has yet to triumph my taste sense(s); the loss of appetite has yet to tuck into my tummy demure delights. I do find myself with a fully portioned plate, but not heaping. I find myself chewing, chewing more slowly--now in smaller bites. Adjusting for vagary as well!

Clearance Level

For the past two weeks, my concern, the obsession for the latter part of August, has been the consuming of enough dietary fiber--a discomforting, but welcomed distraction from thinking about the upcoming surgery to remove the glands that are producing high levels of cortisol in my body. Coping through constipation, to some extent, is a relief, is better than escaping reality through a blog that is supposed to be autobiographical verbatim, which raises the question, am I actually constipated? I cannot, as of yet to anyone online, provide distended proof! How do I? I would like to maintain my credibility!

Anyhow, this digestive system has blocked my creative flow, putting me behind schedule in posting to the blog. I have been feeding on fibrous foods (grains, vegetables, and pulses) while attempting to cut back on the carbohydrates. The underlying duress, due to the pending surgery, is preoccupying my subconscious attention, disrupting my focus in "subverting the system."

In my endeavor to add more dietary fiber into my meals (bran flakes, corn, butter beans), I was able to research and develop a recipe that I find delicious. [NOTE: seek out a nutritionist.]

Adrenal Casserole
Green Cabbage Leaf [spine removed] -- boiled (filtered water with sea salt)
Salami [sliced wafer thin] -- pan-fried (olive oil) -- goat cheese (dollop)
Wheat Pasta -- twirled stacks -- strands as borders*
Basa Fillet -- braised (olive oil and filtered water) -- oregano sprinkles -- lemon juice drips
White Onion [wilted slivers] -- sauteed (butter and filtered water) -- tomato sauce (balsamic vinegar)

In House Insights

When creating a recipe, I am uncertain as to whether or not I am being influenced solely by cultural ethnocentrism(s), current event(s), personal issue(s), moral dictate(s), fetishistic curiosity(ies), opportunistic happenstance(s), latent discovery(ies)--or by alchemical amalgamation.

Mushy Love

Olive Oil
Chopped Onion
Tomato Medley
    -- grape
    -- heirloom
    -- globe
Lime Juice (fresh)
Beech Mushrooms
Long Hot Pepper (rings)
Couscous
Parsley (air-dried, minced)
Beaufort Cheese (blocks)
Sardines (plain water)

Inept empiricism is helpful. My recipes are subconscious impulsions evolved from fancy--utilized referential cravings.

Tartine Salad with Speckled Eyes

Shredded Chicken (steamed, chilled)
Chives (diced)
Tomato (diced)
Tamarind Sauce
Peanuts

Tiny Cheddar Cheese Wheel (wax removed)
Clementine (peel removed)
Sesame Seed Crispbread

Chocolate Chip Cookies
Coffee

I cannot say that I am a person who is big on food preparation or presentation. I have more of an appetite for taste(s)--less for appetizing treatment(s).

Marmorean Goulash

Pork Ribs
  -- olive oil
  -- sea salt
  [sautéed thoroughly once sauced]

Frijoles Negros (from a can)
  [cooked wet to dry]

Pine Nuts/Garlic (crushed/minced)
  [pan-toasted lightly]
Tomato (diced)
Dried Mint (crumbled)
Coconut Cream (liquid)

Corn Tortilla Cheddar Cheese Melt (microwaved)
Picante Sauce

Iced Tea with Mineral Water

Marmorean Goulash

By exposing my recipe psyche, I celebrate the demographic challenge of maintaining provincial provisions.

Bring Home Birthday

August 6, 2011

To celebrate my niece's ("I'm over a quarter century years old") birthday, she asked if we could gather at Nana's house for a meal. I purchased a half bushel of #1 crabs.

Unfortunately I was beholden to the kitchen gadgets that I had forgotten at home, so I availed myself to the pots and pans that were within reach, at hand.

I had made the baked macaroni and (3) cheese the previous evening. I even remembered to bring the shredded hardened curd to sprinkle over the loaf during the reheat.

Getting the crabs from the basket to the boiling water took some acrobatics, and some hunter-gatherer technique.

