Mediocre Meals: Chapter 1 - Janell VS the Inedible Enchiladas

Last week my boss brought in some delectable chicken enchiladas to a work potluck. She had even used low carb tortillas which made my diabetic heart happy. It is so rare that I find a form of chicken that I considered edible that I felt inspired, and was determined to make delicious Enchiladas for my family.

Be warned what comes next is a tale of woe and disappointment. You should probably stop reading.



Still here? Well okay.

I typically consider myself to be and adequately skilled chef, but I have a grave weakness. Meat. Meat is my culinary kryptonite. Unless the meat has been ground into a pink blob, seared over an open flame, nestled on a wheat bun with a crisp piece of lettuce, and a succulent summer tomato, I'm not interested. I don't enjoy it, so I don't often cook with it. But I was feeling adventurous, I took a chance.

I used a recipe from our family cookbook, tried and true, and well liked by the household populace. It stared off simply enough. Peppers and onion sauteed. These two ingredients make the basis of many family favorites. So easy. However as I stood over the stove, singing showtunes at my highest volume, I heard the faint plink of our most pitiful doorbell. It was a solar guy here to turn on the recently installed solar panels perched on our roof. The time between answering the door and opening the garage for the solar guy, was enough to scorch my peppers and onion. Oh well, mixed with chicken and smothered in sauce no once will notice. I set them aside.

The next step was the chicken, my nemesis. In my haste to move the process along the chucks of chicken were too large, but the clock was ticking and I was supposed to meet my gym buddy for a self-inflicted torture session. I tossed the oversize chunks into the still warm pan and seasoned gleefully. once done through I tasted it and was generally pleased with the flavor. I combined the chicken with my slightly charred peppers and onions, then added green chilies and pepper jack cheese.

Next I needed to make the sauce.  I added a little butter to the cooked chicken juices then flour to make a roux and this is where things really started falling apart. Instead of joining to fats obediently the flour instantly clumped into gobs that would not even be tamed by the likes of the gravy whisk. I was beginning to feel the onset of distress.

Eventually I decided what I had was good enough I added chicken broth. And I waited. Grew a beard. Pulled my hair. Paced. Kept trying to knock the clumps out of my gravy. Fretted. Pulled my beard hairs, and texted my gym companion that things weren't looking good. I felt very guilty.

The sauce wasn't thickening and the tiny accidental dumplings simmered mockingly. I might have said some unladylike words. I decided to add more flower but this time with the whisk in high gear, and while the flour blobs grew a little, slowly things started to look like a proper sauce and I dumped in the cheese and lowered the heat.

By this time it was soundly past gym time and every surface in the kitchen was strewn with cookware. I sighed, turned back on my showtunes, filled my tortillas with the blackened peppers, overcooked chicken, mixed with a small measure of lumpy cheese sauce. I lined them up in the pan and by the time I was finished and the remainder of the sauce poured over the top it looked like it might be slightly edible.

I put the conglomeration of misery into the fridge, where it would wait until it would go to the oven at dinner time.  I scraped the dishes into a slightly more organized pile and prepared for work.


Several hours later.

It was the 7 o'clock hour and I trekked home on my dinner break hoping that perhaps time and a tour in the oven might have improved things. Perhaps my botched meal was not as terrible as I remembered. I should not have dared hoped.

While the sauce was flavorful and only a little lumpy, and I didn't mind the slightly burnt onion, the chicken was not good. If possible it was rendered tougher and dryer and I could not eat it without the aid of a steak knife. I choked down my meal, defeated. I had worked so hard.

Enchiladas - 1, Janell - 0

Goals,Doctor Visits, and Kicking Diabetes in the Arse

As much of a struggle that diabetes has been I am in a way thankful. It was the kick in the pants I needed to make a change in my life. I had to choose to overcome complacency, choose to alter long time habits, and choose to go to work.

