Melanie Spiller and Coloratura Consulting

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Dastardly Nightshades

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You’ve heard the expression “deadly nightshades,” I’m sure. Well, other than the one that comes from foxgloves and is turned into digitalis/belladonna, none of them are ACTUALLY deadly. But for many of us, they aren’t at all nice.

When explorers came to the Americas, the friendly local folk gave them produce to eat, such as corn, potatoes, peppers, tomatoes, peanuts, and other foods that had never been seen before by Europeans. Some of these, such as corn, went down nicely, and others, such as tomatoes, caused great distress.

It’s likely that some of the distress was gastronomical, as the acids in tomatoes and peppers must have been rather exciting on the fruit-and-veggie-starved sailors’ tummies. But a lot of the distress was in achy joints.

Achy joints can be a symptom of arthritis. Arthritis takes many forms, but the one thing all the forms have in common is inflammation. Inflammation is bad, whether it takes the form of a fever, an irritated eye, an infected scratch, or an arthritic joint.  That’s why you are encouraged to take aspirin, Motrin, Tylenol, or some other anti-inflammatory analgesic, why they rush to give you penicillin when you have certain types of fever, why they prescribe topical ointments for infections, and why they recommend ice for that freshly sprained ankle.

Like injury and disease, food also causes inflammation, and for those of us who are vulnerable, nightshades are merciless culprits. No matter where you go on the globe, these foods follow us everywhere. They are devilishly hard to avoid.

Nightshades are tomatoes, potatoes, eggplants, and peppers (and tobacco and digitalis, although those two are easy enough to avoid). Can you imagine Italian food without tomatoes, German food without potatoes, Chinese food without eggplants, Indian food without peppers? Me either. That’s how completely nightshades have penetrated into non-New World cultures over the last 400 years.

There are other, less visible nightshades too, like mandrake, belladonna, wolfberry, tomatillo, gooseberry, and petunia. Many of these are used in medicines, most with neurological ramifications and some with cardiac responses. The dosages are seriously controlled, though.

You have probably heard that you shouldn’t eat green potatoes. That’s because when they are old, the quantities of glycoalkaloids in potatoes, conveniently highlighted in green, are toxic. And not just to those with a nightshade allergy—they’re toxic to everyone. It’s the solanine, though, that’s in all nightshades, and that you’re trying to avoid.

Peppers contain the extra whammy of capsaicin, which makes your mouth hot when you eat them, and when extracted and expelled via aerosol, is used to deter aggressive mammals. At one point or another, you’ve probably gotten hold of a pepper that was too darned hot to eat, and after you recovered from the burning mouth and watering eyes, you might have taken to your bed with stomach troubles.

When your body has inflammation, like with fever, injury, or some other auto-immune unpleasantness (like arthritis), adding heat via your food seems like an obviously bad idea, doesn’t it? And if you eat a lot of these foods, like potatoes with your breakfast, tomatoes with your lunch, and peppers in your dinner (with a fast cigarette on a break), you are creating inflammation where there might not have been any otherwise.

So if your knees or your back or your hands and toes hurt, perhaps you should try giving up these inflammatory foods. It’ll be tough, as these foods are everywhere, but you might be pleasantly surprised by how well you feel as a result.

Tomatoes are probably the most popular nightshade. You’ll have to avoid marinara sauce, ketchup, certain salad dressings and casually tossed in slices with your salad or your pasta, pizza sauce, and most canned soups. One trick I use in restaurants to avoid a lengthy dialog with waiters, is to mention that I’m allergic to things that are red. Then, when he goes to put Thousand Island dressing on your salad, he’ll know he’s made a mistake even though tomatoes aren’t obviously part of the package.

Potatoes are relatively easy to avoid, but do check labels for potato starch. Breads and hard candies are the most common offenders here. (Rice, tapioca, and corn starches are all fine.)

Eggplants are hardly ever used in any other form than eggplants, so you shouldn’t have too much trouble avoiding these.

The tricky one to avoid is the peppers. Black peppers are from a different family, so you can have those. But both sweet peppers (bell) and spicy peppers cause problems. Cooks’ll sneak them in, stuff an olive with a pimento, sprinkle paprika on your cracker, devilled egg, or into your cheese for color, put a dash of hot sauce into your salad dressing or dip to add tang.

Sweet bell peppers are usually large enough to pick out of your food (unless they’ve been cooked in, in which case they’ve infiltrated your whole meal), but the others are much sneakier. If you’re buying processed food, you need to read the label. Even if you’ve checked the brand before, manufacturers often change their recipes without splattering it across the front of the package. Peppers are often listed near the end, as they’re often used as a colorant or flavor enhancer. When they say “spices,” they MIGHT mean salt and pepper, but they might mean something that will make you react, like paprika.

It took me about six weeks to figure out how to cook without nightshades and get them out of my system. I saw a definite improvement in my fingers and toes, but the more noticeable change took about six months. It took that long to really get nightshades out of my system and stop having little unfortunate incidents.

