Ti Amo, Roma: Life Changing Pizza

There is something about Rome, about the Italian people, really, that truly opens your eyes. Every culture has contributed and continues to contribute positively to the world, and it feels like I never really understood the joy of eating until I came here.

I will be here until May, and during this time I’ve broken down my goals to certain days of the week. While CK is off teaching, I’m at home job searching, learning chemistry, practicing Italian and Irish, working on my drawing technique, light housework and, of course, cooking.

The way Italians think about food is contagious. They know how to eat and how to enjoy it with others. There is such pride in their food. It is fresh, wholesome, simple, and traceable (I mean, how would you not be able to visit the place of your favorite cheese if they didn’t). But the simplicity of their dishes brings out the complexity of flavor. You can taste and name every ingredient, and all the while feeling daring.

Having CK as a partner has encouraged me to try new things, mostly because his willingness to participate, and has been wonderfully supportive of me facing my fears about food. Over Valentine’s Day weekend, we made donuts. They were delicious flops, completely oil-filled and cakey, but for the first time in years I had a deep fried, sugary food.

Another weird thing about me is that I struggle with the idea of more than one carbohydrate being on a plate. That would mean no bread to soak up the remaining red sauce from a pasta dish at dinner (if I could), or have waffles and hash browns as part of the same breakfast, or rice and potatoes in the same stew. It wasn’t to the point of me squealing in disgust, but the concept just didn’t make sense to me. It was weird and oddly frightening.

In Italy there is a type of pizza called pizza patate: a white pizza with, you guessed it, potatoes on top. When CK first described the dish to me, I was appalled. Why on Earth would you do that? What was the appeal? Did it even taste good? To which CK replied yes, indeed it does.

I’ve experienced a lot of healing moments since 2014. Despite the hardship of living alone in Malta, I came to really feel connected to my body and honoring its needs for the first time. Food was no longer something to be afraid of, but embraced and shared. And I fully admit that Italian cheeses have ruined it for me: I’ve yet to taste better than my first Mozzarella di Bufala Compana ball, or the sacred moment of placing a melty forkful of smoked Scamorza straight from the hot oven and into my mouth.

Since having the donut, and seeing that the world did not, in fact, end, I wanted to see what else my fears of food deprived me off. And for over a year, CK and I would talk about pizza patate in passing, and for the first time since then, I wasn’t squicked by the idea, but rather intrigued.

Last weekend, as we were recovering from Week 1 of Shaun T’s Insanity workout (yep, we’re both doing it!), we wanted to celebrate with a thin pizza. Surprisingly, I think I said I wanted to see what pizza patate was all about, and so that is what we did.

We think we can improve the toppings a bit, but the crust… the crust was a game changer.

Both CK and I believe it is the best we’ve ever made, and most certainly the best that I’ve ever had. It held together beautifully, and the taste reminded me of a good, thin pizza crust. We do want to play around with the rise, perhaps using sparkling water instead of still (this trick is wonderful for bagels, by the way), but we’ll keep you updated. We also used this dough to make a huge, albiet bursting, calzona. 

Thin Pizza Crust (recipe ratio and technique adapted from this recipe)

1 package Active dry or fresh yeast
1 tsp. Honey (use coconut sugar for a vegan option)
240 ml warm water, 105-115°F (40-46°C)
120 g Teff flour
120 g Glutinous rice flour
120 g Chickpea flour
1 tsp. Sea salt
1 tbsp. Extra-virgin olive oil, plus additional for brushing

In a small bowl, dissolve the yeast and honey in 60 ml warm water.
In a large bowl, combine the flour and the salt, then add the oil, the yeast mixture, and the remaining 180 ml of water.
Mix until the entire mixture forms a ball.
Turn the dough out onto a lightly floured surface.
Knead by hand until the dough is smooth and firm.
Cover the dough with a clean, damp towel and let it rise in a cool spot for about 2 hours.
Divide the dough into 2 balls.
Work each ball by pulling down the sides and tucking under the bottom of the ball.
Repeat 4 or 5 times, and then on a smooth, clean surface (not floured), roll the ball under the palm of your hand until the top of the dough is smooth and firm.
Cover the dough with a damp towel and let rest 1 hour. (At this point, the balls can be wrapped in plastic and refrigerated for up to 2 days.)
Preheat oven to 500°F (260°C) or highest temp.
Lightly oil a medium-large cookie sheet with extra-virgin olive oil on parchment paper.
Roll out one of the dough ball, on a lightly floured surface (I typically use a roller for this part), to the shape of your cookie sheet.
Carefully transfer dough to cookie sheet, lightly press and stretch out to the edges of sheet.
Add your favorite sauce (not too much) and toppings (again, not too much).
Cook for 10 - 12 minutes or more depending on the thickness of crust due to size of pan you used.

Each pizza ball makes 1 pizza, or two servings.

National Eating Disorders Awareness Week: My Journey

A few years ago my cousin introduced me to Post Secret, a movement created by a very compassionate individual by the name of Frank Warren who created an outlet for people to anonymously mail secrets to him. The secrets can be funny, ridiculous, serious, sad, and anything in between. Every Sunday, he posts new secrets that millions of people read. Every Sunday, I am one of those millions of people that do. It’s a way, I think, for people to feel connected with others around the world. Sharing these secrets is a way to let go as well as bringing people together. It’s a relief know that there are others who are going through similar things or thinking the same thoughts.

Last Sunday’s secrets really hit home for me. They revolved around eating disorders. Here are a few examples:

(Probably the one that was the most personal and relevant for me.)

National Eating Disorders Awareness Week brings into light a very personal matter for a lot of people. It doesn’t just affect a certain weight, gender, age, or nationality. It affects a wide ranged of people for different reasons. It mostly is about a sense of control or the desire of being this ideal image or weight, but those aren't the only reasons.

I remember becoming extremely offended when this fight of what ‘real women’ look like started. Suddenly, naturally slender women were subjected to scorn in the media. I have friends of various height and weight combinations, and they are all exceptionally beautiful people. They have shown me that there is no one-size-fits-all aspect of beauty.

One of the things CK told me (and that I love him for) is that there is no such thing as the fairytale relationship. And so, this past weekend, he asked me a very hard question: “So then, why do you demand for the fairytale body?” This applied not only to my appearance, but also my health. It was one of those questions that not only broke down everything I tried to ignore, but once I let it out I couldn’t stop.

