Sunday, October 4, 2009

Something about KIELBASA

You’d think that my blog being called Kielbasa Stories, I’d have more posts (or any posts) about the real thing, Polish Kiełbasa. If you slaskaare reading this and you don’t know what kielbasa is, stick around for a moment and I’ll fill you in. Judging from the keyword search analysis I have done on my blog, a lot of people are asking Google what kielbasa is, what the plural form is, how to export it from Poland to the US, if you can eat it when you are pregnant, how to make fruit kielbasa and the rest of the searches are from dirty, dirty buggers looking for some kind of perverted pornography. Yes, I know who you are.

What is kielbasa?

It is basically sausage and in this case Polish sausage usually made from pork or some pork and beef combination. There are so many different kinds of sausage that I will try to do a brief run-down later in this post.

What is the plural form of kielbasa?

The plural form of kielbasa would be kielbasy following Polish rules. If you are using the word kielbasa as an English word then the plural would be kielbasas. I have seen both kielbasy and kielbasas used in English and have also seen kielbasa used as an uncountable noun.

How do you export kielbasa from Poland to the US?

At this moment, I have no idea. Sorry.

Can you eat kielbasa when you are pregnant?

If it is cooked, I cannot see any reason why not except for possible heartburn concerns.

How do you make fruit kielbasa?

I have never heard of it and am wondering what it could possibly be.

Where is the dirty bugger porn connected to the word kielbasa?

At this moment, I have no idea and I’d like to keep it this way.

Some kielbasa stories…

My very first contact with kielbasa would have to be the supermarket in the US. After Misiu saw what we call kielbasa, he said that it doesn’t count. I guess then we have to say that my first real contact with real Polish kielbasa was in Poland and my first contact or contacts were not good ones.

As I have mentioned before, I could not speak Polish when I came to Poland and the town where I lived did not have any self-service shops. Anyhow, the butcher isn’t a self-service kind of a place, so I had to order what I wanted in Polish. My first trip to the butcher was in tandem with my new best friend from the airport. He managed to come from his town to my town by bus and find out where I lived (I didn’t know where I was going to live previously) by asking the 1st person he met on the street where the American teacher might be living. Of course, as it goes in small towns, that person knew how to find me (and could speak English). I was so happy to see my new friend and we hit the town to buy something to eat for lunch. We went to the butcher close to my apartment (ha, ha, ha, apartment, but that’s another post) and we decided to use my friend’s newly learned word, parówka. The Polish folks who are reading this are now protesting that parówki do not qualify as sausages and I completely agree with you. Parówki are hot dogs and who knows what’s in them. Honestly, we didn’t care at that point. We were so hungry and so happy to have said something in Polish and to have received what we wanted. We returned to my apartment (ha, ha, ha) to boil our hot dogs. We even had bread, mustard and tomatoes. What a feast! We started the water to boil in the one pot I had been given by the teacher who dropped me off at my apartment (ha, ha, ha) and then examined the hot dogs. Each parówek (I know that this is the incorrect form, but it is one of my own creations) was individually wrapped with a kind of plasticey-papery wrap. parowki Consternation…should we take off the wrap before or after boiling? It’s not like in America where every package has instructions out the wazoo including pictures and information how not to injure yourself with said parówka. I don’t remember what we decided but either way it was a risk. The parówki turned out great and we were really pleased with ourselves. We were also pleased that we had not blown up the building. I wasn’t used to using the gas stove yet. In fact, the first time I used it I had to go to my neighbor’s and through foreign language charades ask them how it worked. They were rightly scared to death and showed me at least 10 times and made me show them several times as well. I never did blow up the building but I did manage to catch my sweater sleeve on fire once like from one of those fire safety films from school of what not to do while cooking. If you have never had the opportunity to learn about fire safety from one of those films, then please take my advice and do not wear a sweater with oversized cuffs while lighting the gas stove to boil the kettle for tea. Trust me.

That was one of my first days in Poland. There was a whole year of potential sausage confrontations in front of me. I had to learn to order something other than parówki. The next time I visited the butcher’s, I chickened out and ordered chicken filets (filety). Later as I learned more, I was able to specify that I wanted the filets which were next to the sausages, not the ones that were positioned dangerously close to the hairy (yes, hairy) pig legs in the meat case. On another visit, I toughened up. I knew that I had to order sausages today. There was no way around it, but when I saw the long line of people, I chickened out again and went home to eat cornflakes without milk because I had forgotten to buy it and was too lazy to go back out. Finally, I managed to visit the butcher’s when there was nobody there. I was confronted with the amazing choice of kielbasa in front of me. I didn’t know any names of any sausages and I didn’t know any adjectives either to describe what kind of sausage I wanted. I just found the first one that I could pronounce and ordered (who knows why?) a kilo of it!! The kielbasa I had ordered was named after the street of the local slaughterhouse where it was made. It wasn’t very good.

