The holidays are well behind us but the events of this week have me longing for one of my favorite side dishes. Creamed onions were a caloric creation dreamed up by my father one Thanksgiving back in the 80’s when I was a junior in high school. Their sudden appearance on our holiday menu seemed random to me at first, but as I listened to my father talk of their origins, I realize why. His mother made them on special occasions. She died suddenly 14 years prior and my father, not being one to show vulnerability, often talked about his mother’s food as a gentle alternative to mourning.
That Thanksgiving, he set about recreating his mother’s dish, and what an exercise in decadence it was: sliced onions floating in a bath of heavy cream and topped with buttery breadcrumbs. Their richness precluded eating more than a few bites at an already heavy meal so we dined on creamed onion leftovers for weeks.
When I began a life transformation 11 years ago, I decided to stop eating dairy and gluten. That decision alone was more life-altering than I anticipated. Weight came off without struggle and my energy soared. I discovered I really didn’t miss binge-foods like I thought I did and when I really found myself pining for a food, I’d simply reinvent a cleaner version. Such is the case with my grandmother’s creamed onions. The vegan creamer doesn’t have the same mouth-feel as heavy cream, but what does? And not having to lie on the couch in recovery mode is a nice bonus.
I’m not really surprised creamed onions are calling my name today. Americans lost something on January 6th, and we’re still trying to define it and put a lasso around the wreckage. Rules weren’t broken, they were smashed to smithereens, blood was shed, old wounds were reopened, and outrage and sorrow are reverberating in unison across the land. I wish things were different, but the only way out is through, and I believe we’ve sunk to such a low-point that going up is inevitable.
A casserole dish full of comfort-food isn’t meant to be an escape or a magic wand. But I’ve still got to eat, so why not shower my menu tonight with a little kind nostalgia? And as I always say to clients, taking the time to make yourself something from scratch is a positive endeavor and a wonderful non-verbal cue that you matter. We all do, actually, and perhaps knowing that truth and living it would be the best reboot our nation can hope for.
Creamed Onions
Ingredients: 5-6 large onions, sliced into rings 1 cup grated pecorino cheese (sheep-milk-based) 1 quart of vegan, unsweetened creamer (I like Ripple or Milkadamia) About 1/3 cup all-purpose gluten-free flour 1/2 stick unsalted butter ground pepper
Instructions: Preheat oven to 350
Melt butter in a medium saucepan over medium heat. Slowly sprinkle in flour and whisk vigorously. Add more until it’s all absorbed into the butter and a thick paste (roux) is formed. Turn heat up to medium-high and add vegan creamer about a half-cup at a time, continuing to whisk. The cream should gradually be thickened by the roux and be bubbling gently. When all the creamer is added, continue to simmer gently and whisk, so it will thicken a bit more. Turn heat off and set aside.
Begin to layer the onions in a casserole dish (no need to grease). After each layer, sprinkle with a generous amount of grated cheese, and a more moderate sprinkling of black pepper. No need for salt as the cheese is salty enough. Continue layering until onions are used. Pour creamer over the onion layer; it’s OK if it’s submerged. Sprinkle more cheese and pepper on the surface. Bake uncovered for at least 30 minutes, or until top is golden brown. Serve immediately.
…or as I also like to call it, painful but necessary. Specifically, I’m referring to inner-healing and salving past wounds, whether they occurred yesterday or 30 years ago.
Sometimes, I’ll find an e-mail in my inbox desperately seeking a Pep-Talk. Just about always, the urgency centers around wanting to be rid of excess weight, and it always stirs mixed emotions in me from the past. I’ve been in the seeking position many times and each time I reached out for a jolt of inspiration, I’d feel hopeful for about 3 hours, then lapse back to where I was. And where I was, though support from others is crucial, could only be remedied by me and my actions. And nope, I’m not referring to weight-loss solutions.