I don't refer to having had disordered eating as an eating disorder  because I believe the term 'eating disorder' places blame on the person suffering. Disordered eating is also more inclusive and, in my opinion, something you can rise from and have the power to change. Disordered eating has traveled with me like a codependent ally, needing me to need to control what I ate, when I ate, and how much. When I went to college, I lost a lot of weight. In total, my weight loss journey resulted in over 40 pounds. Most of it was due to changing my eating habits and preferring healthier options and exercising more. But when I became ‘thin’, I was deathly afraid of gaining it back. I’ve had panic attacks in the past because it was so terrifying to me to go back to that time when my body was a prison to the wonderful person underneath.

*Photos are from 1990 - 2012.

The evolution of my disordered eating habits became more about earning and deserving food than not eating. To be fair, I didn’t decide one day to be anorexic my sophomore year in high school. I just felt I didn’t have time to eat in the mornings and simply wasn’t hungry for lunch (and believe me, the food options in the cafeteria were not appetizing). So I would go almost twenty hours without eating, snack when I got home and then eat dinner. I drank hot tea in the mornings with lemon and sugar, but that was it. By the end of the first quarter, I was under 140 pounds, a first since I started puberty.

And then I got sick and began vomiting blood. The trip to the ER showed stomach ulcers from drinking tea (which is extremely acidic) on an empty stomach, and put a slight hole in my esophagus. I called this experience the time I was “accidentally anorexic”.

By college, I went gluten free (soy free and cane sugar free came about a year or two after). I started eating healthier and exercising and was rather happy with where I was at body image-wise. I changed my appearance often, even cutting my hair in a pixie cut. My exercising, however, became something I had to do and a way to cut calories. I would do the math and think: “Okay… I’ve burned a certain number of calories, enough to have burned off breakfast, and maybe that smoothie I want to have later.” (This is also known as exercise bulimia and a very common form of disordered eating.) I looked at my body more critically, wondering why I wasn’t getting the body I wanted. At one point I tried to survive on 1200 calories a day. I guesstimated my intake, so I’m sure I ate more than that. But it still stands that, while I was active and walking to class, I wasn’t eating enough. I think I even blacked out while driving at one point on my way back to campus housing for lunch.

When I started this blog, the first post began with me being hungry really early in the morning. The echoes of healing are apparent in many posts and recipes I’ve published in the last three years. Seeing a holistic nutritionist (Cheryl Harris of Harris Whole Health and Gluten Free Goodness) probably saved my life. She encouraged me to take small steps, read Johnston’s (2000) Eating in the Light of the Moon: How Women Can Transform Their Relationship with Food Through Myths, Metaphors, and Storytelling, and I slowly changed how I perceived eating and food. My self worth and image built itself up and, in increments, stopped focusing on calories and focused more on what my body needed and when.

Being diagnosed with hypothyroidism in 2011 also changed by body image and eating habits, and it really helped in knowing my struggles with weight weren’t entirely my fault. Yes, I could have eaten healthier and exercised more, but growing up with an underactive thyroid literally makes you the underdog. Not only does your metabolism suffer, everything does. How could I be healthy when I was sick all the time? How could I get better if it was my body that wasn’t working?

Since receiving treatment, I’ve noticed my body doesn’t get sick as often or as easily. And the slow change of feeling like I have to exercise to wanting to exercise as well as removing ‘good’ and ‘bad’  as labels for food (also called orthorexia, or a fixation of only eating what the person believes is healthy or ‘good’ food) really helped transform my mindset toward loving my body. I still have old paradigms rear their ugly heads when I’m stressed or feeling vulnerable, but I know where I am right now is a pretty awesome place to be.

The last thing that really changed everything for me was doing the Insanity Challenge. I went from 125 lbs to 142 lbs, eating up to 2500 calories to maintain efficiency. I started learning how to take cues from my body, and was absolutely fascinated how I became more solid, but didn’t get bigger. In horror, I realized just how much I denied my poor body nutrients in the name of fairytale beauty. I knew in theory that not eating enough will actually keep you from losing weight because your body is trying to keep you alive. But after completing the Insanity Workout, it finally resonated.

Even today, while I have moments (and they are fleeting, I’m happy to say) where I think I’m not pretty enough, smart enough, thin enough, whatever enough, I have a fantastic support system and I am dulling the words of that harsh Inner Critic we are all capable of having. I cook and eat because food nourishes my body and my soul. I exercise to see how my strength has improved physically and mentally. I have learned to treat myself with compassion and empathy, and am learning what situations open the door for negative thoughts (usually sleep deprivation, sickness, or getting stuck inside my own head for too long).

The one thing I really hope the world comes to realize is that people who suffer disordered eating do not do it for attention, and telling them about how there are people without food in other parts of the world do not help. And while it helps to receive reassurance (because I admit to needing reassurance from time to time), the only thing that will change their outlook on themselves and the need of control is their desire to change it. It may mean getting professional help (as I had), changing the environment that encourages this disorder, and taking as well as celebrating the little steps. And while I believe it is most certainly acceptable to change yourself to feel better health-wise, I have learned that seeking perfection is impossible, mostly because there is no such thing as the perfect person. It's okay to be any weight that makes you feel comfortable, so as long as you don't risk your health or happiness to get there. It's also okay to have a 'type', but just remember that the other types out there are equally awesome.

It also means looking at body shaming as it is: a form of violence and bullying. We need to stop focusing on beauty as a surface phenomenon and looking to create the word to mean something that is all-inclusive. Let's stop comparing ourselves to one another and looking for acceptance based on what the scale says or what the media tells us. We need to stop diminishing someone's worth based on their appearance, and STOP STOP STOP saying someone isn't beautiful in order to make someone else feel that they are. It is NOT okay. And the first step to achieving this is inward.

I am so grateful to my family, friends, and partner for changing my life. And thank you all who were so brave as to sharing their stories, with me personally, and on Post Secret. And for those who are still suffering, are recovering, and everywhere in between, I want to say this to you:

• You are beautiful in the present. At this very moment, you are the perfect you and you are on the path you need to take.
• You are the ideal you.
• You matter.
• You are loved, honored, and appreciated for being yourself.
• No one’s opinions of what you should look like or be like is important. The only thing that matters is how you feel.
• It does get better. I promise you.

I made this recipe as a way to honor those struggles, and to reach out to others. Following this recipe are some stories about disordered eating and body image. I cannot express to you how much I appreciated the bravery of these individuals to share their story. It will be updated throughout the week, but feel free to leave a comment also.