I swore off sausage for awhile, a long while actually because I didn’t return to it until Easter time when my students told me that I had to try biała kiełbasa, white sausage, which is part of the Easter tradition. I had avoided this sausage until then because it looked kind of gross. It’s fat and white and looks like abiała big fat finger cut off of a big fat hand. Even after it is cooked, it still has an unhealthy gray color. White sausage is pretty good but it is raw and you obviously have to cook it first. Not knowing anything about sausages, I sometimes didn’t know what to do with some sausages that I had bought. Were they cooked or smoked already? Should I boil them, bake them, fry them or eat them as is? It was a lot to think about for one American girl.

At Easter time, I was invited to Misiu’s parents for tea. Misiu and I had met at work and I think he felt sorry for me that I had no Easter plans. His mother, my now mother-in-law, is a huge sausage fan but this was tea time so she served tea, coffee and cake. With my Misiu, there is an eating habit between us which I noticed at that tea and it still continues today. When we eat dinner, I eat very slowly and Misiu eats pretty quickly. When we eat something sweet, Misiu takes baby bites and I inhale what I’ve got and start to eye up his portion. It was true on that day as Misiu slowly stirred his coffee and I started in on the cheesecake (sernik, my m-i-l makes the best ever) and apple pie (szarlotka). I took a big bite of one and thought that it tasted a bit funny but who cared, it was cake. I tried the next one and it too had a funny taste, but I was hungry and a guest should never complain. Misiu was practically still stirring his coffee while I had finished two pieces of cake. He finally tucked into his piece. One bite and he screamed, “Mamo!!! You put the cake in the fridge next to the sausages again!” That was the funny taste. It was sausage cheesecake and sausage apple pie.

White sausage even made an appearance years later at my wedding reception. Our wedding reception was held in a traditional restaurant and we chose the “Wild Game” menu. There was a lot of wild pig, hare and sausages. There was even something call bread soup which was a kind of white sour soup (like żurek) with pieces of white sausage and bread in it. There was kaszanka even some kaszanka (black pudding or as some people call them blood sausages) but I said no thanks as I always do to kaszanka, flaki (tripe) and golonka (pork knuckle). To be fair, I have tried them all so I am sure that I don’t like them. At a cousin’s wedding reception, my mother-in-law even separated the meat from the fat of the golonka for me and I still didn’t eat it. It caused a scandal among the guests that I am such an American princess that I won’t even eat the meat cut up for me by my mother-in-law. Add that to the fact that I don’t/won’t/can’t dance and do not drink vodka and I am the most hated Polish wedding reception guest ever.

Although kielbasa is one of the first foods that comes to mind when you think about Polish cuisine, it is not easy to find in a restaurant. In our Polish family, we eat white sausage on Easter. We eat sausage with bread sometimes for breakfast okabanosyr as a snack. I sometimes buy Lizzie a kabanos when we are at the butcher the way some people would buy their kid a lollipop. We use kielbasa in leczo and in bigos (hunter’s stew) and very rarely we cook or grill a large sausage and eat it with mustard and bread. We never order it in a restaurant. We buy our sausage from a butcher that we know and once we even had a pig butchered and split it with my sister-in-law and parents-in-law. When we bought our house, it had a smoke room upstairs and one of my students is so fed up with the quality of meat in the shops that he eats only meat from his own animals and is building a smokehouse next to his garage. If you are desperate to eat some sausage not prepared in your own kitchen, you should look for it in two kinds of restaurants. One would be the road-side restaurant or bar. Another would be a restaurant featuring traditional cuisine- staropolska kuchnia. I tend to judge the quality of the sausage by the price. I know that my system is not perfect and expensive sausage can be awful too but in my experience expensive sausage can be awful or it can be good. Cheap sausage is always awful. If possible when buying check the ingredients list carefully. Some sausages can contain as little as 20% meat. Once I bought my mother-in-law a pretty pricey piece of sausage because I know that she likes good sausage. When she saw the price she exclaimed, “Who is that kind of sausage for!?! For people!?!” My answer which was not verbal, just a kind of look on my face could best be written as !?! If not for people, than who for?

