At least for the next seven days

I don’t know if you’re anything like me, but insulin problems have plagued the Fink women for decades. Hypoglycemia, hyperinsulinism, glucose intolerance and Type II diabetes are familiar terms, and a couple are sad bedfellows. I can’t remember a time when I wasn’t affected, truly. To wit:

• During my growing-up years, Mother always made a huge Sunday dinner after church, replete with standard Midwestern favorites. After consuming mass quantities of mashed potatoes, noodles, biscuits, sugary desserts, and all manner of processed carbohydrates, everyone would repair to the living room couch or to the bedroom to take a nap — except me. Oh, I wanted to, believe me, and sometimes I couldn’t resist drowsing, as all that starch made me very sleepy, but I knew if I did, I’d pay. As soon as I lay down, my heart would begin racing like a Porsche. Once, I took my pulse while lying in my bed, looking at the second hand on my clock, and I was at 170 BPM — at rest. That and the accompanying acid reflux — when I felt that all the food I’d just eaten was backed up into my esophagus — made napping impossible.
• As many of you know, I’m a chocolate fiend. Milk chocolate, to be precise. Seriously, I think I could live on it. One of my favorite chocolate items is Hershey’s Syrup. I could drink it right out the can. (Ask me how I know this.) Trouble is, it’s mostly high-fructose corn syrup, which turns my digestive system into a nuclear holocaust. We’re talking nausea and distress and bedrest and headaches and weakness and general searing misery. So it’s a “red light” food; I simply cannot ingest it, unless I want to pay that price every single time. Same goes for Hershey chocolate bars; and as they’re among my favorite candy bars, I’ve willingly and knowingly suffered on more than one occasion.
• Any food that involves heavy cooking oil has the same effect. So let’s see: that takes care of cake, donuts, anything deep-fried…pretty much anything fun.
• Bananas with the slightest green hue in the peel will keelhaul me for an entire day.
• I haven’t drunk orange juice or eaten an orange in…I can’t remember how long. Oranges make me sleepy, woozy, sweaty and sick.

I could go on, but I think you get the picture. Celiac disease, you say? Nope. Been tested. SIBO (Small Intestine Bacterial Overgrowth)? Negative — tested for that as well. I’m thumbs-up for hyperinsulinemia, though, which has its own set of interesting gastrointestinal side effects.

So why am I sharing all this ooky stuff with you today? It’s because for one week, I’m going off sugar (including starches, which are also sugars). I need to clear my head. After that one week, I’ll let you know how things went, and what the plan is after that. Time to stop slapping myself around and do something nice for me. I’ve done it before with good results, so I know it works. Have you ever done a sugar detox? I hate the word “detox,” as it’s been overused, but to me, sugar — at least in some quantity and to some degree — is poison to my system.

Off to the experiment (Mavis is doing it with me, so that helps) — I’ll keep you posted, after the initial withdrawal subsides.

Leave it to me to go from posting serious and personal thoughts about suffering and other existential issues yesterday, to writing “HEY — BUY THIS CUZ IT’S LISHY.”

Rat Fink, Rat Fink. What a donkey. But for good or ill, it’s what makes RtB RtB. I wasn’t joking about the “at random” part of the slogan up there, Jim. Anyway…

If you are a fan of conserves/jams, you haven’t lived till you’ve tried this. It trumps all the homemade jams I’ve ever eaten, and I’ve taken home some great stuff from private kitchens over the decades. I’m not kidding; this beats all.

On last weekend’s bimonthly trip to Earth Fare, I discovered some jars of St. Dalfour on the shelf. Having never tried it (indeed, I never knew it existed), but noticing that there was no cane sugar added, I picked up two jars: blackberry and apricot. I also noticed it’s imported from France, which made me feel all foofy & such.

Fiends, I’m here to tell you that there are whole blackberries and huge chunks of apricot in that stuff.  And the aroma, oh my. Of course, the proof is in the tasting, and it was divine. Just the right amount of tartness, and most importantly, not cloying, which many jams can be. Of course, it’s not a treat for every day, but…wait, scratch that. I’ve had it every day since I bought it. haha

This morning, I went to Amazon and bought the black cherry and strawberry varieties. My excitement is visceral.

Are you a jammer? I know several in my family who are not (sister Mavis, son Seamus, others), but I’ve been hooked since childhood, when Dad would bring home Hostess powdered donuts, and we’d make an extra-special dessert by putting Welch’s grape jelly on them. To this day, I won’t eat a Hostess powdered donut without grape jam on it. Ah, the curse of connecting food with emotions…story of my life. (But that’s another long, serious, existential post.)

Well look at the clock, wouldya. Five-ten a.m. and I’ve been up since 3, thinking about the rehearsal schedule starting today. Bring it. Well actually, bring it after breakfast, which, of course, will include a slice of toast with St. Dalfour on it.

Happy Tunesday!