It’s a fallacy then I can give someone a Pep Talk and turn them around, but the fact that they WANT one is a beginning. One of the many reasons Pep Talks don’t work is they skirt root issues. Far more effective is delving into one of the eight limbs of Yoga, known as Self-Inquiry, to ask yourself some probing, yet compassionate, questions:
What am I trying to deflect from by focusing on my weight?
Whom do I resent and why?
Are there areas in my life where I don’t feel I can speak freely?
Do I let myself cry when I feel the emotions surging, or do I shut myself down?
Who is currently mistreating me, or doesn’t bring the respect that I know I deserve?
Am I paid fairly for the work I do?
Was I quick to believe all the bad stuff about myself, and, do I hate parts of myself because of it?
Am I angry at myself for not standing up to people with their own unhealthy agendas? You know the type: the passive-aggressive friend who asks a question that’s really a dig so well-placed, it stings for days afterwards; or a family member who makes a remark about a food choice.
Get the picture?
It’s no wonder why so many of us willingly default to obsessing on weight, clothing size, muscle mass, and the merits of ketosis. The reason is simple: it’s less freaking painful!
Obviously, fitness and physical well-being are important, but if the above emotional issues have not been addressed at all, it’s a losing battle. And also know that just because you are broken at the present time doesn’t mean you are permanently out of commission. The process, I’ll be honest, it’s a long one, but what else do we have but time? And wouldn’t you rather start winning the battle right in the present moment? You can if you just agree to step into that private chamber of your heart, and compassionately, gently begin the process of asking..
Repetitive comfort. It’s what I sought in order to survive. Some days it was about survival, but most often, I employed its technique to feel better by paving over a painful existence. My form of it boiled down to this: fill every corner of my mouth with a delightful-tasting substance, chew, swallow, repeat. And repeat, and repeat.
Repetitive comfort is a need from within that’s primal. It has been used to soothe tension and tears for millennia. Softly humming to oneself while working a task, the gentle click of needles that transform yarn to scarf, putting brush to canvas while painting a picture, or a mother rocking a baby gently in her arms (I don’t think anything tops that one), all pay homage to the allure of enjoyable repetition.
At one time labeled myself a food-addict and declared myself to be untrustworthy and out of control where food is concerned. I’ve since changed my mind about that position, especially since the label was the result of herd-coercion from one of the support groups I attended back in the early days of healing. What I’ve come to realize instead is, there were parts of me I’d gagged and bound, and they were desperate for attention. When I began tending to the wounded and dispirited parts of me, the need to dull my senses with food diminished. I’m the first to admit that food is here to both please and nurture us. That’s a fact and shouldn’t be dismissed with the worn-out ‘food as fuel’ rationales…that, as anyone who has attempted to live it, is only partially true.
I’ve been at this part-time job known as healing and wound-releasing for the better part of three decades and am divested from much of my wounding – enough to live a life of relative ease and clarity. Certain vagaries of life still drive me to seek comfort, and I balance it by sitting with unpleasant situations and feelings because running from them only compounds their troubling nature. But about that comfort-seeking….I’ve found some delightful ways to indulge in it, and yes, much of it involves repetitive acts. I’ll simply never tire of a soothing rhythm that goes on and on for as long as I need it. Which brings me to Ang So Hum, the song posted below. Roughly translated to “I Am That,” I discovered the beautiful melody during a recent yoga class at Aura Kundalini Yoga via Zoom. The instructor, a recovered addict, said the 22-minute song is one of his favorite ways to ground and soothe. You may already have a repertoire of music that feels like a long, safe, lingering hug. I ascribe to the Ray Charles rule of there being two kinds of music: good and bad, but when it comes to soothing my soul, I’m partial to chanting and kirtan. I heard it for the first time more than 20 years in the car while listening to a college radio station. I was on lunch break from a toxic job and in between drive-thru stops. The power of the song stopped me in my tracks and actually diverted me from the contents of my Wendy’s bag for a few moments. I knew at an instantaneous, soul level, I wanted more and more of it. I bought CD’s and listened regularly. This did not magically eradicate binge-eating, but it opened a door to allow some much-needed light. I followed at my own pace, and slowly discovered other forms of comfort and relief outside the realm of eating. A profound discovery if there ever was one.