If you are in the category of people and you’d like to try some Polish kiełbasa, here’s a list of just some kinds. In my unscientific research, I have found that sausages with the same name can be made different ways. The same sausage can be smoked or dried or even double-smoked. I thank our local butcher who gave me a lot of information which confused the heck out of me and with the final moral of the story being that every butcher has their own recipes. I have to stop now with the sausages because I have a headache.

Swojska/Domowa/Własnej roboty = homemade

Śląska = Silesian made from pickled meat??? with salt, pepper, garlic, marjoram

Wiejska = country style - smoked, pork, bacon, salt, pepper, garlic, sugar, marjoram

Torunska = Toruń style

Krakowska = Kraków style – smoked, beef/pork, salt, pepper, coriander, nutmeg, cayenne pepper, sweet pepper, a fatter sausage

Jałowcowa = Juniper sausage

Podwawelska = Wawel style - similar to Krakowska but a thinner sausagepodwawelska

Zwyczajna = regular sausage –pork/beef, salt, pepper, sugar, juniper, garlic, allspice

Biała = white sausage – raw, pork, salt, pepper, garlic, rosemary, marjoram, parsley

Myśliwska = hunter’s sausage - dried, pork/beef, salt, pepper, garlic, cumin, coriander

Żywiecka = Żywiec style

Szynkowa = “Ham” sausage - thick and good for slicing like a ham

Góralska = mountain style

Grillowa = for the BBQ - usually fattier than other sausages

Kabanos = something like a jerky sausage - thin and dry

Pasztetowa = Liverwurst – often for spreading

Salceson = Headcheese

Mortadela = Bologna

Parówki = hot dogs

Adjectives

tłusta = fatty

chuda = lean

twarda = hard, firm

surowa = raw

gotowana = cooked

sucha = dry

podsuszana = dried

wędzona = smoked

PS I got freaked out once at the meat case when I noticed veal sausages called cielęce and then I noticed another sausage called dziecięce and for a split second I thought the worst. Cielęce=veal sausages meaning made of veal and dziecięce = children’s sausages, made for children not made of children.

PS2 In another visit to the meat case I found not dziecięce but dziecinne, childish sausages :)

PS3 When in NYC, we visit either Mazur Meat Market or Kiszka both located in the Polish district Greenpoint in Brooklyn. The line out the door speaks for itself.

PS4 If you know Polish check out this link http://nonsensopedia.wikia.com/wiki/Kiełbasa

Smacznego!

Friday, October 2, 2009

Say “chee-eese”!

I hate being photographed. It’s something I got from my Grandmother. She always hid her face with her hand or a well-placed coffee cup or turned away from the camera. She did it every time the camera came out until one holiday when I think she realized it may be our last chance to get a picture of her or with her. I have one great photo of the two of us together, both of us smiling and looking at the camera. When I look at the picture, I remember her smile, her wry sense of humor, her frail body, her fragrance. I’m so grateful to her for that one picture. I loved her so much. As it turned out her feelings were right and that was our last chance. Maybe that’s also why I have pictures of her hanging in my home here in Poland. The pictures are from an earlier age when my Grandma allowed herself to be photographed. Maybe she even liked to be photographed. I can see my Grandma as she was before she had children, her wedding, as a newlywed, as a new mother, marrying off her first born son.
IMG_0001_NEWPS
my Grandmother
IMG_0002_NEWPS2
my Grandfather
(I never met my Grandfather as he died before I was born. . From this picture, I like to imagine him as a romantic gangster. I think it is because of the car.)

I don’t have any pictures of my parents, recent or otherwise. I have asked them on several occasions to send me some so I can show my children who they are and who we are talking to on the phone. I send tons of photos to my parents and to my sister but nobody sends any to me because I am the one who is far away in another country, not them. They don’t realize that they are just as far away for me.
I am the younger sibling, the younger sister. I am the Rosie in the family. My sister has hundreds of photos of her childhood. I have one album. I’d really like to be able to see more of myself as a child now that I am a mother. What I want to see even more than pictures of myself as a child are pictures of my parents as young parents, in the stage of life I am now. I realize looking at my kids pictures that I should turn the camera around sometimes (because, yes, you can go to the seaside or to the zoo or to another country and come back with 500 pictures of your kids smiling faces and nothing else) to show my girls (and myself) what I look like as a young mother.

IMG_NEW
PS Misiu’s surprised reaction to seeing my and my sister’s baby albums had nothing to do with the amount of photos but the quality. He exclaimed, “Your baby photos are in color!” because his are not.

