8/30/2013

What's That, Lassie? Jimmy Fell Into A Well?


OR
How Wild Blackberries Almost Got Me Killed

Once upon a time, a jealous witch who didn't get invited to the baby shower for GF teamed up with a couple of errant gods, a swarm of malicious gremlins from the 80's, an amazonian witch doctor (no relation) and that voodoo guy from The Princess and The Frog and cursed her family line. Poor GF grew up as the most unlucky woman in the world, and has a thousand and one stories detailing how she dislocated both her shoulders with a glass coffee table, broke both her ankles by jumping, permanently damaged her knee by tripping over a cat, or became on of the two people in Halifax to get E. coli poisoning. Since we began living together in 2011 she's been to the hospital no less than twelve times. Murphy's Law was written for the girl - "Whatever can go wrong will go wrong, and at the worst possible moment," - with a special addition of "to me."

One of the tamer stories entails GF as a kid. She fell through a friend's deck. Young GF was a few inches away from breaking her legs and came home with quite a few bruises and a couple of deep scars (frighteningly close to her femoral artery) which are still very obvious today.

Let's just say my trip to the Kempt Shore this weekend made that story a bit less of a novelty and much more imaginable.

The field at my second cousin's cottage. (This is actually a
photo from two years ago. Sorry.)
They say if you don't like the weather in Nova Scotia, you should wait five minutes. Chances are it'll change. This past Saturday my dad and I had taken my grandmother out to see her niece and sister-in-law in the Valley, and although the day started in torrential rain, by the time we arrived at their lovely old cottage the skies had turned blue and I was dying of heatstroke in identically-coloured jeans. My second cousin (Dad's cousin and my Nanny's niece - it's all very confusing to keep track of, despite this being the small side of my family) was thrilled to announce their field had wild blueberries in it, which they had been collecting to make jam.

Anyone who's been reading this blog since the beginning (a whole five posts ago) knows that:

A) I compulsively collect food

B) I bought a shit-ton of blueberries from a U-Pick less than two weeks ago

These in mind, you'll understand why A could not say no to baking in the hot sun to pick wild berries (totally different from high-bush) and why B therefore was disregarded. I knew, however, that GF would tease me for bringing home more blueberries (which she dislikes), so I decided I'd delve into the just-ripening patch of blackberries (which she adores) near the cottage to keep her exasperation at bay.

It's understandable, considering that everyone except my dad and I were over 60 years old, that my second cousin and grandmother couldn't get anything more than a half-pint of berries. There were hardly any ripe suckers on the outside of the blackberry bush. But having spent hours as a child hunting out and eating all sorts of wild berries, and being as spry as I am, I knew what I had to do: I got right down on he ground and crawled into the centre of the blackberry bush. I collected armfuls of scratches, a sunburn, and a few upset spiders' webs (sorry), but ended up two full pints of the little gems. Being as I don't particularly care from blackberries, it was either unconditional love for GF or a rush of childhood nostalgia that made me willing to grass stain the crap out of my jeans. I made sure I'd collected every non-red berry on that plant, and was just doing my final lap around the bush when it happened.

Wild blueberries!
The giant cast-iron faucet sticking out of the ground should have been an indication, but I can be dumb as a post when I'm distracted by food. There was a wooden pallet lying on the ground next to the blackberry bush, which the faucet was coming out of. I stepped on it, and moved forward in search of the last few berries. Suddenly, I wasn't standing up.

Being as there was a barking collie next door, if I had fallen in, I'm sure jokes would have been made. I had broken through a couple rotten boards on the pallet and was sitting with one leg hip-deep in an old well. I could see a couple of flat rocks siding the hole in the ground, but below my foot was just darkness. I have no idea how far down it went, but had the boards given way I would have at least broken my legs.

As it was, I very carefully crab-walked my way out and off the boards, gathered my spilled berries, and hightailed it out of there. Food was no longer especially interesting.

The moral of this story:

1) Always take free food, even if you already have lots of it - but only if you're going to use it. Hoarding food you won't eat only takes it away from someone who could.

2) Don't play near old wells! To people who own them: please check to make sure they're still holding up! PLEASE.

Bark, bark!
- Leah

8/26/2013

Who Invited The Herbivore?