Once the crabs were cooked, they were joined on the kitchen table with grandmom's 'falling off the

bone' beef ribs, her 'boulder' potato salad and cold chicken wings, auntie's 'cute' couscous, her mommy's

avocado dip (not pictured) and 'double' baked beans--and cousin's corn.

One chocolate and one lemon cake, accompanied with Neapolitan ice cream--we had for dessert. There were not enough candles for both cakes, so the chocolate was blazed, however both were devoured. Presents were not necessary, a nice to do. I did not. Having cooked over the past twelve hours, I took a snooze--budgeted.

An early evening--there was plenty of epicurean swag for everyone to bring home a plate (or two), bladder baggies for ingestion during the week.

Gratefully Fed

July 30, 2011

This heatwave morning, I wrestled my arms through the backpack's shoulder straps (with a monograph book enclosed in the compartment, water bottle affixed). I then walked (approximately three-quarters of a mile at a non-exercise pace) to the neighborhood's (traveling) farmer's market. Amongst the small crowd, I was able to purchase some heirloom tomatoes, corn, and peaches. I sauntered a short distance to the park, sat down at a cafe table, drank the water, read a chapter, and ate the seemingly innocuous apeche fruit amongst a gathering of festive folk.

Once back home, I had a lunch-snack consisting of two locally manufactured turkey hotdogs, which were accompanied with horseradish mustard, triangular chips, and an iced tea drink. Having read a couple of magazine articles, I then filled the laundry machine, and then washed dishes while I waited for the freshly ground coffee to percolate.

For evening dinner, I prepared:

• A Heirloom Tomato (olive oil)

• Steak Skirt (sea salt)

• Corn on the Cob (butter)

• Brown Rice

As I watched the televised broadcast news, I was grateful that I did not need to be stamped for approval, and that the distance I traversed coupled with the meal(s) consumed were not part of a warlords' travail laden with diminished provisions--grateful that the Somali plunder has yet to go global.

Redeeming Qualities: Sources of Frustration

July 3 - 18, 2011

"I am your mother! I gave you life, and I can take your life away," my Maw reminded me ever since I understood the words she exclaimed. Fortunately, for her, I was a precocious child, and I understood exactly what her initial introduction and first impression meant.

"I will always be your mother no matter how old you are," she declared even before I could articulate my siren sobs into wordy wails, which is acceptable when you are forty-five days old, but not when you are forty-five years old.

However, my mother stayed with me dutifully in my hospital room as I ranted about overcrowded refrigerator space, and how I had not allotted enough space for her foodstuff, about how I had planned meals for the next couple weeks so that she could focus on overseeing my recuperation once home.

I incessantly droned on, complaining that she had not called me in advance, when she said she would--touch base before leaving to pick me up and take me home, so that I could coordinate with my nurse the publication of my discharge papers.

"My status just changed. The shift just changed. The new nurse is going to have to review all of her cases. I am last, in priority, on the list!!! Now we are going to have to wait several hours while the critical-care patients are attended to. We are going to rack up parking fees. [I WANNA GO HOME, MOMMY! WAAH!!!]"

Maw waived away the concerned hospital staff as she tried not to make sense of her post-surgery, traumatized son's ill behavior. She considered whether or not (or how) she was going to sustain my life. For I was to be released under her care.

"Once I get you home, you are going to get your rest," Maw threatened from her pursed lips.

Alerted, I knew that I was not going to receive the private prenatal care I regressively desired, but would receive the public toddler discipline tactics she could deftly inflict: bicker banter provocative punishment.

"You're not doing what the doctor [intern] said," my Maw tattled.

"You're not doing what the doctor [primary-specialist] said you should be doing, what you said you agreed to do, going to do--as I said before what I needed you to do the last time you said 'OK' to, but did not do, but you promised you would do to get done, that you are complaining about now like you did then, ditty-doo," I scolded incoherently after taking my post-op 'use care when using machines' [or engaging in complex thinking] medication.

"This is not my problem. I am your mother," she said in mantra, intoning infallibility.

