Get my Email Exclusives!
Subscriber-only goodness delivered straight to you.
Real Food Liz/Liz Wolfe is a participant in the Amazon Services LLC Associates Program, an affiliate advertising program designed to provide a means for sites to earn advertising fees by advertising and linking to Amazon.com. Regarding other affiliate links and affiliate relationships: I may receive monetary compensation or other types of remuneration for my endorsement, recommendation, testimonial and/or link to any products or services from this blog. An underlined hyperlink denotes a sponsored, affiliate or Amazon Services LLC link from which I earn or have earned a fee. For more information, click here.
Ever since my Nutritional Therapy training I've delighted in identifying various “nutritional opportunities.” I spend my bathroom free time thinking of ways to inspire (er, force) conversations about estrogen dominance, digestive bitters and misguided nutritional dogma with anyone and everyone. (Update: I even started writing a book about it!)
On an unrelated note, why am I not being invited to any parties lately?
My spark-a-convo MO is super sophisticated. I generally shake my head and snort real annoyed-like while saying things like “whole grains” and “low fat.” (I call this “targeted scoffing.”) I've got a few more ideas that I haven't yet implemented, such as wearing T-shirts to Whole Foods that say “Soy Sucks” or “Canola Kills.” Those techniques have gone over well with my test audience:
Seriously, though. Cave Husband just informed me that if I ask the cashier at Wawa about his “corn transit time” again he's going to reclaim the DVR space I've filled with recordings about Vampires, Housewives and Kardashians and start filling it with South Park and PTI. Needless to say – I will NOT let that happen. (What does Scott Van Pelt have that Khloe Kardashian doesn't have?) (Not hair.) (Smirk.)
Back to my Drescher-like abrasiveness. I suppose wearing controversial T-shirts to Whole
Plant Based Agenda Foods isn't the best way to go. And in the end, it's not my business whether somebody wants to dump concentrated plant estrogens over their Kashi Go-Agribusiness Crunch. Mike Brady got it right when he said “quit worrying about everybody else. Just worry about yourself.” (Well, he didn't say that. He said, “Cindy, nobody likes a tattle-tale.” But I think my point stands.)
So I'm turning my focus back to my own “nutritional opportunities.” And believe me, 2 decades of SAD-ing, a few years of conventional medicine-ing and a good 5 years of crash dieting have left some “opportunities” that seat-of-the-pants Paleo doesn't decisively target. I'm working on my digestion and gut flora and, as you may have read, my skin. Rectifying longstanding issues takes “stra-tee-gery” and super-nourishing foods like marrow, broth, liver, fermented foods, and butter oil.
I've found that I'm quite deficient in zinc, which is a pretty key nutrient with a hand in nearly everything I'm trying to optimize – from my skin to my gut health. Since I'm not big on pill-style supplementation, I have chosen to rectify both my zinc deficiency and my “slimy stinky ocean food deficiency” at the same time.
Plain English: I've decided it's time to eat oysters more often. Oysters have more than FIFTEEN TIMES the zinc of the next-closest food (beef) and I want to work more seafood into my diet.
Whine: I have never warmed up to eating oysters. Oysters are for ONE thing, and ONE THING ONLY: outfitting mermaid chesticles.
Aside: I never got to be Ariel in childhood games of pretend. Just like in college when everybody told me I was “just like Miranda” from Sex & The City, (ugh – can I puh-LEASE be the art gallery one, or the stylish one, or even the skanky one? Must I really be THE LAWYER ONE?) I got the crappy mermaids too. I was always the one with the gross colors – I call it “gut dysbiosis brown.”
Anyhow, I learned to like (as in, live with) Cod Liver Oil and organ meats, so I assume I can learn to like oysters too. But I'm unsure about the way we're suppose to eat 'em: like nutritional supplements.
Of course, I also add some extra avoidance rituatls: nose pinched, eyes squeezed shut, huge swig of lemon water – which I know is a total waste. Right? Or is that pretty much what all the snooty Georgetown yuppies at Hank's Oyster Bar are doing over their Pomengranate this-and-thats?
Want more? Try my Email Exclusives!
Stay in the know & get exclusive subscriber-only goodies!