Mashed Potato Biscuit Hearts

420 g mashed potatoes*
75 g Garbanzo bean flour
100 g ground almonds (i.e., blanched almond flour)
65 g Brown rice flour
60 g Flaxseed meal
120 ml Whole milk
1 Large egg
1 tsp. Sea salt
3/4 tsp. Baking soda
3/4 tsp. Cream of Tartar

Preheat the oven to 375°F/190°C.
Mix together the wet ingredients (potatoes, milk, and egg) in a large bowl and add the dry (the dough will be a bit tacky).
Let the dough sit for five minutes.
On a floured surface, take a handful of dough** and flatten it to about an inch thick.
Using a heart-shaped cookie cutter (or any for that matter), press through the dough and place the cutouts onto a greased baking sheet (or parchment paper).
Continue to do so until all the dough has been formed, and bake for 30 minutes or until golden brown.
Remove from the oven and let them cool for about 10 minutes before eating.
Can be served hot or cold.

Makes 11 or more biscuits, depending on cutout size.

* I used the potato ricer to make the mashed potatoes and didn't add anything to them.

** I found it easier to take a handful of dough at a time than to just roll it out and cut.

Other's Stories (Coming Soon)

Story 1: The Legacy
The Influence of family: My first negative body image messages came from my own mother when I entered puberty. She made me self conscious about my weight gain. (Replaying the messages from her own mother about her struggles with weight gain. To lose weight that she gained during her own puberty, she ate only mayonnaise sandwiches for an entire summer. She did some severe dieting after each of her children to lose the baby weight, which affected her mood and energy levels.) I also remember my father making comments that 125 lbs was an ideal weight (for my mom) so that was a weight goal I strived to attain. No matter that I was actually 3 inches taller and actually looked ghastly at 125 lbs. As a result, I went through puberty and early adolescence (in the 1970’s)  “knowing” that I was “fat” and unattractive. As a result, I became anorexic in my mid-teens, something that was acerbated by a bout of mononucleosis.

The influence of media and product advertisements: Dress size, body weight, body image, attractiveness and perceived sexual desirability have always been interconnected. No matter that I actually felt my best when I weighed a certain amount. In order to fit into certain styles of clothing, I had to be a certain size. In order to accentuate my eyes and my cheekbones I needed to have a certain contour to my face (achieved only by dieting). The mirror: It lies. What I see is not what others see. As a result I have to use a tape measure; it doesn’t lie.

My regrets: I hate how I look. I have always hated how I look. Once in a while, when some time has passed and I see a picture of myself, I think, “Wow! I look really great in that picture.” But, if I think back to when the picture was taken and how I felt about my looks, I would say that I felt ugly or at least not attractive.

Legacy: I have watched helplessly as my own daughter has struggled with this amorphous monster, wondering what I could have done that I didn’t do; how I could have better protected her from the jaws of this gaping beast. I tried to offer unconditional love and support as she has struggled. I tried to keep my own self criticism and self esteem issues to myself. I tried to make every effort to not taint her with the family legacy of toxic messaging. I have tried to be her best cheer leader. But, as evidenced by her very public struggles with disordered eating, love isn’t enough. This dis-ease is insidious. It’s in our wiring, it’s in our cells…

Being Full

It seemed to come out of nowhere. Little by little, bit by bit, I felt it after every experience that I have mentioned (and not mentioned) on this site. For the first time, what seems to have been years, I am full. Contentedly, ecstatically full. I haven't been this happy or this grounded in such a long time.

From the breakup to meeting people that have become chosen family to farmers markets to fermentation and soaking to the death my family experienced last week, it has led me here: I am satiated, absolutely and wholly, because I know where I am going. I know who I am for me, and I know what I’m going to do to make the world a better place.

My sleeping better has quite a few variables, though I’m not sure which one is the main reason for my SMI going away: it could be I’m living life for myself, that I’m taking my second dose of Armour Thyroid earlier in the day, or, most likely, because I’m eating.

I’ve officially moved from “eating to live” to the “living to eat” category, and that doesn’t necessarily mean gluttony. It means that I’m able to pick up my body’s elusive cues, and trusting those cues, knowing that I’m hungry and why. I’ve started eating more, and as a result, my body is filling out. I’m still the around the same weight, less even, but my curves are more defined and for the first time ever I am accepting of my body.

Then of course there are those days I do wake up before 6 a.m., and I think to myself: “I have the choice of eating more and sleeping longer, and thus weighing “more”, or the choice of eating the amount I think I should, and thus waking up earlier and ‘weighing less’.” It’s that old voice of what I should be doing and what I should look like that gets me still, because it thinks of food, eating, and body image as “right or wrong”. It’s that old voice’s logic that I have to choose between sleep health and nutritional health, when my health as a collective is what I feel to be the most important. Finally, it’s that old voice that tries to rain on my parade that my body is filling out, because I had worked on controlling my body to be what I viewed as Beauty By Thinness for so long.

From this I learned that I’m surprisingly okay with this change (much to that old voice’s surprise and disdain), because I am still Morri: the girl who cooks, is progressively getting better at both yoga and rock climbing, is applying for grad school, and yes, is definitely going places.

So if that means I have the curves my body has tried for years to show what health looks like for me, I accept those terms unequivocally and entirely to their fullest extent. Now comes the challenge of eating when hungry over eating because of habit (as in, not eating at 9 a.m. because I’m no longer up at 3:30), and thankfully I have the tools and support to know the difference.

Swiss & Fig Grits Cake Squares

200 g CGF White grits
45 ml Whey
Filtered water
1 tsp. Sea salt
8 Large eggs
120 g Swiss cheese, sliced or grated
8 Fresh Black Mission figs, sliced vertically into fourths

In a bowl (preferably glass), combine the grits, whey, and water and let it sit covered at room temperature overnight to twenty-four hours.
Pour the contents of the grit mixture into a medium-sized saucepan, and pour additional filtered water so that it tops the grits halfway between the joints.
Preheat the oven to 350ºF.
Cook at medium-low heat until thickened, and then turn it off to cool slightly for thirty minutes.
In another bowl (possibly the bowl you used for soaking the grits), beat the eggs thoroughly, and while stirring the grits, slowly pour and integrate the ingredients to avoid curdling.
In a greased 12 x 12” baking pan*, layer with half the eggy grits mixture, cheese, fig, and top with the remaining grits. (If you half leftover fig slices, simply place it on top.)
Bake for 1 hour, until golden brown on the top and cooked through.
Turn off the oven and let it sit for fifteen minutes or so before cutting and serving.