Infantile tantrums and maternal tsk tsks were in abundance for the first couple of days in our familial captivity. The two of us recognized and acknowledged the burdensomeness of our emotional breakdowns and the possibility of obtaining satisfaction. Since I was past the critical stages regarding home healthcare assistance, what was of importance now was getting to my follow-up doctor appointments. Maw had some upcoming appointments as well. We coordinated our calendars (aka scheduled conflicts) to determine when she would need to be here with me for consecutive days.

With time spent dining on culinary musing repeaters (and Maw drinking her power protein powder fruit smoothies), we set aside an evening to partake of Continental To-Go from the Orient (aka Chinese Takeout) for dinner.

We ordered menu items that were familiar to us, menu items that she and I have eaten for over thirty-eight years:

• Shrimp Roll
• Egg Roll Pork
• Shrimp Egg Foo Young
• Moo Shu Pork
• Barbecued Spare Ribs
• Fried Noodles
• Duck Sauce
• Pepper Oil
• Fortune Cookies

Continental To-Go from the Orient

The only disappointment was that there were no almond cookies available. I forgot to request hot mustard. Nevertheless, that night, Maw and I were fully sated--with leftovers for lunch the next day.

Acclimation: Try Try Again

As I progressed towards my second pituitary tumor resection, my physicians had some concerns about the amount of stress that could be potentially placed upon my heart, while under anesthesia during the surgery. For I was not as fit as an astronaut--if I had ever been. Although not a requirement for the operation, they were not certain as to how my body would withstand being in suspended animation for several hours. A stress test was ordered.

The goal of the stress test was to get my heart rate up to one hundred and fifty beats per minute, then take an electrocardiogram reading. The reading, coupled with an ECHO, was reviewed by my Cardiologist, who would give the "go ahead." Prior to his approval, a good indicator, for me, was that I did not hock up a lung during the test, nor did I hurl my lunch, which I ate forty-five minutes later: must be control over the reflux nerves!

The surgery was scheduled for Wednesday, June 29, 2011. The Cardiologist confirmed that my heart had enough stamina to handle the operation. So, on Tuesday evening, before midnight, I prepared and devoured Sprouting Beef:

Sprouting Beef

• Boiled
  • Brussels Sprouts
  • Garlic (minced)
  • Egg Noodles
  • Water (filtered)
    
• Pan-fried
  • Cubed Chuck (bite-sized)
  • Coriander Seeds (ground)
  • Jerk Spice
  • Olive Oil
  • Boiled Broth
  • Arrowroot

Sprouting Beef

Post-operation, I was monitored for a couple of days in the Intensive Care Unit.  Having no resounding complications, I was transferred to the Acclimation Ward.

Acclimation Ward

The goal was to rehabilitate the normal do-it-yourself (DIY) home healthcare tasks, and to take note of the severe post-op symptoms: the warning signs of adrenal insufficiency. The DIY for me to focus upon was bathing.

Contemplating DIY Bathing

A day later, I was back home. I quickly re-acclimated myself with the kitchen: utensils and all.

Subtle Tureen and Cute Ladle Soup

• Wasabi Paste
• Garlic (minced)
• Pickled Ginger (minced)
• Chicken Stock
• Veggie Noodle Strings
• Corn Niblets
• Shrimp (frozen)

As I ate, I watched TV. Soon after, I was upstairs drawing a bath and bathing, during which I caught-up on my podcasts (and while flushing my nose and cleaning the tub). I put on some shorts and t-shirt, then was at the coffee table reading the literature given to me by my Endocrinologist. I checked my email, washed the dishes, and acquired an appetite for a roast beef sandwich with swiss, spicy-mustard, mayonnaise, thick tomato slice on wheat--cheese-powdered chips on the side.

Appetite acclimated, I hungered for sleep and the morn--Once Home Breakfast:

Once Home Breakfast

• D'Anjou Pear (peeled, cored, poached)
• Filtered Water
• Lemon Squeeze
• Brown Sugar
• Butter



• Sun Dried Tomato (minced)
• Turkey Bacon (chopped)
• Creme de Coconut
• Heavy Cream



• Flounder Fillets (smothered)



• Croissants (petite)
• Pear (halves)
• Kokos Relish (spread)
• Dried Herb Spine (mint)
• Eggs (sunny-side, pointed)

Once Home Breakfast

A Work's Progress

Is not a work in progress the purpose of aging?