OR
A U-Pick Adventure and The Vegetarian Who Doesn't Preach


Oxford, Nova Scotia, calls itself the Blueberry Capital of the World. It's got fields and fields of blueberry farms and a blueberry festival, and a giant, slightly horrifying metal blueberry statue at the first rest stop off the highway, complete with a Tim Hortons. 

"Oh heeeeeeeeey."
I was nowhere near Oxford, though. That was useless information for your next trivia competition at the pub. Now you know the answer, should anyone quiz you on the obscure and rather sad slogans of towns in my province.

Bedford: A Traditional Stopping Place
Stewiacke: Halfway Between The North Pole and The Equator
Truro: The Hub of Nova Scotia

Two weeks ago we went to my new favourite place in the Valley, Dempsey Corner Orchards. GF and I went last year, but too late in the season for anything really good. This time we brought friends and sunscreen and plaid shirts (lesbo chic) and completely forgot to pack a lunch. Oops.

We got our hands filthy and fed screaming kids and pulled a really heavy wagon back and forth in the blazing summer sun for hours - for fun

Dempsey is a gorgeous U-Pick farm in Aylesford, Nova Scotia. As the name implies, they grow the food, and you pick it off the trees/bushes or dig it out of the ground. Not only are the workers super nice and the farm full of variety and the animals adorable, but the owner is a riot. She appeared during our U-Pick 101 session, draped herself all over our teacher, wailed about how she'd been missing her since a whole day ago, then offered us a pregnant cat. She also tried to sell us a book by asking, "Do you like to read? Do you poop? If you keep it in the bathroom this book is perfect for extended stays." My kind of woman.

I mentioned before that I generally don't get to eat fruit because I can't afford to. Despite Oxford being only about an hour away, blueberries can cost anywhere from $4-$7 per two handfuls. Just about a cup of berries hardly feeds one person, let alone two for two weeks. For a poor almost-student, fruit is just out of the question. U-Pick fruit is the exception to this rule. Not only did I score enough blueberries to satisfy me for probably a good chunk of the winter (six boxes), but I got them organic and for $2.50 each.

GF also got a huge kick out of digging white potatoes, and we came home with probably three or four pounds for less than $3. There's absolute benefit to buying in bulk and doing the harvesting work yourself. Provided we can keep them at an optimal temperature (Warm Apartment Hates Potatoes: A Memoir), we'll have three months worth of food for $18.

On a related note, we also picked up 8 kilos (16 pounds) of rice for $15 from the grocery store. Rice and Lentils are a very cheap, base staple for really tough times that everyone should be aware of - it's much healthier and less expensive than, say, Hamburger Helper (and requires less attention to cook).

"Little Dog" begging me with his beautiful
two-coloured eyes to feed him more cookie.
Dempsey has a beautiful big yard besides the gardens that kids can play in. Around it are pens full of farm animals, enjoying their day-to-day life and so used to attention that the goats, pigs, and baby cow (named "Daisy" - can you believe that?) will come running when someone approaches, screaming for affection (and probably food). There were rabbits, ducklings, two hilarious piggies, two breeds of hen and a rooster, sheep, goats, and the cow, plus four absolutely precious old dogs, whom I referred to as "Fluffy Dog", "Fluffy Puppy", "Dead Dog" (he laid around so still), and "Little Dog" and fed under a picnic table. I had my hands all over any animal that would stay still long enough (pig noses feel so weird!) and had to help get Daisy the calf into the goat pen without the goats escaping, during which time I had my fingers licked and became a cow whisperer.

For the last year or so I've gone from a relaxed vegetarian to more of a flexitarian (someone who generally avoids meat but won't disregard it completely), but it struck me when I was feeding Daisy how like the dogs she was. She had such gorgeous big brown eyes and was so dainty and polite as she took grass from my hand. I think I fell in love with her and her shyness and little hooves, and it kind of hit me while I was petting her neck that I've eaten bigger versions of her. That thought upset me the whole drive back to the big city.

