I finally have something to blog about.  I am now dairy free. 

Let’s back up to 1975.  I was 21, and very bothered about food.  I couldn’t imagine killing a cow and then butchering it.  I decided that if I couldn’t do that, I should not eat the end product.  While I was at it I figured I should be consistent and not eat birds, pigs or fish. I became vegetarian, and lived happily ever after. 

 Nothing with a face ever passed my lips. I allowed cheese and other dairy products, excluding milk and more raw products as they didn’t agree with my stomach (lactose intolerance).  I figured you didn’t have to kill the cow so it was OK.  I learned protein complementing and became a master vegetarian cook of many cultures, spices, flavor combinations and delights. Drawing on my Mexican and Italian roots, my lasagna was masterful, with it’s bled of cheeses and vegetables.  My Mexican food was better than most restaurants as I knew how to blend different spices with the beans and cheese. My soups were magnificent blends of savory broth and vegetables. Desserts were beyond fabulous.  I loved my cooking and so did everyone who tasted it.

As I grew older compromises occurred. I started buying leather shoes, since feet that measured 7.5 WW didn’t really have much of a choice.  (As I aged and grew bunions, this choice seemed more and more reasonable.)  Seriously bending the rules, I started taking fish oil tablets after menopause. They leveled out the nasty moodiness and anxiety that can accompany estrogen depletion.  I got divorced and started losing my cooking chops. I mixed frozen vegetables with couscous and cheese, salads greens with parmesan and nuts.  I made fried egg and cheddar sandwiches. I wondered if I was doing it right anymore, I didn’t feel as well as I used to.   

 I was experiencing quite a lot of gastrointestinal activity.  I tried to describe things gently but my brother summed it up best with, “You fart a lot.”  I replied, “You have no idea.  I’m the little engine that can’t stop. . . ” 

 My employer, a very health conscious company, offered a weight loss program that included a consultation with a nutritionist.  I signed up, and had my session.  I described my diet, which she declared was very, very healthy.  I needed more protein, however and we discussed supplements.  I described my lactose intolerance, and gastrointestinal distress and she suggested that cheese could be a problem.  I was incredulous.  I loved cheese, and used it as a major protein source.  She challenged me to give it up for 2 weeks just to see how I felt.  I acquiesced.

It took a day or two, but my GI tract stopped its methane production.  I felt livelier and lighter on my feet. I slept better. I was beginning to believe the nutritionist may be on to something.  I was free of dairy for two weeks when I went to a restaurant and ordered a vegetarian meal that I thought would be dairy-free.  However, it had a light cheese sauce and I ate it anyway.  It was just delicious with spinach, squash and other vegetables over al-dente pasta.  A great meal.  The next day I had a rash, the allergic kind that sits below the breasts, on the chest and underneath the arms. The deal was sealed. It had to be caused by the cheese.  

A month later and I am so much healthier. And so sad.  I miss cheese, and the dairy delights that I used to allow upon occasion.  We had a family party and I had to pass on: macaroni and cheese with a baked crusty top; baked ziti, Greek salad with feta; tomatoes, basil and mozzarella; key lime pie; TIRAMISU; chile con queso; and many other family favorites.  Oh, the tiramisu hurt, everyone was raving. I was steadfast, but drooling and  complaining to the insiders in the family who were so sympathetic. I had to settle for apple pie (delicious), several potato salads (wonderful) and strawberry spinach salad (delightful).  I ate well but was consumed with the things I couldn’t have.

But I feel so much better. The plan now is to abstain for two more months and then try to add things back to see how they are tolerated.  I may not bother and just stay the course.  Pizza may be my downfall, but I am pretty strong.

So that’s my story.  There is no punch line, just a set of circumstances with which I must cope.  I’m now a vegan who eats eggs and I have to learn how to cook all over again. Well, I did it once before, and I guess I have to do it again. 

UPDATE: In response to the challenge, I thought I'd just update this post.  It's been a year, and I'm still a vegan who eats eggs.  But fewer eggs than before.  Restaurants are a challenge, and I'm learning how to cook all over again.  But I feel fine and lost a few pounds.  Had to increase my consumption of carbs to compensate for the cheese however.  I considered eating fish to bring more protein into my life.  I put a nice chunk of beautiful salmon in my mouth at a party when nobody was looking.  Chewed it, but couldn't swallow. I figured it was not meant to be.