Makes 16 servings.

* I have a preference for "tall" foods, ones with layers and stacked high rather than spread out. This recipe would also work with a larger pan, with one layer of the eggy grits topped with the fig and cheese (or whatever other ingredients you want to add).

Honesty

Honesty. Let us reflect upon the word together and discuss its meaning. The word is often overlooked or taken for granted as a virtue, because the truth can be a hard thing to face. But as they say, the truth will set you free, and I hope my being honest does the same.

Writing about hypothyroidism has been a fun learning experience, including the feedback I’ve received from people telling me their stories. I’ve written about my frustrations and my experimenting with food lifestyles and thyroid medicine doses. I did a little research on what foods may affect the thyroid in a negative way, and started looking into what forms of exercise can be beneficial to those with thyroid disease. But there was a symptom of hypothyroidism I kept close to my heart, something that I felt was slowly ruining my life and all I held dear.

Three little words, my dear readers: sleep maintenance insomnia (SMI).

A good cat nap is apparently hard to come by.

This post was originally going to portray a "Why me?!" diary entry, filled with ranting, less than positive language, and feeling sorry for myself. But after two days of fully slept nights, with the exception of getting up to use the bathroom and drink a glass of water by my bed, I hold my head high and wish to tell you this story honestly and completely.

There’s that word again. Honest.

 Now, I have told people of my less than awesome sleeping habits, about how not days, not weeks, but months passed by with my SMI waking me up between 2:30 and 4:00 most mornings on less than five hours of REM sleep.  I woke up starving, so I would fill my clawing hunger with an early breakfast and attempt to go back to sleep. But the damage was already done. Over six months of this terrible secret of mine kept me from being social after hours and rekindling my orthorexic tendencies and anorexic habits. I was so terrified that I was gaining weight I upped my workout habits to such a degree that it made matters worse.

Thus the vicious cycle repeated itself, day after day and night after night: lack of sleep leads to eating more leads to working out. I looked myself in the mirror and saw distortion. I found myself bringing out my worst inner critic, the one that screamed “Not Good Enough” and “How are you not losing weight? You must be doing it wrong.” I tried, dear readers, I really did. I did eat. I did exercise. And I did try certain remedies for a complete REM cycle: yoga, hot baths, a light snack right before bed, no caffeine after three in the afternoon…  

Herbal tea? Been there... done that.

But every morning I looked out to see streetlights glaring against the pitch black night, and felt my stomach growl like a predator that demands an easy meal.

I became so obsessed with controlling things like when and what I ate, how many times I exercised per week and for how long, because I felt that my life was spiraling out of control. No matter how busy I was or how many posts I published on Meals with Morri, my fatigue pushed me to work harder, to see more people, and to exercise more often.

And I could see the looks of disappointment in my friends’ faces when I couldn’t stay out long or not go out at all. It broke my heart that my lack of sleep only gave me certain hours of the day open to see people, and that was filled with exercise, work, and blogging. I could feel the concern and the confusion when I didn’t accept how they saw me: busy, in shape, and helping others. Finally, on Tuesday, it all came crashing down.

I was on my parents’ bed, my body heaving with uncontrollable sobbing. I was so tired it hurt, my mind restless and always thinking despite its exhaustion. I was frustrated that my fitness regimen wasn’t doing what I thought it would be by the end of May (i.e., firm tummy, toned arms, happy Morri…), and I was beyond angry how I looked at myself.

I just wanted eight hours of continuous sleep each night. Is that so much to ask?

Mama Dazz, who also has hypothyroidism (but in the form of Hashimoto’s), consoled me the best she could. From what came of the conversation, all my problems were the cause of my insomnia. It is improbable, highly unlikely, and extremely difficult to lead a healthy lifestyle while suffering from insomnia. As one of the symptoms of hypothyroidism, it is a leading cause to weight gain (or in my case, my body was always “on”, so it couldn’t keep up with my lifestyle and held onto my "plush" for dear life). I had restricted myself and controlled everything in my life to such an extent that, when I couldn’t complete a basic state of being, I felt so broken.

So there I was, curled up in a ball, crying my eyes out that shook my entire body, feeling like I was crazy, stupid, and the most useless sentient being in the world. If my SMI had gone on for another month, it is highly likely I would have been hospitalized until I was considered “normal” again. Between a rock and a hard place, I chose another option, one I wasn’t thrilled about but I did it anyway out of desperation.

I took medicine to sleep.

In the name of my holistic beliefs and philosophies, taking medication was something I’d refused for months. At the time, I felt like I would be a complete hypocrite to take over-the-counter pharmaceuticals. I’m personally not a fan of antidepressants, and as such I do not take them. I don’t take diets pills for weight loss, and instead eat healthily to the best of my ability and exercise when I can. I felt like taking medicine to sleep was, well, cheating. And if I was a hypocritical cheater, what made me think I could run Meals with Morri with a clear conscience?  

Bangin' bread on little sleep.

At the moment, sleeping well for two nights in a row is quite an achievement, and my body is following suit. It’s starting to understand how exhausted it truly is, and what it means to slow down and turn “off”. I’m not pushing myself to be bright-eyed and bushy-tailed to prove how happy I am. I’m calmer and quieter, with a “sparkle” in my voice that I was told has been missing for quite some time.

There are quite a few theories why SMI has reared its grumpy head: too low a dose of thyroid medicine, boredom, restlessness, etc. And because the medicine to help me sleep seems to be working, I’m going to continue taking it for a few weeks and see how it goes. Mama Dazz has also put curtains in my bedroom to keep it dark and cool, which has also helped enormously. I’ve started seeing progress in my eating and not being ravenous all the time. Oh, and my climbing seemed to improve overnight, so I’m rather happy with that in particular .

My sincerest hope is that I’ll continue sleeping, and that we can continue to share our stories honestly with each other. I end this post with an interesting read I found on sleep:

“People say, 'I'm going to sleep now,' as if it were nothing. But it's really a bizarre activity. 'For the next several hours, while the sun is gone, I'm going to become unconscious, temporarily losing command over everything I know and understand. When the sun returns, I will resume my life.'

If you didn't know what sleep was, and you had only seen it in a science fiction movie, you would think it was weird and tell all your friends about the movie you'd seen.

They had these people, you know? And they would walk around all day and be OK? And then, once a day, usually after dark, they would lie down on these special platforms and become unconscious. They would stop functioning almost completely, except deep in their minds they would have adventures and experiences that were completely impossible in real life. As they lay there, completely vulnerable to their enemies, their only movements were to occasionally shift from one position to another; or, if one of the 'mind adventures' got too real, they would sit up and scream and be glad they weren't unconscious anymore. Then they would drink a lot of coffee.'