Everyone knows how food animals are treated in developed countries. I don't have to quote any hippie books or activist websites on the horrors of feedlots and slaughterhouses. It's sick. But we don't make the connection of hamburger = tortured cow because we're not seeing it daily, and because we much prefer the delusion of the happy Dempsey-esque farm life for Bessie or Daisy the Former. I've let myself slip into that delusion, going, "I'll buy humane, grass-fed, local beef when I have the money, but I can only afford regular stuff right now." Really, I should be taking responsibility for the practice I'm promoting with my appetite, and just avoid eating those animals who have as much personality (if not as much brainpower) as my childhood dog. I wouldn't want my boy or Fluffy Puppy in a slaughterhouse.

(I will, however, continue making broth from animal bones, because GF does eat meat, and I will not waste food.)

So the herbivore has returned. Admittedly, I've gotten used to eating meat now, so stopping is a bit of a challenge. But I'm determined, for both the sake of the baby cows in the world and for my own health. Next stop: hummus.

Things to pick from this:

1) Buying in bulk is almost always cheaper than pre-packaged. Picking your own food lowers the cost even more. If you can get to a U-Pick before winter, do so, and stock up!

2) Go to Dempsey Corner Orchards, or, if you're too far away, check out their quirky Facebook page.

3) What you eat is your business. Take a second to reflect on your business expenses. Could you eat less of something and splurge on the more humane/antibiotic-free/local version? Would it save you money? Could you consider limiting what meats you eat? Could you be passionate about your food choices without criticizing others for theirs? Let's all be open-minded!

4) Dogs love carrots.

With love,
- Leah

8/23/2013

Recipe: Rice and Lentils


OR
The Poor Man's Staple Food

Today I'm going to introduce you to the bare bones of frugal cooking. 

Did you know there's more than 600 different kinds of legumes in the world? Legumes are beans, basically - you know, that "alternatives" part of the "meat and alternatives" on Canada's Food Guide/Pyramid. You can buy them in cans and dried up in bags (the less expensive and less salty version). Not only are legumes dirt cheap, but they're healthy and versatile and are an excellent source of iron and protein and a bunch of other vitamins that if you care enough about you'll Google. Point is, everyone should have a bag or two of beans in their cupboard. 

Personally, GF and I like lentils. They're cute, small, colourful, and don't take as long as their bigger brethren to cook. Some big beans like, say, kidney beans, can take three hours to cook; lentils take twenty minutes. They can be sprouted, stir-fried, boiled, whatever. They're filling. Even organic ones cost less than $2 for a 500g (1lb) bag. You can't lose.

A couple years back I enrolled in Katimavik, a youth volunteer program. For six months I lived with twelve other kids from different places in Canada whom I'd never met and helped nonprofit organizations while learning how to work as a team, run a household, and eat healthily. That was the cereal box promo version, anyway. I'll spare you the story for now, but suffice to say it was the best of times and it was the worst of times. Three months I spent in a little town in Ontario, and for a week during that I got to escape the crowded frat house and live with a host family of four in the suburbs.

It's only now that I can really appreciate the amazing people I spent that week with, and I kick myself every time I think back, because those folks were a gold mine of holistic living information, and I didn't put the effort into connecting with them. They grew and ate sprouts. They had a garden. They bought from a co-op. They'd traveled the world. They had solar panels in their sunroom. They didn't watch television. They only ate organic, and were all vegetarian. While I was there, the dad was doing something to the laptop wires to avoid electromagnetic pollution in their house. I spent a week in hippie nirvana and I hardly took a bite out of it.

On the bright side, though, I was introduced to both guacamole and rice and lentils while I was there. Today's recipe was stumbled upon by accident. Host Dad was making up a quick supper for everyone, and completely floored me when he put both white rice and green lentils into the same pot. This is the ultimate in basic food, and can be seasoned however you want it. You can add veggies or leave it as is. A rice cooker is the easiest way to go, but it can be done in a pot on the stove, too.

You need rice - any kind, but white rice has about the same cooking time as lentils, so we usually use jasmine - and lentils. Red, green, brown, French, whatever. Measure out the amounts of each and add in any flavourings you'll want. I put cumin, turmeric, and paprika on this batch. Generally, if I'm not too hungry and want to feed both of us, I'll go with a 1/3 cup of lentils, a 1/2 cup of rice, and 2 cups of water.

