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Fresser

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Everything posted by Fresser

  1. What, you have something against locust bean gum and carageenan? Hmphh.
  2. I was at Target today, and I saw a guy in their food court putting mayonnaise on a hot dog. I know, I know...I've got to start frequenting better restaurants.
  3. L-rd, isn't this the truth. When I get the nightime shakes, I'll tear through five slices of whole grain bread without blinking. Truly. Hypoglycemia feels like a Pentagon-level alarm sounding off in my body. The only thing that will quell that alarm is massive quantities of carbohydrates, ingested before I tip out of my kitchen chair. I'll just keep snarfing down bread dunked in Diet Coke until my jackhammer heartbeat calms down, then I stagger back to bed. Once I've quelled my hypoglycemia, checking my blood sugar is the furthest thing from my mind.
  4. Your ex is lucky the Japanese waiter didn't return to serve him a kimura.
  5. Hey, you could have made it into a pedagogical exercise. "Now, Son...can you say 'aphrodisiac?' "
  6. I tried eating a brick of unsweetened chocolate once. It tasted like dirt.
  7. When mixed with high-G.I. foods, fats and proteins act as a buffer against your blood sugar spiking. So this nurse probably wanted to raise your blood sugar quickly (away from dangerously low levels) without raising it TOO much. But for me, when I get the low-sugar shakes, I avoid protein. I just tear through a loaf bread like the Tasmanian Devil.... [Whirling dust cloud]Chomp chomp chomp![/whirling dust cloud]
  8. The nausea kicks me in the stomach, doubling me over like a spring-loaded pocket ruler. Cue the racing heart and rivulets of sweat that make me resemble a human lawn sprinkler. At this point I’ll check my hands, which may tremble like a person suffering from delirium tremens. At times like this, my best friend is a loaf of whole-grain bread. My name is Steve and I’m diabetic. The drama which I just described—one all too familiar to insulin fiends—is known as hypoglycemia, or low blood sugar. It’s a discomfiting and dangerous condition, but one readily remedied by food. The glucose gas-tank Sugar is often seen as the bête noire of diabetics, but this isn’t entirely accurate. Diabetics can’t metabolize sugar and other foods into glucose, which is fuel for the body’s cells. So we take insulin (orally or by injection) to help convert that mid-day nosh into glucose. We just can’t handle large infusions of sugar such as you’ll find in cakes, chocolate and my once-beloved Haagen-Dasz. However, since our bodies cannot store excess fuel and sugar as glycogen, calling on these reserves as needed, our blood glucose levels can, if not monitored, drop to dangerously low levels. That’s when I run—or stagger—to my bread stash. Basta Pasta So what can (or can’t) diabetics eat? To paraphrase a diabetic friend, diabetics eat the way most people should eat. We can eat whole grain breads, lots of vegetables, lean meats and a modest amount of fruits. What most diabetic-friendly foods share is the tendency to raise blood sugar slowly. Dieticians measure the effects of individual foods on blood sugar on something called the glycemic index. Low G.I. foods such as oatmeal, vegetables and lean meats keep a diabetic’s glucose levels relatively steady. On the dangerous side of the index are refined starches such as pasty white bread (once beloved by schoolchildren everywhere), sweets and most pastas. An innocuous-looking bowl of spaghetti with marinara sauce is off-limits to me. No more trips to Olive Garden for the Never-Ending Pasta Bowl—which, depending on your perspective, might be more a blessing than a curse. Alarm Clock Given this vast knowledge of how to control blood sugar, you would think that I never suffer from hypoglycemia. Gee, that would be nice. I remember one bout of hypoglycemia a little too vividly. It was summer, and my cycling regimen was in full swing. I had ridden a 30-miler that day, snacking judiciously throughout the ride. Then I had dinner, took my dose of oral insulin and went to sleep. Until. I woke up as if I had heard a gunshot. My chest was pounding like a sledgehammer. Something was VERY wrong. When you’re diabetic