So, next time you see someone sleeping, make believe you're in a science fiction movie. And whisper, 'The creature is regenerating itself.”

(George Carlin, Brain Droppings)

Pleasant dreams, my dear readers. Here’s to finally sleeping in on a Saturday morning.

Living to Eat Lemon Poppy Cupcakes

Sometimes I find myself in the middle of a holiday and am completely unaware of it passing me by. Mardi Gras is the perfect example of this, also known as Shrove Tuesday, or National Pancake Day, because I've missed it every year. I love food holidays, even if my birthday falls on National Fast Food Day. (Yeah... I'm going to fix that.) I also love Awareness Weeks and Months about food, because they can make creating recipes all the more special.

This recipe is special for a few reasons. With my Peanut Butter Poppy Sandwich Bread being so popular, particularly with those who eat a low-carb diet, one lamented to me how much they missed lemon poppy cupcakes with a buttercream frosting. I can happily say the recipe was a success, but this is only one of the reasons why it’s so special. The other, and the one I feel is slightly more significant, is to celebrate and honor Love Your Body Week (as known at GMU), also more commonly known as National Eating Disorders Awareness Week. 

(source)

Disordered eating is something that affects a large range of people: the super model and the all-star athlete, the average skinny Joe and the voluptuous Jane. Like all of us, disordered eating comes in all shapes and sizes. If we let it, it will consume us, starve us, hurt us, and make us feel in control even though we’re falling deeper into our own personal chaos. It will isolate us, shame us, and make us feel the opposite of what we expected to feel.

I bring up this rather dark subject because this is an extremely real situation that affects a lot of people. There are neighbors, family members, lovers, and friends of ours who are dealing with this every day. It’s not a joke, and telling them they could use a few more (or less) pounds or telling them they should eat more (or less) can be more hurtful than you realize. I should know; I’ve been there.

As a person who was rather plump as a kid, I decided to get healthy and in shape for the wrong reasons. It was to prove to another person, perhaps all of society, that I was worth something and that I was strong. After going gluten free, I became obsessed with what was healthy and what was not, literally having panic attacks after eating what I viewed as detrimental to my well-being. My well-being was synonymous with how much I weighed and what I saw in the mirror, and my minor case of something similar to Body Dysmorphic Disorder didn’t help things either.  I felt that if one bite of non-Morri friendly food entered my mouth, time would turn itself backward and I would go back to being that awkward girl who disliked the way she looked.

Cassie of Back to Her Roots wrote an amazing article titled “Don’t Call Me Skinny,” and why she feels “like size-based compliments aren’t doing our hard work justice.” It’s as true to her as it is to me when I feel there is nothing complimentary about the sentences, “Goodness, you’re tiny!” or “You could stand to gain a few pounds.”

To quote this amazingly strong, hazel-eyed brunette:

“It’s almost as if all the hard work I put into being strong and fit doesn’t matter. Because if skinny is the ultimate goal, I can get slimmer a lot quicker with a lot less work in other ways. I refuse to believe that just becoming smaller is the ultimate goal for anyone. So why should our compliments indicate that it is?”

Being thought of as “skinny” used to be my ultimate goal, and that’s why I was so miserable. I was getting fitter, yes, but I wasn’t dropping dress sizes left and right. I went from a size 12 to a size 8-10 in high school, and from a size 8 in pants to almost a size 0 in my first semester in college. During that time, I worked out by calorie loss and limited calorie intake. It progressed to calorie counting and food restriction, and then to Orthorexia. Thankfully, I met Cheryl before it went any further. After a year of seeing a nutritionist that focuses on holistic and gluten free living, I’m significantly better off than I was. I not only like myself… I LOVE myself, and it has nothing to do with my weight but everything to do with who I am as a person and how I live my life.

Also, I realize and honor the people compliment me on how I appear to them, and I am working at accepting their compliments graciously. If they see a compassionate, green-eyed, and petite warrior woman that cooks gluten free, loves to rock climb, and enjoys the little things, that’s awesome. There’s more to a person than the size of their waist or their weight on a scale.

So stay beautiful, my friends, both inside and out.

Bite-sized Lemon Poppy Cupcakes & Poppy Dream Frosting

For the cupcakes:
28 g Coconut flour
60 ml Coconut milk (high fat and quality) 
64 g Smooth peanut or almond butter
3 Large eggs
1 1/2 tsp. Bourbon vanilla extract
5 g Poppy seeds
Zest of 1 Lemon (preferably organic)
3 tsp. Fresh lemon juice
1/4 tsp. Baking soda
Stevia, to taste

Coconut oil, for greasing

Thoroughly combine the ingredients, sans the baking soda, in a medium-sized mixing bowl with an electric mixer on medium speed (or in a food processor).
Cover the mixture and let it chill for an hour or overnight in the fridge.
Preheat the oven to 350ºF.
Remove the batter from the fridge, add the baking soda, and let sit on the counter for a few minutes (until the oven is ready).
Grease the mini muffin pan with coconut oil at room temperature or cooking spray and set aside.
Spoon the batter into the tins, three-quarters of the way or up to the top, and place in the center of the oven to bake for 18 – 20 minutes.
When done, remove the cupcakes from the pan and place on a cooling rack until room temperature.

Makes 12 mini cupcakes. Serve with frosting.

Poppy Dream Frosting

30g Whipped cream cheese
30 ml Coconut milk, chilled into a thickened cream
10 ml Coconut oil
1/4 tsp. Bourbon vanilla extract
2 g Poppy seeds
Pinch of Sea salt

Mix together the ingredients until fully integrated.
Chill in the fridge for at least 10 minutes until ready to use.

Health Update: What Getting Glutened, Candida, and a Grain-Free Bento Box Snapshot Have in Common

I can happily announce that I am once again among the living! Last week was the week of being voiceless, glutened*, in pain, hungry, and sleeping throughout the day. Maybe it was getting glutened that completely destroyed what was left of my stomach flora, all of that wonderful natural bacteria and enzymes that broke down nutrients and gave my body what it wanted, but I felt something was amiss.