My rice cooker was a re-gift from my adorable 93-year-old grandmother. As she handed it to me, she said, "Now, don't tell your mother about this. She gave me this for Christmas two years ago, but I've never used it, and I don't want to hurt her feelings." Oh, Nanny. As if Mom would care.

Rice cookers are a blessing, though, if you're busy and poor. Rice and lentils cook beautifully in these contraptions, and all you have to do is dump the uncooked food and water in and flick a switch. They shut off automatically when cooked. Which is really great if you're as attention-deficit as I, and forget about things almost instantly.

If you're making this in a pot, cook for twenty minutes (or whatever the bags say) and stir every once in a while.

P.S:

1) Red lentils fall apart when you cook them and turn into a tasty mess. Green lentils stay crunchier.

2) Adding a powdered animal stock while cooking makes for a subtle but super-tasty mix!

Presto! Dinner!

Forgetfully,
- Leah





8/19/2013

Please, Sir, May I Have Some More?


OR
How Putting Bones In The Freezer Helps Keep You Fed


I'm one of those people who knows the words to 90% of the songs that come on the radio.

Ask me who the song's performed by or what it's called and I'll stare at you like a deer in the headlights, but I can generally memorize at least the tune of a song the first time I hear it and know a good chunk of the lyrics by the third. I have no idea how I learn them, I just do. 

Like how double-jointed people don't know how they freakishly dis-form their limbs. Ugh.

In my tiny apartment freezer I have a bag of green bin-worthy vegetable scraps, and, until recently, a bag of leftover chicken bones and skin. They get tucked away on the freezer door or in the back by the compost*, ignored until I find potatoes that are going soft (always cut them open before you toss them! If they're still white they're still good!) or score free veggie tray leftovers from a party. Then I pull one out and make myself some soup.

Making stock from scratch is one of those things an alarming number of people don't know how or are too hesitant to try to do. It's not hard, but the convenient cartons or cans of broth at the grocery store are just so much easier, and make the task of making from scratch seem, especially to a busy student, worker, or parent, really daunting and unnecessary.

Not to knock the canned stuff - we do keep a couple cartons on hand when we need something quick, and for flavors we don't really have bones around for, like beef - but while homemade may not be necessary, it is worth it. Not only is homemade stock 100% less salty (figures are just pulled out of my arse) but it has no preservatives, hasn't been pasteurized, and often has more, or an actual amount of - in the case of meat-based stocks - gelatin, which is super good for those of us with achy joints. Plus it tastes better, and is made of things you already have lying around, instead of costing you an extra $2.29.

It's like Mr. Christie VS Grandma. Christie's stuff is pretty good, but there's nothing like a homemade chocolate chip cookie, Grandma-style. Not that my grandmothers really baked chocolate chip cookies, but they did make homemade bread, and that stuff is beautiful.

Making stock is stupidly easy, too. I was going to say that GF taught me how to do it, but actually, I think it was my mother. Mom's a very "throw stuff together and hope it works" sort of cook, but she's good at it. "Mix and match" suppers and "The Great Fry-up" are specialties of hers. She also makes a damn good turkey soup. She once showed me how to make that soup, but never told me how to make the broth. I must have gleaned the technique from watching her every Christmas day.

It's like the music thing. I don't know how I know it. I just do.

Start by saving the crap everyone else tells you to throw out (unless it's fuzzy or blue or smells bad). Those almost-slimy lettuce pieces from a salad. Onion skins that aren't quite brown. Celery leaves or asparagus bottoms or the tiny roots on beet greens. If you roast a chicken or have another sort of meat product with bones, keep everything you don't eat, including the cartilage or leftover meat. You can mix the veggies and meat or keep them separate. I generally keep mine apart (in case of vegetarian guests), but I recently made a ham and pea soup with a bunch of veggies and half an apple-roasted ham as the base (plus ham I'd scavenged from the dinner table of a family get-together).

Before
Once you've got a medium-sized Ziploc bag full, dump the contents into a big pot (no need to defrost) and fill it with water. You can put as much water in as you'd like, but the more you have the more diluted your stock will be. A 2-to-1 ratio is usually good. Feel free to add bay leaves or any other spice you'd like. Turn on the stove to about medium heat and let the suckers boil!