Now, twenty years nightshade free, I can tell that I’ve had nightshade exposure within moments of exposure because my lips tingle. I can stop eating whatever it is immediately. Your lips might not tingle, though, so don’t use that as your only safety monitor. And after this long, smells and tastes that used to tempt me to the point of insanity now smell like poison to me—and they are!

Like peanut allergies, it seems to be North Americans who suffer most from this sort of sensitivity. It’s my contention that it’s because most North Americans have emigrant blood, and depending on where your people came from, your tolerance might be low. Some cultures have ways of dealing with these sorts of imbalances, though.

For instance, Chinese medicine talks about foods and health issues in terms of hot and cold, moist and dry. Yin foods are feminine and create cold, and yang foods are masculine and create heat (nightshades are all yang). A surplus of either is thought to cause problems. Ideally, people should eat both types of food in balance.

Europeans used to believe in the humors, that an excess or deficiency of any of the four distinct fluids (melancholic black bile, bilious yellow bile, phlegmatic phlegm, and sanguine blood) could cause an imbalance in temperament or physical health. Messing with any of these could cause insanity or death. Modern medicine has debunked this theory, but like the Chinese yin/yang theory, there’s a little truth in it still.

You know the old maxim “moderation in all things?” It’s true with diet too. There’s a theory that the thing you’re most addicted to, like sugar or spicy food, is the same thing that is causing you the most health problems. It was certainly true in my case. At the time when I discovered my sensitivity to nightshades, I had a long history of pouring hot sauce on everything. Now that I’m free of those foods, I feel immeasurably better!

I propose that if you have achy joints or arthritis, you try giving up nightshades for six weeks. If you don’t feel any better—and you REALLY avoided nightshades, no cheating!—go back to eating them. But my guess is that you’ll feel better.

Oh, by the way. You’ll see lots of recommendations for capsaicin topical treatment. I recommend against those too. The warmth they generate might feel pretty good in the moment, but the inflammation won’t decrease and the long term affect is bad news.

Written by Melanie Spiller

March 8, 2012 at 12:50 pm

Posted in Food

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Virtue and Vegetables

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At meditation the other night, someone said something about vegetarianism being more virtuous than being omnivorous. I don’t know about that—and I’m a vegetarian.

Two things came up for me: Being a vegetarian amounts to being a picky eater and virtues are not generally lifestyle choices.

First, the human body is designed to be omnivorous. Tooth and stomach design, not to mention inclination, are evidence of this. Humans don’t have the ripping teeth or beaks of a predator, but they do have the grinding teeth like other meat eaters and that vegetarian animals are conspicuously missing. The enzymes—and the sheer length—of the digestive organs are specifically meant to break meat down and distribute its various nutritious elements throughout the body. But even more than that, no amount of coaxing will make a giraffe eat meat. Meat simply does not smell or look like food to them. Humans, for the most part, do like the taste, sight, and smell of meat. That some of us don’t is parallel to having a favorite color or preferring the countryside to the beach.

There are many reasons for being a vegetarian. Some choose this path because they object to the way the animals are treated during their short lives. Some choose it because they don’t like the idea of eating something that could look back at them. Some have religious reasons—whether or not they agree, their religious beliefs or cultures proscribe eating either all animals or certain animals. And some choose not to eat meat for health reasons—in some cases, the body simply has to work too hard to digest meat, leaving them vulnerable to disease, and in others, there are allergies, sensitivities, and digestive complaints that are solved with this simple change.

I’m in that last group. I stopped eating red meat when I was a teenager (mostly because I didn’t like it much, and partially because I was a bit of a hippie and the diet fit into that) and almost immediately I stopped getting colds and flu. More recently, my liver has decided that fat is not my friend, and it’s way easier to eat a controlled-fat diet without animal products of any kind.

Gosh, and I feel better too. Again.

Now that I’m a vegan, I find that it’s hard to keep my protein levels up. When I was a teen, it didn’t matter much, but now, I pay for those sorts of imbalances. I’m probably also paying for the imbalances of my youthful ignorance about balanced nutrition. So I count protein intake much as others count calories. I have all kinds of supplements and processed foods that give my protein count a boost when I simply cannot eat another bite of tofu, nuts, or beans. There is a significant improvement in how I feel when my protein count is above 40 grams a day, so I’m pretty committed to counting protein grams. (Protein requirements are determined by body weight, so your requirement could be higher or lower than mine.)

But none of this feels particularly virtuous. Oh, it’s true that I make most of my own food—that’s one truly beneficial side-effect of this choice. I have more control over the fuel I supply myself with than omnivores with a typical American-style diet. But there’s not much that can be counted as virtuous in a typical American-style diet. It’s full of processed foods, has a horrible imbalance of meat and dairy products, and seems to eschew carbohydrates as evil rather than as a good source of energy.

But is avoiding an American-style diet  enough to make vegetarianism into a virtue?

It seems to me that a virtue is more like a personality trait or a natural inclination than a choice. I mean, a person can choose to be kind, gracious, merciful, charitable, or wise, but really, these things come more naturally to some than to others. There is the instinct to make a sarcastic remark just as there is the instinct to hug someone who weeps. Not having the sarcastic impulse is a virtue, as is the impulse to comfort someone. Squelching the one and acting on the other impulse might be considered virtuous too.