Grain-Free Red Quinoa & Carrot "Pancake"

I’m used to getting sick around and on my birthday, but it had never been this bad. (Except the year around my seventh birthday when I had lice and I couldn’t play with any of my toys because they were in plastic trash bags for over a month). Just getting out of bed to feed myself was a chore, and don’t get me started going up and down the stairs or using the bathroom. What was even more interesting was the craving for fruits, lots of rice, and additional honey in my tea. I didn’t want to take medicine and it hurt to be touched, and after a week and a half of this my family started to get worried. Would I have to go to the doctor’s? Was it serious? Was my sore throat somehow affecting my lungs? 

On Sunday I was doubled over in pain and in tears, right around the top of the small intestines. I was immediately given two packets of FiveLac Probiotic and after twenty minutes it was as if I hadn’t been sick at all. I’m not a big fan of the taste, but if it works and makes me feel better I can’t complain (It tastes a lot better going down with lemon water).

I had many of the symptoms of flora imbalance, but especially:

•     Abdominal gas and bloating
•     Headaches
•     Migraines
•     Excessive fatigue
•     Anxiety
•     Cravings for sweets
•     Inability to think clearly or concentrate
•     Mood swings
•     Constipation
•     Itching
•     Eczema (particularly on my hands and elbows)
•     Depression
•     Sinus inflammation
•     Pre-menstrual symptoms
•     Dizziness
•     Poor memory
•     Persistent cough
•     Muscle weakness
•     Irritability
•     Learning difficulties
•     Sensitivity to fragrances and/or other chemicals
•     Cognitive impairment
•     Thrush
•     Sore throat
•     Indigestion
•     Acid reflux
•     Chronic pain

Sadly, I’ve been experiencing many of these symptoms for a while and it had never occurred to me that I may have Candida overgrowth.

(source)

As of now, it’s Day 2 of taking FiveLac three times daily before meals, and I’m feeling better than I have been for a while. To make it easier, I’ve gone “grain-free” and “white carbohydrate-free" (amaranth, buckwheat, quinoa, beans, and sweet potatoes are okay) and have limited my fruit intake to one per day. Sweeteners such as honey, agave, and maple syrup will be removed from daily consumption (you know, the huge amount of half to one tablespoon) until I can eat brown rice without my stomach growling at me. The other immediate change I’ve noticed is that I’m not ravenously hungry as I once was and I can do cognitive tasks such as studying on an empty stomach.

Going “grain” and “white carb” –free for the time being (and just in time for my birthday) has been a little difficult, especially for breakfast and dinner. I have had success with egg “crepes”, and I’ve been thinking about using soaked buckwheat for parfaits, but I’m finding that replacing grains means the loss of calorie intake, and I do want to nourish my body correctly. That, and I don't want orthorexia nervosa rearing its obsessive head.

I did have success with making a grain-free Bento Box Snapshot, however, made with chicken, peas, Iris’ recipe of perfectly cooked onions, and plain ol’ buckwheat groats. But I do need some inspiration for other meals, and any advice or recipes would be greatly appreciated.

As for going full throttle into the Anti-Candida Diet, I’m not sure. If that is that case, particularly when I talk to Cheryl about it, I’ll be looking to Ricki from Diet, Dessert and Dogs for inspiration.

* I found out what did me in: Ultra Greens.

Becoming a Gluten Free Athlete with Socca Tuna Melt

Motivation comes in many forms. Some use the “I’m doing this so I don’t have to do it for the rest of my life” approach. Others use the “I’m doing this to make other people happy” approach. But I prefer the “I’m doing this for me” approach. I’m writing this blog for me, and hopefully to help others along the way.

I lost substantial weight my first semester in college. It was to prove to myself (and my ex-boyfriend at the time) that I was worth something, to feel better about myself, and to take my mind off the many changes coming my way. I went from weighing 140 lbs to about 118 lbs in a matter of a semester, a size 8 in pants to almost a size 0, and still I wasn’t happy. I think this is where my obsession with exercising and “healthy” eating truly began, and it’s taken the better part of four years of healing and patience and support to get where I am today.

My disordered eating wasn’t about food. It was about control. What I did or didn’t put into my mouth or how long and how often I exercised were the ways to make me feel like I ran my life. Change was always around the corner, but my body was for me to control and no one else could take that away from me. That was my logic, but really, what good came from it? If I felt it wasn’t okay for anyone else to go to bed hungry because they had no other choice, how was it okay for me to go to bed hungry when there was always a well-stocked kitchen downstairs? What was the point of eating healthy and working out every other day when it was never enough? Not only that, but when you limit your caloric intake and exercise, it’s not only illogical… it’s freaking dangerous.

I’m telling you this because of what happened this morning. IB and I went on a slow run this morning, less than half an hour and under two miles. When we finally came back, my face was a deep red; I was nauseous and had tunnel vision even after gulping down water. We decided it was best if I lay down, though after a few moments I started to shake convulsively. It went away, but he was still concerned. He’d been a runner for years and never experienced this before, so he started researching.

I’ve been working with Cheryl Harris for nutrition guidance and life enrichment since February this year. I can look back and happily say there is progress. I’m eating between 1500 and <1800 calories a day instead of having a panic attack if I eat more than 1200 (and yes, this included the days I exercised). I’m giving my body what it wants immediately when it asks for it. There are days when I’m still hungry after I’ve eaten dinner, typically when I have a late class and pack food for myself, and I no longer grudgingly feed myself until I’m no longer hungry.

I learned a new mantra, one that I can tell myself should insecurity rear its ugly head. “Food is the fuel that keeps me going, and not the anchor that weighs me down.” How's that for deep?

I'm NOT holding myself down anymore.

Maybe I felt that, since I wasn’t what I pictured to be an “Athlete,” I could eat normally and still work out like a gladiator. That is, one hour of aerobic exercise, about half an hour of weights and other gym machines, and I’m not even counting all the walking I do on campus. If I want to go to the gym three to five times a week, I need to make sure my body has the fuel to do it. That means sleeping a full eight hours a night, drinking water, getting the right vitamins, and yes, eating. Perhaps a year ago if the Burt-man asked me “Do you want to be strong and solid (implying the possibility of weight gain) or a ninety-eight-pound weakling?”, I would have had to think about it. If I was honest with myself, I would have likely preferred the latter because I felt I’d rather be thin (implying beauty) than muscled and "stocky". But I know better now.

Beauty is found in a happy self, a body that gets what it needs and never wants. I still have a long way to go, but I’m not the person I was four years ago trying to be something that others would like. The next time I speak to Cheryl, I will focus on the Gluten Free Athlete perspective, and what measures I need to take in order to embody this persona safely, effectively, and happily. Michelle and Lori of Pure2Raw seem to have this concept down to a science.