After











(Maniacal laughter)

Depending on what you're boiling, this step could take one to five hours. Bigger animals = more time (a good analogy for digestion, by the way). Give beef bones four to five hours, pork three to four, poultry one to two, and vegetables one to two, depending on how potent you want your stock. Once your water's turned a rich colour (anywhere from gold to brown to red, if you used beets), strain your stock through a colander - or just tilt the pot while holding the lid at an angle - into another pot. TA DAA. The pretty leftover liquid is stock! You can use it right away or freeze it or... drink it, I guess.

On an ending note, for all you folks who fit the "I'm too busy" category, remember:

1) Homemade stock is free, especially if all your scraps are scavenged instead of bought.

2) Homemade stock isn't loaded with salt (unless you dump it in there) and contains lots of vitamins and minerals that the process of preserving canned stock kills off.

3) You don't have to make stock right away (although you can; Mom always started making turkey stock as soon as the bird had cooled and been picked over). Even freezer-burnt meats and vegetables make tasty stock, so you don't have to stuff soup prep into an already busy day. Wait for a lazy Sunday.

4) An excellent tip from Mom: If you're making an animal-based soup, don't put the meat in with the stock bones. Add the meat last (because it's pre-cooked anyway) during your soup construction to keep it flavorful! 


Sweet Simmering!
-Leah 


*We keep it there to avoid smells and fruit flies. The apartment is so warm in the summer that vegetables, fruit, and bread will go bad within a couple days if we keep them out of the fridge. There's such thing as silicone buckets specially made for folks with our problem, but a reused plastic bag is way cheaper than a $50 tub, thank you very much. 

8/17/2013

Embrace Your Inner Seagull


OR
Scavenging Whenever The Opportunity Arises (And Being Prepared To Do So)



You know that saying, "You eat like a horse?"

That horse is me. I am that horse. Someone in seventeen-hundred-whatever saw into the future and called me a horse (an endearing term, I think, when horses were a main form of transportation) and made up that saying when they saw how much I eat on a daily basis. I'm not just being dramatic, either - coworkers, friends, and my grandmother have all told me I eat ridiculous quantities of food. Part of it is nutritional deficiency, I'm sure; as much as I try to eat healthy, the fact is that I'm a student making minimum wage, and vegetable are fricking expensive. Someday I'll earn above $10 an hour and get to shop the crap out of the farmer's market, but today is not that day.

Did you know that you're probably starving? Even if you're 200 pounds overweight and eat like me (the horse), your cells are probably screaming for things you're not giving them. Imagine your insides are babies. Err, wait, imagine your cells are little baby heads? This is a terrible explanation, but work with me on this. Your trillions of body cells are babies, okay? Imagine that. These babies are being little shits and making a huge racket, so you give them a cup of water to drink, because they're not pooping, so they're probably hungry. They drink the stuff (they know the importance of being hydrated, after all), but they continue to make a fuss because they want MILK, and water is not milk. But you keep giving them water. Eventually their screaming drives you berserk because they never stop (and that would get really annoying). That's kind of what happens every day when you don't eat well. Your body goes, "I want vitamin B! I want carotenoids! I want fructose that doesn't come from purple Koolaid!" and you say, "Too bad! LOL! Have some meat and overcooked broccoli and french fries!" So they make you fat. The little bastards.

If you're a person who eats "well", you're probably a bit offended right now. Sorry. But the fact is our living bodies love living food. The more raw or single-ingredient food you can plug into yourself (minus meat - it takes forever to go through your super-long digestive tract and makes your insides all acidic), the better off you'll be. I'm no raw foodie (it makes me too cold and I'm not especially fond of crunchy food), but it's well-known scientific fact that basic - and especially uncooked - fruits and veggies have more of the "milk" your guts want.

Which comes back to me being a starving student. I can't afford the living food I function best on. I eat like a horse, but only because I'm trying to pump myself with nutrients I can't get from breads and junk food. I - and my screaming baby cells - are constantly hungry. Therefore I make a point of searching out things I wouldn't be able to consume normally. If I'm eating in a restaurant I'll order something full of veggies, and make sure I take all my leftovers home if I don't finish. I'll eat off other people's plates (at my own table, okay, not just at random). I'll fill up on the fancy pre-main course bread or salad.