Does being virtuous mean denying natural urges? Like not punching the cretin who cut you off for the third time while on the freeway today or jumping into bed with that hunky construction worker or spending beyond the budget? Does it mean keeping the house clean, volunteering to charitable organizations, calling parents regularly, and respecting other people?

My first encounter with a raw-food vegan (not only do they eat no animal products, but nothing can be heated over 110 degrees Fahrenheit either), led me to think that this diet was an enormous inconvenience. Eating in an ordinary restaurant was a problem, making a meal without a lot of warning was a problem, and frankly, he was constantly eating something, which was a lot like being friends with a caterpillar. He thought of his diet as “taking the high road.” I didn’t see it that way at the time, and I still don’t see it, nearly a decade later. Besides.  I like less of my day to be devoted to fueling myself and more of the fuel to be about pleasure than function.

But that’s just my choice.

I talked to a vegetarian friend about this issue, and she said that she doesn’t tell dinner hosts that she’s a vegetarian. If she is served chicken, for instance, she just eats it. She said that she doesn’t seem to suffer for it (physically or psychically) unless she’s eaten more animal flesh in a short period of time than usual (like three times in a week). But she’s not a vegan, and her diet is about ethics, not health. Inconveniencing a host is less ethical to her than eating the meat, so she just goes along with the crowd.

In her case, eating meat is more virtuous in certain circumstances than not eating it. On her own, she doesn’t eat meat, though, and I haven’t noticed her being uncomfortable staying vegetarian around non-vegetarians or judging when other vegetarians step off the narrow path.

It seems like people who are NOT vegetarians are the ones who think of being a vegetarian as virtuous. Is it that we’ve now labeled any sort of abstinence as virtuous? Does that make subsistence farmers more virtuous than those of us who work in an office because they procure their food from their own sweat equity rather than from the corner market?

I guess I don’t think of my dietary habits as virtuous in a general way. I think of some of the details as virtuous, such as counting protein intake or baking my own bread, but in general, it’s just a choice, like wearing certain clothes or living in a particular place. But if you want to think of my diet as virtuous, I can live with that.

I can also live with it if you think I’m just being picky.

Written by Melanie Spiller

September 7, 2011 at 3:24 pm

Posted in Food, Thoughts

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Making Jam

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I love my bread machine. No, really. I’ve made bread pretty much every week since I bought it, spending seventy-five cents per loaf rather than three dollars plus AND I can completely control what goes into it (okay, I’m not grinding the flour myself, but other than that…) so I know that it’s not just homemade but it’s actually healthy and nutritious.

But I also love that my bread machine has a wide variety of settings including a knead-only dough cycle (great for making free-form loaves like focaccia, plus pizza dough and homemade pasta), sourdough and whole wheat settings (for different crust types and crispiness), and, wonder of wonders, a jam setting.

Yesterday, intending to make fig jam but finding a great price on apricots (no, this did not stop me from buying rather a lot of figs), I used the jam setting for the first time. Talk about easy, even on a hot day! You cut up the fruit, drop some pectin (I found a nice fruit-based one) on it and let it think about stuff for ten minutes, then throw lots of sugar/honey/agave and some fresh lemon juice at it and turn the machine on. The machine heats quietly for about 15 minutes, which starts melting the sugar and encouraging the pectin to do its thing. Then it starts to stir. Every five seconds the little stirring device gives a single whirl for about an hour, and then there’s a quiet cool-down of another 15 minutes.

The result is a glorious color, and after another 15 minutes cooling down away from the machine, the jam is ready to be put into an ordinary jar. No sterilizing, no tragic glopping on the counter (because the loaf pan is square, it has those nice corners to facilitate pouring), and a pint of so of fabulous summer-fruit jam is ready for consumption. I don’t have to have a hot kitchen or a huge pantry or any special supplies at all.

Okay, I’ll admit it. I’d made a loaf of wheat bread earlier in the same day that had a little orange zest in it, and I was pretty eager to see how these marvels went together. Still hot from the machine, the jam was delicious. Three hours later when it was room temperature, it was happy-dance worthy. In the morning with peanut butter…I don’t actually have the words.

I immediately began plotting to make fig jam. All I needed was some more pectin from the grocery store.

So I went for a walk to the grocery store, thinking about the magic of pectin and sugar and fruit, which is already sweet, and a little heat. You just sprinkle a little pectin on, let it sit for a bit, add sweetness and acid, and agitate for a while. More sitting makes it astonishing.

It struck me how making jam this way was like a koan. You receive/hear the koan and think about it for a bit. After a while, it begins to change, both in meaning and in context. Then you actively agitate it and see what happens to it. Then you sit with it again. The longer you sit with it, the more precious and amazing it becomes, even if you come back to it after it’s had some time to cool.

All this magic in a bread machine that cost about $50. [Editor’s update: It took me two days to post this because the fig jam was so amazing, I had to lie on the floor in a sugar-happy coma or something.]

Written by Melanie Spiller

July 22, 2011 at 5:38 pm

Posted in Food, Thoughts

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