It has been strange really. For years I felt like I had lost myself, lost the drive and enthusiasm that I once cherished. I allowed people in my life to convince me that abandoning my passion was best for me. Passions and hobbies that they perceived as worthless, simply because they couldn't understand. I spiraled into a 7 year depression characterized by self-destructive job wandering, and periods of unemployment. I felt isolated and uncomfortable wherever I was. I had given up on myself. My financial depression also had a terrible effect on my diet. I subsisted on generic brand macaroni, instant potatoes, and pancake mix. I put on another 100 lbs. I hid from my problems. While I have made strides in the last year to better secure my financial and living situation, I still neglected my physical well being. It is no surprise that things came to a head in the form of diabetes. However, my diagnosis has triggered and awakening. I care about the food I eat. I care about exercise and I feel this overwhelming drive to control my diabetes instead of being controlled by it.

I saw the doctor last Friday and I am feeling a little victorious. I weighed 289 lbs, my blood pressure was approaching normal, and my A1c was down to 8.1 from 12.3 after 2 months. I have lost 18 lbs and 4 inches and even though I have a long way to go I feel like I can do this. I can own my diabetes.

My ordeal has also got me thinking about other aspects on my life, the fact that I abandoned my dreams and morphed into a fat hermit, and I came to another conclusion. I am tired of waiting for permission to live. With that in mind I have made some additional non-diabetes goals for myself, some will take longer than others.

1. Relearn bravery. In my depression and isolation I became a tremendous chicken that fed every insecurity and discomfort. I can't drive on the freeway without trembling and I avoid anything that gives me the least amount of anxiety. I miss my friends that live outside my valley. I want to try new things and feel fierce and adventurous. My goal is to do one thing a week that makes my really uncomfortable.
2. Ride Horses. My work with horses used to be something that was a part of my identity. While I'm not in a secure enough financial state to own my own horse there are things that I can do get some ride time. I plan in to find a farm that will take me as a student, and that has a lesson horse that is suitable for a person of my current stature.
3. Resolve my Debt. I have made decisions that are not financially smart. Especially when I was un or under employed. I have made much progress on this, but I want to step it up. My goal is to be debt free by 2019.
4. Health. This encompasses my weight loss, fitness, and diabetes management goals. I want to attend the gym 5 days a week, reduce my A1c to 6,  lose weight(150 lbs) and be able to go off my diabetes medication.

Lofty perhaps, but I'm tired of messing around.

As The World Falls Down

I made it a goal for this year to write a new blog on a weekly basis. As you can see I'm not off to a rocking start. Oh well. I have to begin some where.

There are a couple reasons that I've started to pick back up this little habit. First, I work for and SEO company. For those that don't know SEO stands for search engine optimization. The blog is meant to be my personal play ground, a place to use and develop some practical skills. This blog will deal very little with SEO, and mostly my life happenings and musings. Specifically regarding a rather recent and drastic change.

In December of 2016 I was diagnosed with Diabetes. 29 years old and over 300 lbs.

I had been experiencing a number of uncomfortable symptoms that were really beginning to effect my ability to work, socialize, and sleep. My days revolved around the toilet, and my persistent insatiable thirst. My body hurt, and the florescent lights in the office became a source of agony. Headlights blinded me on the roads and caused any treks out at night or on gloomy days to white knuckled, harrowing ordeals. I existed in this state for weeks, trying to convince myself that I was fine, that this would all go away in time.

I knew what was wrong, Dr. Google had told me, but I wasn't ready to have my suspicions confirmed. I feared an answer I already new. I slowly began to make a change, starting with what I ate. I stopped eating out, I watched my carbs and refined sugars. I ate leafy salads and I began to feel a little better. I didn't have to pee so much, and that was a great relief.

After much feet shuffling I caved and saw a doctor. I wasn't surprised by the diagnosis, but now it was official, and it felt like the end. Life as I knew it was over. While diabetes is a manageable condition, it was also an intense reminder that I could no longer cater the my dependency on food to soothe all the ills in the world. I lived in my chubby cocoon, self-medicated, isolated, secluded, safe, and it was killing me. I felt as if my body, and my beloved munchies had betrayed me. I was devastated.

The first few days after the diagnosis where gray and filled with an overwhelming sense of malaise. My morning ritual evolved into pills and self-inflicted wounds to read my blood sugar.

My world reawakened slowly. I feel much less bleak. I know the journey is not over, but I suppose that gives me something to write about