On Days Like These

Oh boy, I'm sick as a dog today. I felt the small tickle of a sore throat this past weekend, which turned into a hacking cough yesterday, and now the transformation is complete to the nasty flu.

Fever, upper respiratory infection and everything that the good flu can bring, I have it. I took the day off from work, decided to sleep in a little, and when the Episcopalian church bells on Gough Street rang Noon, I laid there and contemplated my day. As I peeled myself out of bed an hour later, after drifting in and out of restless sleep that only having slept 10 hours prior can do to someone sick, I made some coffee, took a shower and decided to take a stroll.

Planning a menu for the week when I am not feeling well is never fun. First, nothing sounds appetizing. After checking through my cookbooks and reading through some food blogs, I wasn't enthused at all about cooking. Second, I can barely taste anything. So, that eliminates a lot of milder tasting, simpler dishes I like to do when I'm feeling weak.

My mind wandered to all of the times my parents told me what I should be eating when I was sick. Dad told me raw garlic helps cut the germs, Ma told me stock made from pork and chicken bones was always good to boost the immune system. There are tons of other Chinese herbs, roots and spices that I could have used, but that would have meant hauling my ass down to Chinatown and in my weakened state, proved to be a rather undesirable option. I wouldn't have wanted to go into a hacking fit on the downtown bus or try to speak Mandarin with a stuffy nose and raspy, gutteral voice. And with the way some of the older shopkeepers are, I'm sure there would have been more than one who, at the sound of my voice, succinctly kicked to me out of their establishment for fear of the plague or SARS or Ebola. Who knows. Propriety, in Chinese culture, kind of goes out the door when it comes to ill health.

First, I went to Swan's Oyster Depot for some brothy clam chowder, which was good. I probably shouldn't have ordered half a dozen raw oysters, but dammit, I wanted some, even if I felt like a walking biohazard. I got more than one inquisitive look from the guys behind the counter, but I thought to myself, "Screw it, I feel miserable and I'm taking myself out for some decent chow."

I've been thinking a lot of vegetarianism again lately. After a couple of years of eating a vegan/macrobiotic diet, and even a longer time of being a seafood-friendly herbivore, I've been wanting to feel the clean energy and vibrancy that only a fruit, vegetable and whole grain diet can provide. I also visited my friend Katie this weekend, whose entire family, including a four-year old daughter, are ovo-vegetarians.

Mind you, I don't think I can ever live without meat again, but I do think I need to stop cooking it at home for myself so frequently. From all of the tales my mother told me of her childhood and how special it was to kill a chicken for a birthday or how Gong-Gong would buy a slaughtered pig and the cook and Po-Po would make the most incredible food, and it was SPECIAL. There was a connection to the food, the land and much appreciation for it, which is completely lost in our present circumstances.

After a while, the raw garlic sounded good. The astringency would probably help with congestion in the throat and help with the soreness as well. I wanted something strong tasting, too. I remembered Pierre's recipe for baba ghanouj where there was raw garlic blended into the eggplant puree. Yes. Then, along with the Middle Eastern/Mediterranean theme, I thought of making tabouleh with curly-leafed parsley, high in vitamins K, C and A. Bulgar wheat (I always want to say vulgar and one of these days, I'm going to make a dumb mistake, just wait), a whole grain is easy to digest and easy to make as well.

It turned out pretty well, and although I still feel like someone is pinching my nose 24/7 and there's a phlegm factory in my lungs, I'm feeling quite happy with my dinner.