I Can't Have That - Or Maybe I Just Don't Want It

I Can’t Have That — Or Maybe I Just Don’t Want It

Since I started trying to get my A1C under control, I’ve noticed something. People like to announce what I can and cannot eat.

“Oh, Aleta can’t have that.”

Sometimes they say it because they’re trying to be helpful. Sometimes somebody will do the exact opposite and try to tempt me.

“Come on. Just have some.”

Apparently my plate has become a community project.

Here’s the funny part:

I don’t really miss the bread.

I don’t really miss the rice.

I don't really miss the pasta.

I thought I would. If you’d told me a few weeks ago that I’d be perfectly happy eating chicken, vegetables, beans, fish, eggs and whatever else I’ve been experimenting with without putting everything over a pile of rice, paste or between two pieces of bread, I might not have believed you.

But I’m not sitting around mourning rice or pasta. I’m not staring longingly at a loaf of bread.

There are foods that are harder for me. Candy and chocolate are two of them. I’ve learned that those can start a spiral for me, so right now I’m happier leaving them alone.

But that’s my choice. And that’s the part I’m beginning to understand.

There is a huge difference between:

“Aleta can’t have that.”

and

“Aleta doesn’t particularly want that—and if she does want something, she can figure out how to make a version she enjoys.”

The first makes me sound like I’m standing outside the bakery with my nose pressed against the glass.

Poor Aleta.

Look at her.

Someone give the woman a lettuce leaf.

No, thank you.

The Game Changer Wasn’t Willpower. It Was Learning to Cook.

This is the part I never expected. Having the ability to cook when I want something has been game changing. Before, wanting something good could easily turn into figuring out where to buy it.

Now I can walk into my kitchen and think:

“Hmm. I want something good. What can I make?”

That is a completely different question. I’m learning that I don’t even need a recipe labeled DIABETIC in enormous letters. I can look at a regular recipe and start messing with it. Could I add zucchini? Would black beans work? Could I use less of the potato and add more vegetables? Could I bake this instead? What sauce would make that fish taste better?

Apparently I have opinions now.

I cook. That still feels strange to say.

Food Freedom Through Competence

I used to think food freedom meant being able to eat whatever I wanted whenever I wanted it. I’m starting to think there’s another kind. Knowing how to feed myself. Knowing that if I see a recipe that looks delicious, I don’t automatically have to say, Well, I can’t have that.

I can ask, How could I make that work for me? And sometimes the answer might even be:

Make the recipe exactly as written and have a reasonable portion because I really want it.

I’m not trying to create a life where certain foods have magical powers and I spend the rest of my existence frightened of a sweet potato. I actually bought a small sweet potato this week. Look at me living dangerously.

What I’m building is food freedom through competence, not punishment through restriction.

I really like those words. Because this doesn’t feel like punishment. I’m eating foods I enjoy. I’m discovering new ones. I’m cooking. I’m laughing. I’m screwing things up. I’m figuring out what keeps me satisfied. And, perhaps most importantly, I’m learning that my plate belongs to me.

There Have Been… Incidents

Now, competence should not be confused with expertise. Let’s make that very clear.

There was Codzilla. I learned that when purchasing fish for one woman who is still deciding whether she even likes fish, perhaps one should not select a specimen approximately the size of a Buick.

Then there was chicken salad. I normally use one can of chicken. For reasons that remain under investigation, I decided to use two. Two cans did not produce “a little extra for lunch.” Two cans launched Aleta’s Chicken Salad Catering Company.

I ate chicken salad. I brought chicken salad to work. I ate more chicken salad. There was still chicken salad. I have therefore established an official kitchen policy:

ONE. CAN.

We are feeding Aleta, not Jefferson Parish.

And then there are the leeks. They are so tiny when you cut them.  They are supposed to be a replacement of onions and I had half an onion and how could those little leeks be enough.. so I added more... The leeks knocked me out when I finished the dish.  Those little suckers pack a punch.  

And now oddly enough, I prefer leeks to onions, just don't use many of them!

I’m Still Learning

That’s probably my favorite part. I’m learning and laughing. I’m learning what portions work for me. I’m learning which vegetables I genuinely love. I’m learning that sauces can make fish something I actually enjoy. I’m learning that I can cook eggs without permanently welding them to the pan. I’m learning that mistakes aren’t evidence that I shouldn’t cook. They’re how I’m learning to cook.

And somewhere along the way, something changed.

I’m not thinking: “I can’t eat anything good.”

I’m thinking: “What can I make?”

That’s a very different life.

So if you hear someone say: “Oh, Aleta can’t have that.”

Don’t feel sorry for me. I’m probably at home throwing zucchini into something, modifying a recipe, laughing at one of my culinary disasters and making food I actually want to eat.