August 21, 2006

The history of soy is a long and storied one, as opposed to, say, the history of Arkansas, which is not storied, and only long in the sense of boring. The history of soy, on the other hand, is fascinating and filled with many outrageous twists and turns, going back to way way ancient times in East Asia , where a paste made from the ancient soybean was first employed as a substitute for caulk. Then, approximately 500 years ago, ancient Chinese hippies were the first to create tofu, a miraculous form of bean curd that without which the Forbidden City might have very quickly succumbed to seepage and water damage.

This brings us, for some reason, to modern times, when a whole bunch of farmers in Arkansas , angered that their history was boring, started farming soybeans and marketing them to people as a sick joke. Eventually, the federal government, which has a knack for not catching on to sick jokes, gave a lot of subsidies to Arkansan soybean farmers, resulting in huge quantities of unused soybeans sitting around. Fortunately for Arkansas, a brilliant scientist of minority ethnicity (please don't sue) named George Hippington Carver invented 1794 uses for soybeans, most of which involved putting tiny quantities in absolutely all the processed foods that Chris Guin likes to eat.

The sad thing is that Chris is allergic to soy, so he now has to find other ways of getting things to eat, such as this new-fangled “cooking” thing he has heard so much about. If you are unfortunate enough to be also allergic to soy, perhaps these handy recipes I have discovered by personal experience will come in handy. They sure did for me!

Bad Chili

1)Well ahead of time, thoughtfully place package of hamburger meat in freezer, thoughtfully kept to “Outer Rim” temperature setting.

2)Approximately 5 minutes before the appointed dinner time, remove hamburger meat from freezer.

3)Place hamburger meat in microwave and estimate thawing poundage (It helps to guess a little over, since the freezer is so dang cold. I myself usually estimate about 456 lbs for good measure)

4)Remove fully cooked hamburger meat from microwave

5)Place hamburger meat in some sort of pan

6)Light stove and turn dial to “Blast Furnace”

7)Stir in half an onion, haphazardly diced

8)Go play World of Warcraft for about half an hour

9)Call friend “Jennie” (note that if no “Jennie” is available, a “Lissa” or “Stephanie” will do in a pinch) and ask how you can tell if meat is done yet. She will say, “You can't really overcook ground beef.” This is very fortunate, considering what you have put that poor meat through.

10)Add one can of boring tomato paste, several enormous piles of chili powder, and vast quantities of salt and pepper…. to taste.

11)Go play World of Warcraft for another half hour or so.

12)Remove chili from pot with heavy-duty metal scraper

13)Microwave one bowl of Dinty Moore Beef Stew and enjoy that instead

Bad Pumpkin Pie

1)Dump one large can of pumpkin into a large-ish bowl

2)Throw can away, forgetting that the rest of the recipe is on can. Try to remember as best you can.

3)Add some number of cups of Splenda. Remember that Splenda is an artificial sweetener, so you probably need more Splenda than you'd think. Estimate about 6 cups.

4)Break 7 eggs all over the side of the bowl and the counter, until enough yolk has splashed into the bowl to approximate 2 full eggs.

5)Add one cup half and half because you forgot to get actual cream.

6)Add assorted spices from your cabinet. Use your judgment on this one. Cinnamon = OK, garlic powder = LESS OK.

7)Add one whole tablespoon of salt because you don't know what “tsp” stands for.

8)Bake at 450 degrees for 50 minutes or something like that

9)Discard results unceremoniously down garbage disposal

10)Serves 10

Bad Homemade Ice Cream

1)Acquire one electronic homemade ice cream maker from Bed, Bath & Beyond (shudder)

2)Allow four-to-six weeks before you remember to put the freezer bowl in the freezer overnight.

3)Gently whisk one cup of Splenda with one cup of whole milk, making sure to splatter most of it on the countertop

4)Stir in two cups of half and half and one spoon-which-may-very-well-be-a-tablespoon-you-never-know full of vanilla extract to taste.

5)Pour mixture into ingredient spout and turn machine on.

6)Go watch Sweeney Todd with friends for about half an hour (you may substitute Cabaret , but why would you?)

7)Place soupy ice cream plus entire contraption into freezer for another half hour so it can harden.

8)Enjoy the most vanilla-y ice milk you've ever tasted!

 You might be thinking, gosh, Chris, you must have had a serious reaction to merit such a change in lifestyle, especially considering your spiritual gift (as evidenced by Happy Pastor Bob's Get-to-Work Spiritual Gifts scantron form) turned out to be “Eating food that church ladies make for you.” And you know what, I don't know how serious it really was, but it sure scared the bejeezus out of me, and I've no idea how to get the bejeezus back in.

The trouble is that on top of my newly diagnosed inconvenient food allergy, I am now suffering from panic disorder, a complex phenomenon in which that little part of your brain that tells you when you're about to die (we'll call him Phil) decides that, well, just to be safe, you're ALWAYS about to die. You have one or two scary medical-type experiences, and Phil decides that he's let your brain decide when you're dying for WAY TOO LONG. Phil decides to take over. For your protection and safety, Phil has compiled the following handy diagnosis chart:

Nor does Phil give your brain any time whatsoever to figure out what the situation is before doing his thing. And what exactly is Phil's thing? Phil pumps literally GALLONS of adrenaline into your system, tells your lungs to start breathing a whole lot more oxygen (just in case you decide to suddenly run a decathlon), and sends messages of doom and despair to your brain, to let you know that Phil has EVERYTHING under control. Phil is such a jerk.

The result of this is that after eating anything I've never eaten before, I get VERY nervous. So, I sought the help of the kindly Asthma & Anaphylaxis Association, who make it their life's mission to protect people like me. I even ordered their handy Frequently-Asked-Questions pamphlet to see what kind of comforting advice they had for me:

Q. Hi, I've just been diagnosed with a food allergy. Will I ever live a normal life?
A. No. Sorry.

Q. My first reaction seemed pretty mild to me. Can I please stop worrying about the possibility that I might eat something I'm allergic to?
A. Many instantaneously fatal reactions were experienced by people whose first reaction was “mild.” Hmm, that sounds just like you . I think you should worry some more.

Q. Can I eat very small quantities of the food?
A. No. Trace amounts are all it takes to kill you. There are probably some trace amounts of soy sneaking up behind you to kill you right now.

Q. How can I eat out at restaurants?
A. The trick is to be embarrassingly obnoxious to the wait staff. Many allergic people have died in restaurants from fear of being obnoxious.

Q. Is there any hope?
A. Not really.

This was very comforting, so I went to a website called “Ask the Allergist,” in which I explained that I had panic disorder and needed some comfort from all the dire warnings I was getting. A few weeks later, the allergist kindly wrote back to inform me:

“Allergies can develop at any time in your life. Keep an EpiPen on you at all times.”

Whew! That was close! And here I was all worried about nothing . Thanks, consumer advocacy organizations, I'm in your debt!

Sigh.

Fortunately, I went to a local allergist here in Medford who promptly informed me that I was being silly about the whole thing, that all the organizations were just afraid of lawsuits, and that really, I probably wasn't allergic to soy at al— oh wait, the test is positive. Well, still, you probably shouldn't worry.

And there's Phil, whispering to me quietly, “How do you know you shouldn't worry? He's just a local allergist, and he never really answered all your questions. Worry… worry…”

I hate Phil.

But at least I get to WHINE about it in this C-File. And somehow, in some small way, that makes it all a little better. See you after I move into my brand-spanking new condo!