This assessment concerning fortuitous time (quality of life) hit me on the head like a brick--material or spiritual progress: physical/ethereal, visceral/intellectual, weighty/lofty, fickle/wise, dense/intense...?

While I had not this question in mind when concocting this comfort food, this recipe was the result of my concerns regarding the cure for my chronic health situation. What treatment, the course of action I should progress, and for what purpose. I needed to determine not only my own fortuity and quality, but also for those with whom I wish to share the burden--to what level (density/intensity), to what extent (proportionately)--before spoiling the experience.

The recipe that follows might add some insight as to how to work through progress--just do not (repeat "do not") drop this confection from a multistory building into a populated area comprised of people.

Breakfast Brick

Cantaloupe (food-processed)
Ricotta Cheese
Sour Cream
Flour (enriched)
Egg Yolks
Basil Leaf (minced)
Chia Seed
Flame Grapes (raisins mixed in)
Almond Butter (on the side)
Milk

Breakfast Brick

The Heavy Lofty

I do not feel much like cooking these days. I am busy preparing myself for surgery, which is occurring later this month. I am more attuned to putting on weight (about ten pounds) as opposed to putting on airs. Post operation, I am thinking that I will be on an intravenous (liquid) and body fat diet for a while. Minus the potbelly with overstretched abdomen muscles, I would say that I have a svelte physique. I have the potential to emaciate very quickly.

To feast on myself properly, I will need to build body mass. To build such mass, I have been eating cereal, pasta, rice, fruits, and meat, as well as bread in the form of hoagies, pancakes (and sausage), peanut butter and jelly--chocolate chip cookies.

I am putting together my post-op at home menu, which will consist of repeater meals: pasta sauce, cassoulet, and quick fish fillet concoctions. There may be some specialty dishes with kielbasa. These meals will be portion-packaged and placed in the freezer for consumption once back from the hospital, during my extended absence from work.

Here is a recipe that I might consider as a reputable repeater, reminding me at the very least that I need some cheese and chops.

Inclusion Is Possible

Chutney
    -- Olive Oil
    -- Shiitake Mushrooms (julienne, sauteed)
    -- Pepperoncini (rings)
    -- Strawberries (frozen, chopped)

Pork Knuckle Chop (skillet-grilled)
Olive Oil

Wheat Couscous
Mustard Oil

Cheese: Cheddar (cubed, microwaved)

Inclusion Is Possible

[A] Pathetic! [Not] Me... :-( || ;-)

Saturday, June 4, 2011

I awoke this morning on the couch, in front of my coffee-table wide-screen laptop. The web page's embedded video player was prompting me with the question, "Play Again?"

The movie was The Bigamist, directed by Ida Lupino.



After watching the movie (last night), I could not help thinking about Maria and Arnold, and their public situation. How eerily peculiar. As the court hearings proceed, I wonder what their judgment will be? How have the times changed? [Insightful moment.]

As I consider my own situation, how do I (will I) 'play again'? This was my contemplation as I composed my complication.

Solo with Mi Amore, I. (Mattina)

Spongy Croutons

• Butter (melted)
• Potato Roll (small, diced)
• Lemon Juice (fresh)

Olive Oil
Sole Fillet (fluffed)
Egg (whisked)
Scallion Stalk (sliced finely)
Tarragon (freshly minced)
Anchovy (chopped)
Fontina (slats)
Pasta Gravy (saucy halo)

Solo with Mi Amore, I (Mattina)

I ate my breakfast serenaded, as I leisurely thumbed through magazine recipes. [NOTE: I scanned my first QR code!]



After the final bite ["Yum"], I listened to the first few chapters of the audiobook The Man Who Was Thursday by G. K. Chesterton as I washed the dishes from this morning as well as those that had accumulated during the week.



I downloaded all of the chapters into my mp3 player so that I could continue listening while bathing ["Clean the tub, man!"], and while following through on my errand list at the markets. ["...and don't forget to buy some disinfectant cleanser--for crud's sake!!!"]

For Crud's Sake!!!

Once back, I put away the groceries, and then prepared dinner.