It’s great, of course, to have a cache of healthy coping techinques at the ready. The trick I’ve learned, during these turbulent times, is not waiting to use them until I’m in frothing crisis mode from stress and aggravation. Soothing music, especially music that’s created with Intention, is also good prevention. So pardon me while I put my headphones on, turn off the TV, and dial down the cortisol.
As one who has been on the metaphoric battlefield for most of my life, I harbor a significant amount of scars, and I’m not referring to the stretch marks which were embedded at age 11. I’m talking about the intangible remnants in the wake of school bullies, disapproving and disappointed parents, food scarcity from forced dieting, emotional demons, and the ensuing result of all of the above: excess weight. This physical symptom of my emotionally turbulent life has caused much scorn to be heaped upon my body. From me, those close to me, total strangers, and the ever-looming, constantly leering dieting industry with its amoral empty promises and a litany of insidious ways to practice self-hatred.
Many of you know my weight-release journey began from within. There are plenty of past blog posts, as well as my books which attest to this. I dropped a significant amount of weight more than 11 years ago, the end result of healing my inner wounds. It was an exhilarating time of freedom and discovery. What I didn’t know until recently was, there’s more to be healed. Significantly more. But that’s life and I’m not upset by this news. On the contrary, if there are more layers of the healing onion to be stripped away, let ’em rip. Still, I was shocked when I got the revelation – straight from the source: my body, who it turns out, knows more than I ever imagined. It is ever attendant to what is, and ever the receptacle for what has been, including trauma. Including every unkind word and thought I’ve sent it: Thoughts of the self-loathing variety which, culturally, were not only accepted 20+ years ago but encouraged. Growing up, I routinely heard adult women berate themselves for enjoying food, or for not having a body that fit the standards of acceptability. If you couldn’t be a good girl and look the part, you could at least redeem yourself with regular self-flagellation. Sound familiar? If it is, my deep sympathies to you and your amazing body. As one who had no fear of self-inquiry, I was well aware of the toxic dynamic women and young girls are subjected to. But I thought I’d eradicated the damage with years of positive affirmations, self-help books, and therapy. I made progress, to be sure, but discovered there’s more road to hoe. And the thing about our own personal onion is, we have no knowledge there’s another layer to be peeled until the moment it reveals itself.
My latest revelation came after some unignorable messages from my body in the form of pain, fatigue, weight gain, and low-energy. Eventually, blood tests revealed autoimmune irregularities. I’m treating the physical symptoms with medication and nutrition, but in my gut, I knew more needed to be done. So I underwent four hypnosis sessions to dig deeper. The answers, as always, lay in the underappreciated splendor of the body. It wasn’t just trying to get my attention, it was screaming for it and it was time, I finally realized, to give it the time and respect it deserved. Sitting down with pen and paper, I asked for answers, promising to both listen and follow through with whatever might be requested of me. What had my body been wanting to convey to me with the symptoms of pain and fatigue? There’s always an emotional corollary to disease and I wanted to uncover mine. The answers flowed, as if my body had been waiting eagerly for the dialog. I’m sharing the exchange because I encourage you to undergo a similar dialog with your best friend and closest ally. And even if you’re not on great terms now, making the time to really listen, followed by a resolve to make reparations is a fantastic beginning. Here’s to diving in, making amends, and knowing you are not alone.
What follows if my body’s response to me:
“I cannot carry it anymore. The pain of betrayal. You have betrayed me so many times, and I am here to serve your existence in this reality. I am your host, you are my guest. You have not been a gracious guest. You have hurt and ignored me in so many ways.
Acknowledging that you were influenced by the collective and had horrible messages from the start, it still hurt me. The decision you made, the beliefs you adopted about me, about us, they wounded me deeply and I have never done anything but serve you and work for you and love you and make you comfortable here.
