Straw Toppers and the Introduction of FashionSis

Tonsillectomy Spread - by Jane (me!)

I needed a lot of cheering up after my tonsillectomy–but not right after the surgery, like you might think. The first day was relatively easy: thanks to local anesthesia, steroids, and narcotics, I was able to drink, eat, and even chew mushier versions of my favorite foods and drinks. This isn’t too bad, I thought, nibbling on a buttery cookie. Soon I’ll be back to cooking and eating like normal.

Then days two and three happened, and things changed. The doctors had warned me about it, but I hadn’t wanted to believe them. All the drugs I had been loopy on post-surgery wore off, and without local anesthesia and steroids, my whole face started to swell and ache. Swallowing got tough; chewing became nigh impossible; and my food choices, though extended by my mom’s ingenuity, were limited to things that were still edible in paste/babyfood consistency.

Needless to say, I needed a lot of cheering up along with my fluids. This is where my younger sister came in.

FashionSis' Straw Toppers - by Jane (me!)

(Read more about them by clicking the more link…)

 

Menu for a Tonsillectomy

Popsicle in O.J. - by Kevin Labianco

Naturally, barely a day after I begin my food blog, I have a doctor’s appointment that ends with the nurse saying:

“Okay, I have some good news. We’ve moved your tonsillectomy up from September 8th to this Wednesday.”

Which is good news. Great news, really, especially since I should now be healed before school begins. With strep punctuating every important moment of my life–arising anytime I’m moving around or stressed out or busy–getting my tonsils out should erase the chronic infection and let me have those moments on their own. Of course, it also punctuates my blog with at least a week of non-chewing.

So, since I have no new recipes to share, I’ll turn the tables and ask: What would you eat if you couldn’t chew for a week? (I can chew, technically, but I can only really swallow food that’s been minced.) And what would be your first meal upon re-entering the world of the chewing?

Luckily, my family is being super-attentive and rather inventive. It pays to live with foodies. Here’s a sample of the menu so far:

 

Cranberry-Blueberry-Lemon Pancakes

Fresh Cranberries - by sweetbeetandgreenbean (I don't own a camera yet!)

For me, when the going gets tough, the tough get cooking. So when, at 11AM on Sunday morning, I found out that my little sister was not only miserable with a UTI, but also hungry from lack of breakfast and lunch, I dropped everything and assumed the emergency position: in the kitchen, with How to Cook Everything by my side and food blogs on my screen.

My original plan had been for tuna salad, which I’ve been craving so much I’m starting to suspect I’m pregnant. But, as designated breakfast cook for a five-person household currently stressed and somewhat hysterical, I knew I had to change my plans. Desperate times call for fluffy pancakes, I thought.

 

How to Eat Everything

Food is Love - by Dan4th

I wish I could say that this blogging endeavor began in a more inspiring way–that I had experienced some sort of foodie epiphany; that I was accepted to some prestigious cooking school that would elevate my skills into something bloggable; that a valued mentor had given me such wise words that I had no choice but to share them with the world–but, to be frank, this whole endeavor was catalyzed by a rather risque dream featuring Anthony Bourdain.

Of all the celebrity chefs that my brain could choose, Bourdain was not a bad one. At least he loves food, I thought, blushing while trying to untangle myself from the covers. I’ll probably have good kitchen luck.[1] Whereas if my brain had put me in a tryst with, say, Sandra Lee instead, I might have spent that Sunday morning attempting suicide via a semi-homemade eight-pointed star. After all, Bourdain lives through food, tells stories with it and connects people with it; Lee, it seems, merely tolerates it and doesn’t much care to learn, something I barely understand.

But the day progressed suicide-attempt-free, and the soothing rhythms of pancake cookery lulled me comfortably into the molasses pace of Sunday brunch-time. Sure, I was only slinging heavily doctored Bisquick–more on that later–but even to my sleepy eyes, every component was a delight: the frosted-over brightness of the berries, the constantly-shifting blues and reds of the batter, and the golden flecks of the cornmeal. God, I love food too, I thought.