Solo with Mi Amore, II. (Sera)

Chicken Breast (slices crosscut, seasoned)

• White pepper (powdering)
• Breadcrumbs (plain)
• Olive oil

Canola Oil (frying) 

Ingredients: Solo with Mi Amore, II. (Sera)

Ziti
Sea Salt 

Apricot (blanched, pitted, pieces)
Basil (coarsely chopped)
Jalapeno (seedless circles)
Lite Cream
Red Bell Pepper (julienne)
Pecorino Romano (grated)

Solo with Mi Amore II (Sera)

I ate dinner quietly, trying to come up with a one-liner that would witticize my day. From sunrise to sunset: two plates/two faces [and stop calling me Janus!!!].

Pastry Forthwith Alacrity

I was awakened by a cat's calls, and shrill retorts from chirruping feathered fowls. A breeze on my goose-pimpled skin chilled my grogginess as the burr from the attic fan whirred, sucking in air through the open sliding-glass door entranceway screened.

I was in the recreational room at my mother's house, reclining in the massage lounge chair pensively: a daybreak rumination, contemplating reciprocity not through the plasticity of manufacturing, but through the placidity of manipulating with a recipe.

I stood up and stretched-tall, yawned, then ascended the stairs, drifted down the hallway, flipped the fan switch off, and went double-back to the kitchen. I opened the refrigerator door to obtain my fixings, then scoured the cupboard and spontaneously found supportive spicy additives.

The calls and retorts (the clamor) that had summoned these sentences had begun to fade as I searched for pots and pans, as I located the utensils that would help me transcribe this testimonial delicacy.

Cobbler Granny Smith/Rome Apples (grab bag) [peeled, cored, roughly chopped] Anise Seed (sprinkles) Arrow Root Lemon Juice Gloucester Cheese (chunky crumbles) Eggs (vigorously whisked) Streusel Brown Sugar Butter Walnuts (hand-crushed) Crust (optional)	Granny Smith/Rome Apples with Lemon
Potpourri Chew Apple Peels (oven-dried) Cherries (finger-pitted, candied) Honey Lemon (zest) Walnuts (broken) Lemon (thinly sliced wedges)	 Potpourri Chew 
Sides Bacon (crispy) Vanilla Frozen Yogurt Coffee (stark)	 Cobbler Potpourri Bacon Frozen Yogurt

A Cross Section Dinner P[l]an

My physician and her assistant were able to prescribe me a temporary solution for my headache(s) by appending another medication to my pharmaceutical list, while I await the surgical solution: Grand Rounds II--the Follow Up. This episode is the result of taking the least evasive option (operation) to avoid a statistical disaster.

RHETORICAL QUESTION: Is prolonging the quality of life prolonging the inevitable?

Such a fatalism is the reason why I decided not to become a doctor, lawyer, or correctional services administrator; however, being an (arrogant) artist seems to be an adequate metaphorical substution--as if.

Which [way] takes me to the recipe for this posting...[?]

Choice Chump Chop (This is my Brain on Food)

1. Watermelon (bite-size [sauteed, raw])
   Ancho Chile (diced, ground)
   Yogurt (plain)
   
   
2. Filini Pasta
   Cut String Beans
   Celery Seed
   Fontina (local)
   Olive Oil
   
   
3. Pork (hind loin steak)
   Sea Salt (powder)
   Olive Oil
   
   
4. Octopus (pantry pulpo)
   Eggplant (peeled, sauteed)
   Olive Oil
   Lemon Juice

Choice Chump Chop (This is My Brain on Food)

Clinical Clusters: Radiating Radicals

From day into night, from night into day--a numbing smarts, stunning brain activity--I have a persistent headache that is causing double-vision, which blurs back into a single view causing my teeth to grit the truth without me saying a word.

To alleviate this exhaustive mental activity, I fall back into my chair, roll back my eyes, and pass out, or (when there is a table or desk in front of me) I set my chin onto the palm of my hand and use my forearm as a pedestal, prominenting my grimaced mouth and squinting eyelids. After the gnashing, I feed myself without much care given to dietary details or hunger pangs.

However, as I venture off seizurely, dizzily confused in my daze, in a state of symptomatic distraction, I composed this recipe.