and you feel sick, your first instinct is to check your blood sugar. Keep in mind that normal resting blood sugar is 100 mg/dl. I staggered to the bathroom and fumbled with a blood test strip and my lancet, nicknamed “Harpoon.” Then I inserted the test strip into the glucose meter and tried to remain upright while waiting for my glucose reading. The result: a Jack Benny-esque 39. I dashed to the fridge for the diabetic’s fix: orange juice. I guzzled some and waited for my chest to stop pounding. It didn’t. So I started wolfing down slices of oatmeal bread at a rate that would put the Coney Island Bun-Eating champion to shame. My trick is to submerge the bread in Diet Coke before inhaling—ah, eating it. I wish I could say the bread worked instantly. It didn’t. It seemed like 20 minutes elapsed between when I checked my blood glucose and when it normalized. I had never prayed to hard before. Listen to your Mother Mom had cautioned me against exercising too hard. Sure, that’s what mothers do. But I’m actually most cautious about my blood sugars when cycling. A 30-mile jaunt burns up a tremendous amount of glucose, so I always eat before a ride and bring prunes and bananas with me on the ride itself. A leafy bike bath is the last place I want to find myself when hypoglycemia strikes. But I love cycling—the health benefits and oxygen rush can’t be beat. Plus cycling works wonders to control blood sugars. I just have to be careful. So if you’re driving along one day and see a pack of cyclists whirring along the road, honk and wave. You’ll recognize me—I’ll be the cyclist with a baguette strapped to my back.
  9. Now just calm down, Sandy. Dr. Fresser will write you a prescription for Hoagizine.
  10. Wow! Either the Borscht Belt has slipped considerably or the South has risen again. But keep it up. In our household the joke is, "Make me some ice water, will you? You do it much better than I do." ← See, Moosnsqrl? SOMEBODY appreciates my taste in humor, if not in sandwich spreads.
  11. Ah reckon that some sweet tea and whoopie pies would cool down my flames o' passion. Cherries in the Snow? Ah like that, yes Ma'am.
  12. Coming soon to a Hellman's jar near you...
  13. Our Diet Coke had not chilled yet, so Mama Fresser ambled to the fridge for some ice cubes. To her dismay she found an EMPTY ice cube tray. "Fresser!" Mama squealed as she poked me in the tummy. "Did you forget the recipe again?" "Sorry, Mama. I was watching 'Iron Chef.' " "Turn that off and open up one of your Martha Stewart cookbooks. That chick makes EVERYTHING from scratch!" Given that the Fresser household is the epicenter for Borscht Belt humor, it's only natural that we joke about ice cube recipes. So when I looked at my jar of Miracle Whip and saw a recipe for "The Classic Turkey Sandwich," I thought it was a joke too. It wasn't. It read thusly: Prep time: 5 minutes Ingredients: 2 slices of whole-grain bread 1 tablespoon Miracle Whip leaf lettuce two tomato slices five pieces of thinly sliced turkey Preparation: Spread the Miracle Whip on one slice of bread. Place the lettuce and tomato on the bread and top with the turkey. Cover with the remaining slice of bread. Makes 1 serving. Frankly, this turkey tutorial raises more questions than it answers. On which bread slice should I spread the Miracle Whip? Assuming the two slices are not perfectly equal, this choice affects both the sandwich's taste and texture. What if I'm using the end piece? And once I've selected the slice, which side gets the Whip? The top or the bottom? Or maybe the slice that will end up face down on my carpet? As if Miracle Whipping weren't enough pressure, now I need a mise en place for the lettuce and tomatoes. Garde manger!! And I'm suspicious about that serving size. This recipe obviously would not accommodate the soup-and-half-sandwich crowd. Perhaps some information was missing. Aauugh! I can't handle the pressure! No more Miracle Whip jar recipes for me. I'll just watch Rachel Ray instead. I hear she has a great ice cube recipe...
  14. As George Costanza said, "Not that there's anything wrong with that." Silk scarves, please.
  15. Leaves a bright lipstick smooch on her lucky boyfriend's cheek? Check. Remember ladies: When it comes to lipstick, the redder the better. Purrrrr....