You, in turn, turned on me. Be grateful my woundedness and discontent are only manifesting as pain. There are far worse outcomes as you know – you have seen some of them. At a certain point, we break, we are only able to tolerate so much disrespect and mistreatment. Then it is time to close the shop.
I am equipped with a strong will to perpetuate your life, but if you don’t do your part, it’s ultimately a losing battle. I can’t do it anymore the way things have been going. Like the USA, reparations and acknowledgements need to be made. You did what you needed to do to survive a horrendous childhood where you were not loved adequately, respected, and affirmed, but the fact is, I suffered greatly from your neglect, from your toxic thoughts and beliefs, from the hatred from you and others.
I need for this to finally be heard. I need to be truthful with you. The way you treated me hurt me deeply. We have made progress, but I don’t trust you fully. Trust is everything in a relationship. Everything. Then respect. But there can be no respect if there isn’t trust. Every unkind thought, every bout of food scarcity, everytime you hissed at me in disapproval hurt me so much.
I came to you as a precious creation of Divine Intelligence. We were best friends for the first few years, then, the war began. I know you were under cultural influences, but the sad part is, I am your authority and guiding light – not TV, magazines, parents, or classmates. I Am the one who can guide you to wholeness and happiness. But you must have the courage and willingness to step out of the cultural trance and see the lies and manipulation. So you have gained weight – so what? Are you going to let a sick and unwhole culture influence and degrade you? Perhaps the weight is a teacher. There is gold to be mined in this new phase, but only if you align with me and NOT outside influences who conspire to keep you weak through shame and preoccupation with perfection.
But first, before we can fully align, I need you to acknowledge my sorrow at your betrayal. At listening to others before me. Please sit with this, not as punishment – I never punish – but as a healing process.
Please, please, please listen to me. That is all I ask. Hear me. Trust me. Honor me. I don’t have it in me to let you down, but I will eventually break down from lack of love, from a severed connection. Please wake up to the Truth and return to me.”
Taken utterly aback, the first thing I did was apologize. I was and am truly remorseful for jumping on the hate band wagon and being so unkind to my body. Secondly, I am agreeing to dialog regularly, appreciate often, and listen intently to my body’s needs, whether it’s for food, movement, or rest. No request it too frivelous. There’s a lot of making up to do and I must say, it feels very right.
Post-Script – a few insights I got, post-writing:
Instead of the automatic response of ‘something’s wrong with my body,’ switch to ‘Something needs tending, or Love.’
I blamed you (body) when the appropriate thing to do is Thank my body.
I abused my body because I was scared and abused.
I chose to look at you as the source of all my misery. You are the source of my connection to life.
And further revelation from my body: Hear me, don’t steer me.
Who’s hungry? I almost forgot today is National Mac & Cheese Day! In its honor, I give you a clean and worthy version, one that won’t cause bloating, cramping, emotional fog and all the other attendant vagaries that can occur on a post-gluten and dairy adventure.
Back in the old days, the descending of a cloying and debilitating fog is precisely what I was after. Food was a salve, escape, and distraction from all that I refused to acknowledge. I actually am quite grateful for all those cans of Franco American macaroni and cheese I hastily zapped to an acceptable state of warmth in the microwave. I’d become adept at zeroing in on the perfect number of seconds required. Too soon and it would still be cold. Too long on the timer and the noodles were too hot to touch, and THAT did not fly for someone whose wellbeing hinged on instant gratification.
Overeating to cope is a multilayered problem with multi-layered solutions. Sure, clean eating and exercise went a long way, but on their own, those two techniques would have been unsustainable without a prolonged focus on inner-healing and a commitment to keep that garden tended for a lifetime. For more on that, I recommend my book, “The Untended Soul,” because if you don’t pay your soul first, life just won’t work the way God intended.
In the meantime, feed yourself kind thoughts and good food. Hope you enjoy Chef Bill’s re-imaginging of one of my favorite comfort foods!