Oh! And I’ve discovered a new blog, The Gluten Free Athlete. Something tells me I’m going to be visiting it often. But for now, I have a socca recipe for you, one that I gobbled up gleefully post-run. High in healthy fats and carbohydrates, my body felt like new.

Socca Tuna Melt

1 Socca Recipe
1 slice Gouda cheese, quartered
1/4 c. Canned tuna in olive oil, drained of excess oil
1 heaping tbsp. Fresh salsa 
1/2 tsp. Dijon mustard

Prepare and cook the socca (like so) and place it under the broiler.
Thoroughly blend together the tuna, fresh salsa, and mustard.
Remove the socca from the oven, flip over, and lay out the cheese on one side.
Top the cheese with the tuna mixture and fold the other side on top (like you would an omelet).
Place it under the broiler once more until the cheese is melted.

Cut it in half and serve with sour cream, a small salad, and carrot juice.

Serves 1.

Honesty, Health, and Stew Beef Enchiladas

The beauty of the human condition is how broad personal experiences can be, especially when there is a willingness to share them with others. That is one of the reasons I started this blog in the first place; I want to share what I’ve learned and reflect the impact reading what others have experienced.

And I want to do it every time I post.

My next post: Spiraling Spirulina Oatmeal

There are two bloggers who’ve each posted an entry that really struck home for me. Shauna of Gluten-Free Girl and the Chef wrote about the dark side of blogging (titled "warm brown rice and grilled vegetable salad"), about how people choose to use the anonymity of the Internet to be cruel, and basically make themselves feel all-powerful by using hurtful words in attempt to belittle another.

No one has done this to me through my blog, but after the house fell through, one of the landlords’ kids (and once a friend of mine) sent me a message through Facebook saying how dare I disrespect my roommates and her home. Her last statement was this: “Good luck finding an apartment. I hope it takes you months.” It’s not like she was outlandishly malicious or anything, because she was angry and that’s how she felt. I responded with an “I’m sorry you feel that way…” sort of spiel and said I found a place that was just what I needed. As of now I am commuting to school from home, and as the consequence of living at home, I am slowly moving and unpacking all my things in the manner to my liking. The boyfriend is staying in the guest bedroom, and as mentioned in my last post, I am happier than I’ve been in months.

In a matter of days, however, new friends filled the void, and it just keeps getting better and better. Misery loves company, and it doesn’t like those who soar high overhead above it. Shauna embodies that tenfold. She has a life filled to the brim with joy and prosperity that some envy and possibly resent, so they nitpick the most ridiculous of things just to bring her down to their level. But she doesn’t go down, not even a centimeter; she simply flies even higher.

Yesterday, Iris of The Daily Dietribe wrote a post titled “Does She Really Have a Food Sensitivity or is it an Eating Disorder?” As I was reading, I couldn’t help but think how much it related to my experiences, particularly when people give me that “look” when I tell them I can’t eat something they made especially for me. It sucks when I go over to a house and know I can’t eat much or anything being offered, because that means I have to deny a very intimate connection that food seems to offer interpersonally. It sucks that I have to be so anal and paranoid when I go to a restaurant (if at all), sometimes even eating beforehand so my stomach won’t grumble as I watch people enjoy their orders. And yes, sometimes I do wonder if I have an eating sensitivity or if it is purely a psychological malfunction, an eating disorder that manifests discomfort every time I accidentally consume something on my “Red” list. Maybe it’s a bit of both, but all I know is I feel better not eating wheat, soy, refined sugars, artificial flavors and sweeteners, anything processed, and weird chemically things found in food I can’t pronounce.

So do I have a form of disordered eating? Maybe. Probably. I certainly used to be: excessively counting calories, limiting food intake, exercising a certain amount of calories at a time (also known as exercise bulimia), and had panic attacks when something not Morri-friendly entered in my system without my knowledge. I’m part of a cooking club at the University (Café GMU), and to make up for my inability to eat anything, even when gluten-free bread like Udi’s is being provided, I help in the kitchen and make people laugh. Do I wish I could taste the food? Of course I do. I always do. I never binged on food I restricted from my diet, but I dream about it often. Why, just last night I dreamed of pita bread rising in the oven, and the night before I dreamed of eating a muffin, a gluten-filled muffin. Sometimes in my dreams I wonder why I bother being gluten-free, and I take a bite and savor the taste with every chew until I swallow. Seconds later, I panic, and wake up wondering if I really did eat it because of the vividness of the act. It’s better than my reoccurring zombie nightmares, but still, it is always a very uncomfortable and upsetting thing to dream about.

I’m telling you this because these two amazing and strong women have been upfront and honest with what they go through, the good and the bad. As for me, the idea of being honest about the struggles behind the scenes seems, well, unnerving. I’ve talked about disordered eating and fanatically exercising before, but I didn’t talk about the things beneath the surface. I never talked about my hypothyroid condition in length, or how my bowels and digestion were delicate and fickle. And because I was afraid of people I knew thinking what I wrote to be a “too much information” sort of thing, I didn’t mention my hormones being topsy-turvy because my menstrual cycle was either obscenely light or non-existent.

Well, I’m being honest now.

Last year, from May to about February, I went nine months with only one period from that summer up to coming back to Mason from my semester in Sweden. That was before I was diagnosed with a hypothyroid, and it may have been that I was simply not eating enough for my body to believe I wasn’t starving. Regardless, I felt less of a woman, and it impacted my life more I than I realized. That’s what happened on Friday; after a four-month hiatus, Lady Red came to town. Something shifted, and immediately I realized my down-in-the-dumps attitude was because of an extended version of pre-menstrual symptoms (a better terminology for PMS), that made me fatigued, in a funk, not wanting to fix what I could fix, and wanting to hide under the covers until it was all over. Suddenly I felt connected to the world and The Way. The stress went away and those little things that affected me so negatively don’t even exist anymore. I am able to keep up with my classes and still make time for CARmunity as Director of Student Representatives and Diplomatic Affairs in S/CAR. I have the energy to go to the gym and was pleasantly surprised that I wasn’t as bad off as I thought I was. The current I fought so hard against is flowing to my pace, and I am beyond ecstatic and feel amazing. 