  16. Maybe if I spike it with some Bailey's...
  17. Marc the Matchmaker called me yesterday with the skinny. "Fress, she had a great time, the dinner was fantastic..." [Can you hear the big "But" coming here?] "But...the difference in your ages is too great for her." She's 31 this month and I'm a Jack Bennyesque 39, but apparently she took me to be in my forties. Must have been my mature demeanor. So if you're still free, NWKate, I'm on the next plane for Seattle. I'll bring the garlic.
  18. Geez, I'm not interviewing this lass for the C.E.O.'s job. She would, however, make a fine Mrs. Fresser!
  19. The scene: Ratner's for Sunday morning brunch. The characters: Bloviatrix, DivaLasVegas, Megan Blocker and Katie Loeb. Diva: Nu, so why is Fresser still single? Such a shayna punim he has. Blovie: It's those gams! Women just can't compete. Megan: But he has a crush on you, Katie! Chicago isn't that far by plane, ya' know. Katie: Fresser is MESHUGEE!! He is good to his mother, though. Blovie: True, but when he cooks, his apartment smells like Little Italy! I've never seen a garlic-chomper like that before. Diva: What Fress needs is a woman with great legs AND a strong stomach. Megan: Ain't that the truth. Fresser dressed up in drag once and tried to get admitted to Bryn Mawr. His makeup was perfect, but those big, broad shoulders gave him away. Katie: I do like those deltoids. Kinda coconut-shaped. So where are we going to find Fresser a girlfriend? *******************END OF THE FIRST ACT********************* Fear not, kindhearted ladies: my friend Marc the jazz singer just introduced me to a young schoolteacher lass named Melissa. The occasion was a dinner party, so I donned my toque and prepared the main course: vegetable lasagna. About eight of us attended, including Marc and his wife Sonja, another couple, Judy and Melissa. Sonja had told me that Melissa is a very active, attractive brunette who is weary of the dating scene. So to break the ice, when the lovely Melissa arrived at Marc's house and entered the kitchen, I beamed at her and blurted, "Hi! I hope you like garlic!" "Damn, that was smooth, Fress," I thought to myself. But she laughed and said "Hi." A dinner party was less pressure for both of us than a "date," and I got to play Host with the Mostest as I dished up salad and served lasagna to all the guests. This seemed to make a favorable impression, for as I ambled back to the kitchen, I heard one of the ladies exclaim, "A man who cooks!" "How 'bout dat!" I chirped in my thick Chicago brogue. My lasagna consisted of fresh spinach, thinly sliced carrots and mushrooms layered between lasagna noodles, low-fat ricotta cheese and a blend of freshly chopped basil and garlic. A modest amount of parmesan topped each layer, all drizzled with a modest amount of tomato sauce. I prefer not to bludgeon the vegetables with a Wisconsin-sized amount of cheese. Everyone LOVED the lasagna! Melissa follows a primarily vegetarian diet, and she asked if I sauteed the spinach first, as it had a lovely texture. Other women asked how I prepared the lasagna noodles, as they had a fine, almost pastry-like texture. It was wonderful sharing a meal and talking about cooking technique. True to my inner-Jewish-mother, I offered everyone seconds and implored Melissa, "Mangia! Mangia!" She laughed and said her mother SHOULD eat this well. At the end of the evening, I wrapped up leftovers for Melissa, her friend Judy and another couple and sent them home with Fresser's Next Day Lasagna. Melissa truly appreciated the gentlemanly treatment and we had lots of fun chatting about the dating scene. So who needs a restaurant for that intimidating first date? Commandeer a friend's kitchen like I did and cook away! And don't forget the garlic.
  20. Yeah, that'll put hair on your chest!
  21. Muffaletta West says, "Hey, Fressah...why don'cha come up and see me sometime?
  22. You look cute with whiskers, Katie! I'll pack a sleeve of Ritz Crackers in the Fressermobile when I make my next rounds.
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