I grab good food anytime I get the chance. Recently I went to a family potluck, and my family is huge (my mom has 97 first cousins) so there was a lot of food made, and therefore a lot of food left over. Not only did I spend a good chunk of my time at the party standing by the dinner table eating fruit, but I purposely brought Tupperware with me to pack leftovers in. I came home with a bowl of couscous, half a ham, some chicken breast, and a full container of whatever I could snatch from the veggie tray. These things provided me with two salads, two lunches, a breakfast, and a giant pot of soup. For free.

Most times the leftovers from parties (especially staff parties) get thrown out when everyone goes home. I make an effort to be the first (and often only - what's with that?) person to ask, "Can I take some of this?"

 I am a seagull in horses' clothing. Err, fur. Whatever.

Test time! What would you pick from this spread to bring home?

When you can't afford fresh food, that food becomes a huge treat. I can grab 36 cookies for $6 at the grocery store, but a handful of blackberries costs the same amount. When you have $50 to feed two people for two weeks... well, you say "screw you" to both options and buy a $3 pack of rice. But the point remains that fruit (and for that matter, vegetables, especially when you try to buy from within your own country) is a luxury to me. So when I find myself at a function of some sort, I take what I can. I come prepared. I don't expect to get anything, but the general rule is "ask and ye shall receive". This doesn't just apply to berries, either. Sandwich quarters, chicken bones, bread, sad-looking veggies from the supermarket vegetable tray someone bought last second - all of these leftovers are perfectly good to eat. Even the yucky-looking stuff, if you know what to do with it.

Do yourself a favor, though: a leftover plate of Oreos may be delicious, but it's only going to make you sick. Junk food is the water your baby cells don't want. Whole foods - things that were pulled out of the ground or picked off a tree and don't have ingredients listed - are the kind of things you want to seek out. They are the "milk". These are the things that are good for you, and, nine times out of ten, they'll be the things that are most simple and most expensive. They are the luxury. Your body thinks of good food in the same way my Dad does: "You can have as much salad as you want." I eat like a horse, but I haven't gained weight in years.

Developed countries waste more than a third of what they buy in food. Feed yourself and help stop the waste. Eat like a horse. Be a seagull.

Step by step:

1) If you know you're going somewhere where there will be leftovers, bring containers to put them in. That may sound Crazy Old Baglady-esque, but the party hosts will be more willing to dole out scraps if they don't have to donate dishes.

2) Grab whatever you know you'll eat. Even stuff that looks shoddy. Old veggies and less than prime cuts of meat can be made into stock for soup!

3) Don't whip out the Tupperware right away. That's rude. Fill up on as many whole foods as you can during the event and ask to take things home after the food table has been mostly abandoned.

4) Grabbing free tiny tubs of butter/jam/peanut butter from restaurants is not frowned upon. If might make you look a little desperate if you scoop handfuls into your bag, but hey, it's another peanut butter toast breakfast you don't have to pay for.

Yours Hungrily,
- Leah

8/14/2013

I'm Gonna Drown You, Mister Fish!

OR
Keeping Your Body Hydrated To Fight A Bloated Belly



Something really cool happened.

Something amazing and astounding and really exciting happened.

I went a whole day without being bloated!

(Cue the cheers.)

Okay, so maybe my gastric achievements aren't that exciting to anyone else, but there's a good lesson included in the story. I'm a girl who habitually adds salt to my meals (to the point where they're completely unpalatable to anyone else) and I'll have maybe two glasses of water a day, which is way short of the generally recommended eight. Oops. Both of these are perfect habits to get into if you're fond of the ballon-meets-Happy-Buddha (let's call it Baloonha) body type, where everything below your belly button looks like its been violated by a tire pump. Your pants dig into your guts whenever you sit. You feel chubby, even if you're a really athletic person. Your insides gurgle in the decibel range of a lawn mower with sounds unheard of since the prehistoric era. It's just all bad. But as far back as I remember, my body's always been like this, so I figured it was just a result of where my fat stores sit (raise your hand if you're a pear! Genetics and stress hormones* for the win!)