Stew Beef Enchilada

1.5 lbs. Lean stew beef meat, cut into manageable chunks
1 can (14.5 oz) Diced tomatoes
1 tsp. Chili powder
1 tsp. Chipotle powder
1 tsp. Paprika
1 tsp. Cumin
1 tsp. Trader Joe’s smoked sea salt (or whatever salt you have on hand)
1/4 tsp. Cracked pepper
1 tbsp. Unsweetened cocoa powder
3 tbsp. Olive oil
1 Shallot
3 Garlic cloves
8 oz Filtered water
8 oz Riesling
1 1/2 Green zucchini (medium-sized), finely grated
2 Carrots, finely grated
10 oz Ricotta
1 can (14 oz) Black beans, drained
12 Trader Joe’s Corn Tortillas
2.5 oz Pecorino Romano, finely grated

Preheat the oven to 375ºF.
With a pressure cooker or large pot, grease the bottom generously with olive oil and cook the meat on medium-high heat.
Put in the blender the tomatoes, spices, oil, shallot, garlic, and the water and blender until thoroughly pureed.
After the outside of the meat is cooked, though still raw in the middle, put half of the sauce including the Riesling in with the meat and cover the pressure cooker or pot with the lid, and cook of medium-low heat for at least half an hour.
Using a fork or a wooden spoon, tear apart the stew beef chunks into individual strands.
Grease a deep 9x9” pan and start the layering process, beginning with 4 tortillas on the bottom, then veggies, ricotta, meat, and beans, repeating once more with some of the sauce splashed throughout.
Top with the last 4 tortillas, the remaining sauce, and the Pecorino Romano.
Bake for 45 minutes to an hour until the cheese has browned and the sauce is bubbling.

Makes 6 – 8 servings.

Loving Yourself: Chicken Pot Pie for One

I’ve been considering body image lately. Since last week I’ve pondered why there’s such an obsession with having the perfect body. I was sitting with Mama Dazz, talking about typical mother-daughter things until I spied old photos of me on her computer desk. In one photo, I must have been in fourth grade the time it was taken, as I was wearing the P.E. uniform for the school I had transferred to when my parents had separated. I was giving the peace sign along with two other kids in my class, and noticed something interesting. Despite my rounded face, I was similar in body to the fairly skinny girl on my right. The other photo was of me in fifth grade, with short hair and eating party sweets. That was the year puberty hit, and I was slightly fuller than the year before, but I wasn’t that big.

In a way, people are like cats...

“I wasn’t as big as I thought I was,” I mused, “and I was rather cute.”

“Oh, you were beautiful, Morri,” Mama Dazz replied. “You always were.”

Different breeds = different kinds of beauty.

Enter the flashback of my puberty years: Mama Dazz comforting while I cried, thinking I was ugly, fat, and stupid. She had this mantra that she would tell me every time this happened. She would hold me and tell me “It will get better… It will get better.” I tried to believe her, but it never set in, not really. I thought I was going to be fat and ugly and stupid forever.

I looked down at the photo of the smiling fourth grader that was me and I say out loud: “What happened?”

True, I wasn’t the healthiest kid. I was sick often, disliked exercise, and was a picky eater. But when puberty hit, and I was seemingly the only girl in class that was rounded and developing differently, I began comparing myself to the others. As far as I was concerned, if I were thin I would be liked. If I were thin I would be pretty. If I were thin the boys would ask me out. If I were thin I would be smart.

This is not how a fifth grader should be thinking.

Mama Dazz pointed something out to me that I thought was fascinating. From her generation to now women are more inwardly critical than they used to be. Meaning, we are more accepting of other women and how they look than we do with ourselves. What’s more, what we see in the mirror isn’t what other people see. Our reflections are so distorted that it takes a photograph from years ago to point out just how beautiful you actually were.

I for one believe there is no such thing as the ideal body type. From the toned and angular athlete to the curvaceous plus-sized babe, from the lanky gamer to the Buddha with a cherub face, there is beauty in every person.

True beauty is loving yourself in every sense of the word, making sure you are happy, healthy, and whole. You don’t have to squeeze into a size 2 to be considered attractive, or have muscles bulging through your clothes. 

I admit I have these relapses where I look in the mirror and nitpick at my “imperfections”. I sometimes say to myself, “Just a few more inches… Just a few more pounds… If only I were taller… If only…” Why, just this morning as I was shopping for skirts and dresses for the spring and summer weather, I ended up putting the majority of back because of this type of thinking. And though I felt I looked amazing in the things I did buy, I was frustrated because I didn’t find what I was looking for.

Clothes don’t make the person, and neither does the flesh or fat. The frustration I was experiencing wasn’t in regards to the skirts I tried on; rather, it was because I was timid and uncomfortable wearing them. For years I’ve been balancing what it meant to be a woman in today’s world, for if I was too feminine I wasn’t strong and if I was too masculine I wasn’t a woman. I chose masculinity for power and strength and muscle because it was the safer route. I could compete with men in a way that I couldn’t with women. As a result, I lost a part of myself. And that part of me rather liked dressing up in frilly things.

So ladies and gentleman, I cannot stress this enough. It is time to take a stand and revolutionize the way we look at ourselves, and the way children and adults alike feel about their bodies.

If someone hasn’t told you this today, let me be the first: You. Are. Beautiful.

Chicken Pot Pie for One

For the filling

3 Frozen chicken tenderloin pieces

5 Heirloom tomatoes (or 5 cherry or 1 Roma), halved

1 Carrot, cut into smallish chunks

1 Celery stalk, coarsely chopped

1/2 Small white onion, finely diced

1/2 Orange bell pepper, sliced thinly and cut into chunks

1/3 c. Frozen petite peas

2 Cloves garlic, coarsely chopped

1/4 tsp. Sea salt

1/4 tsp. Pepper

1 tsp. Arrowroot starch

For the crust

1/2 c. Cooked Arborio rice

1 Egg

1/2 tsp. Baking powder

2 tsp. Glutinous rice flour

Preheat the oven to 350°F.

Put the ingredients for the filling (not including the arrowroot startch) into a saucepan over medium heat with water just skimming the top.

Once the chicken is just cooked, cut into small pieces and place back in the pan.

Cook for one hour on medium-low heat.

Drain all of the liquid from the pan (there shouldn’t be a lot, but I recommend saving it for another recipe), and use 1/4 c. of the stock to make a rue with the arrowroot starch.

Pour back into the pot and cook on medium-low for fifteen minutes.

While that is cooking, add into a mixing bowl the ingredients for the crust until thoroughly combined.

In an oven-safe bowl (one you won’t mind eating out of), pour in the filling first and then add the crust on top.

Bake for thirty minutes or when the crust is completely cooked through.

Serves 1.