Excruciating Egg(s)

Bake
     -- Chicken Wings [Ulna/Radius]: boiled with crushed garlic
     -- Turkey Bacon: wrapping

Sauteed [low flame in cast-iron skillet]
     -- Pineapple: softened, slightly browned, pulse-blended
     -- Olive Oil/Filtered Water

Not Pictured
     -- Smoked Gouda: shaved

Fried
     -- Eggs: sunny-side

Buttered
     -- Croissant

Excrutiating Eggs

Superficial Wound: Coping w/o Doping

Thinking forward about my summer morale while I worked to idle my time, I found myself concerned that I might be pushing ahead too quickly--all the while mistakenly worrying about the warts blemishing my psyche (incorrecting my pars nervosa).

'On vacation' I mined laically, peevishly consumed in my paean consummation.

Cantaloupe Cages

Sauce [processed, stirred, condensed]

• Rockmelon
• Honey
• Raw Sugar
• Yogurt (plain)

Ribs [parboiled, coated, broiled]

• Hog (stout curvatures)

Cantaloupe Cages

Crabby Crustacean

Port (poured)
Water (filtered)
Paprika (shaken)
Atlantic Blues (boiled, removed, returned)
Lemon (juiced)
Garlic (crushed)
Tomato (pasted)

Dinner Rolls (toasted)
Corn on the Cob (buttered)

Crabby Crustacean

A Pottage Posture: A Telling Tale

For the last two weeks, I plodded through the day--clothes wrinkled, as unkempt as my humor. "How are you now brown cow," I asked myself as I slouched in my ergonomic office chair.

Decaffeinated (hyper-unaware), I grazed through the hours, interspersed with distractions: data cleanup, webpage updates, workflow troubleshooting, tech support, customer service, and online social networking. Placid ambiance was audible: music to my ears. I put on my earbuds to listen to talk, staving off my drowsiness, averting a full-body shutdown. I coaxed myself to get a coffee.

My eyes popped open. I am alarmed--a spontaneous nap for me!!! I had conked out sitting flat-back in the chair next to my son's bed as he "hushed" in his sleep. The biography I thought I was reading lay at my feet. I placed a bookmark randomly before going downstairs.

I started the laptop, plugged in the portable speakers, selected a playlist, put on my sweatpants and shirt, stumbled over to the rowing machine, and oared for ten minutes. Adrenalinated, I checked my blood sugar, then snacked, then washed some dishes while summarizing the preparation for a Scruffy Crock Purloo.

Scruffy Crock Purloo

Scruffy Crock Purloo

Mushrooms: Button Cap (diced, boiled in butter)
Artichokes (boiled, leaves raked, heart minced)
Purple Pickling Onions (soaked in filtered water until shooting or liquid color resembles the onion's;
     rinse away dirt, peel top layers of silky skin)
Onion Stock (sieved through cheesecloth, removing any silt and skin)

Artichoke | Mushrooms | Purple Pickling Onions

Rice (boiled in onion stock)

Oven Roaster Chicken (plump, slow cooked)
Thyme Sprigs (under the skin)
Artichoke Stock



Chicken and Thyme

 Green Beans (frozen)

Haute Meatloaf

By a guest's request for admittance into the culinarian's archive, this recipe is influened by the promotion from a influential contemporary who is the glory as well as the keeper of the gate. The promotion (inverted request) was for a meatloaf made out of ground turkey and oatmeal.

Here is another attempt at glory! Hopefully this meal will please the keeper of the ¡¡gate!!

Haute Meatloaf

     -- Ground Turkey/Oatmeal

Ground Turkey/Oatmeal

     -- Tarragon (minced)
     -- Goat Cheese
     -- Roasted Red Pepper (chopped)

Tarragon, Goat Cheese, Roasted Red Pepper

Into the mixing bowl.

NOTE: Include plain bread crumbs.

Into the loaf dish. 

Pre-baked loaf at room temperature.

Bake twenty minutes. Dowse with grapseed oil. Bake twenty minutes.

Settle for fifteen minutes. Slice. Toast.

On the Side

     -- Carrot (circles)
     -- Red Onion (diced)
     -- Olive Oil

     -- Crisp Bread (multigrain)

Haute Meatloaf with Carrots and Crisp Bread