Enter my tea cabinet. Well, don't actually, because it's not that big. Inside there's cute little antique cups and saucers from GF's grandma, supplements I should be taking, a stash of hot chocolate for our ten-month-long winters, and tea. Shit-tons of tea. Ye olde standard orange pekoe, herbal, black, white, green, and one that turns the water hot pink. Loose, bagged, in containers and not. We have a hoarder-level stockpile of tea. It's herbageddon. I don't even know why there's so much of it. GF doesn't drink it. I don't drink it. I think its single purpose in being there is for us to force on guests.

“Did you want anything? Tea? Water?”
“I'm good, thanks.”
“Tea it is.”

But here I stood, six-o'-stupid-o'-clock in the morning, eyeing the teas with a lust usually reserved for GF's curry casserole. I brewed myself a cup and sat on the couch reading hippie magazines and probably contemplated life or something equally overwhelming enough to make drinking said tea automatic. I finished my mug of tea within an hour. Then I brewed another cup (I must've been sleepwalking), and sometime later had more. I drank tea like it was going out of style. I think I went through about five cups that day. The next day I had more. We went to visit relatives and I stuffed my face with freeloaded veggies and fruit. Downed more tea. Sipped water. Et cetera. I'm not sure what compelled me to keep doing it – maybe I was thinking of all those “green tea is good for you” articles the hippie mags had shoved into my memory – but it was starting to feel really good. I've got a cold constitution (anything under 24C is uncomfortable to me), and downing a couple of hot leaf juices before brekkie was warming me up and making my tummy happy. My body was getting much more than two cups a day of liquid. The tea stocks were starting to diminish. It was win-win for everybody but the kettle (he worked so hard!).

Maybe this is just happens to me, but do you ever notice how trim you look in the morning? As soon as I dump fuel in the tank (cue prehistoric noises), all the taut tummy muscles I'd been admiring in the mirror just give up and surrender to the Gravity Demons I'm convinced live in my intestines, but before I drink or eat anything I am the (less athletic-looking) prime example of firm form. I am a goddess with bedhead. I am rocking the pear hips like no D'anjou ever could. I am getting way too personal. Sorry.

Flash-forward (or -back, at this point) to the fourth day of my incessant tea-chugging. I eat breakfast. I have lunch. I lounge around all day. I perfect bad posture.

The Baloonha belly doesn't appear.

Bless GF for putting up with my raving about it at every quiet moment. I was ecstatic. As it turns out, ingesting piles of salt and not hydrating yourself are a perfect combo for chronic dehydration, which produces a bloated belly. My cells were starving for water, and the Dead Sea treatment I was sticking to was only making what liquids my guts could get all that more precious. We do get a good portion of water from our food (and I eat a lot), but two cups of pure H2O is hardly enough to feed everything in a 5'7” body, especially in the summer. Once I started pumping liquid into my body, my guts realized that there'd be more coming than what they had right now, and they didn't have to hang on to the water I put there a week ago.

It's like Finding Nemo, only your cells are Marlin, and Dory is the tea, and the water you drink is a wave of Nemos that--

Y'know what, let's forget that analogy. The point is, your body needs water, because it's 98% made of the stuff, and you keep crying and breathing and pissing it out. How rude of you. The polite thing to do would be at least to put back what you take out.

So, in review:

1) Your body is a hoarder and it needs reassurance. Feeding it water is feeling it love.

2) Cut back on the salt (I recommend piling on the garlic and onion) and double the liquids you consume if you get Baloonha Belly. You're probably dehydrated or constipated. Water helps both!

3) If you're like me and can't handle the cold, opt for tea instead of ice water for your daily drink. Just make sure you're sticking to herbal teas, because black and green contain caffeine, which is a diuretic (makes you pee) and don't technically hydrate you at all. Feel free to have a cup or two daily for the perk-up or antioxidants, however.

4) Tea > flavoured water/water flavouring. There's no added sugar or weird sugar substitutes and no chemicals in the former. Just rehydrated plant guts. Mmm. Plant guts.

'Til later,
- Leah

*The hormone cortisol, which is produced when you're really stressed out, lowers your sensitivity to pain and helps give you a burst of energy, which are good things if you're being chased by a bear. If you're chronically stressed, cortisol can screw with your blood sugar and pressure and a host of other things. If you've got a persistent spare tire of fat at the top of your hips, cortisol is probably involved.