PS2 I feel that I am a “young mother” despite the fact that the Polish hospital designated me as a mom of advanced maternal age at my first birth at age 32! How dare they?!

PS3 An example of my Grandma’s sense of humor: Once when Misiu first came to the US to meet my family, he wasn’t sure what to make of my family and they were not sure what to make of him. After a trip to the grocery store, Misiu was happy to help us carry the bags in and put the shopping away. Misiu put the milk and cheese in the fridge and the bread in the bread drawer. He didn’t know where to put the cereal boxes so he asked my Grandma what to do with them. She answered, “Bend over,” and escaped to her bedroom laughing her characteristic laugh.

UPDATE 2015 - My parents finally broke down and had professional photos taken, and my children finally got a chance to visit their grandparents. Photos from that session were used recently at my father's funeral.

Wednesday, September 30, 2009

A Misiu by any other name…

…would be just as cuddly, wouldn't he? This is not going to be a post about my Misiu, but rather about the word misiu and other terms of endearment. If you are Polish, you already know that my husband’s given name can’t possibly be Misiu. If you are American, you might be surprised to find out that in Poland you cannot just name your child 09292009whatever you want. The name you choose has to be an actual name, not something you just made up, not a city, state or country, and definitely not anything embarrassing, offensive or vulgar. That’s why you’ll find 5 Agnieszka’s in one class and not any Misiu’s. Why? Because Misiu is not a name. It means teddy bear. It comes from the word bear- miś -and can also appear as misiaczek , the diminutive of miś, which means little bear.

Perhaps it is good that you cannot name your child whatever you want in Poland. This regulation means that no kids have to defend themselves from attacks of other kids about their stupid name. However, stupid is subjective and what is one person’s idea of a beautiful name can be another person’s idea of sheer stupidity. If you are Polish and your name is Esmeralda, then you know what I am talking about. (Leticia Calderon as Esmeralda, pictured below) I think givLeticia Calderon Esmeraldaing your Polish child an English name (or foreign name) is ok but then please go all the way and spell it in English not in Polish, for example- Brajan Nowak, Majkel Kowalski. I understand that the parents have chosen that spelling in order to ensure that it will be pronounced as they want. Brajan is the Polish phonetic spelling of Brian.

I have found that many Polish people make assumptions about children with foreign names (especially foreign names spelled po polsku) and those assumptions are usually negative. That’s one reason my kids have traditional Polish names. Lizzie and Rosie are just their nicknames. We thought long and hard about naming our children. We had a short list for both boys and girls and we tested them out on my parents and on my parents-in-law. We decided to choose traditional Polish names because now we live in Poland and also because in the US it is more acceptable to have an unusual name. We threw out names such as Katarzyna-too difficult to spell in the US, Agnieszka-extremely popular in Poland, a nice name in Polish but the English equivalent Agnes isn’t as nice in our opinion, Magda is quite universal, the same spelling in both languages but the English pronunciation is not as nice as the Polish pronunciation. We also decided against the name Daria, supposing that our daughter could have the unfortunate nickname of diarrhea her whole life. Obvious choices for boys were Adam or Robert which are the same in Polish and in English. We also liked Aleksander and Maksym. We thought a son could have a nice nickname of Alex or Max. We decided that names like Zdzisław or Zbigniew were definitely out as they are practically unpronounceable for typical English-speaking people. In the end, we didn’t have to choose from the boys short list.

I remember the first day of one of my university classes. Our professor asked us to go around the room, introduce ourselves and tell something interesting about ourselves. I was 18 years old and there wasn’t anything really interesting about me at that time and I don’t remember what I said. What I do remember is that one of my classmates introduction went like this: Hi. My name is Sunshine and yes, my parents are hippies. Sunshine is a really unusual name. I’ve met a Sunny or two over the years but only one Sunshine. However unusual the nam09292009(009)e was, the girl was quite ordinary and after a week or two I totally forgot that her name was unusual and called her Sunshine without a smile on my face. I heard that in Poland there is a man named Solidariusz (a combination of the name Dariusz and the word Solidarity) in honor of the Solidarity movement. I wonder how he feels about his unusual name. I’d similarly like to ask all those Anna’s and Agnieszka’s of Poland how they feel being the next Anna or the next Agnieszka in the group.

In America, my life as a teacher was a hard one. My students had names which originated only in the minds of their parents or on the pages of hot new baby name books. There were no Mary’s, no Robert’s, no John’s only Alexia, Alicia, Alisha, Aleesha, Lexi, LaToya, LaToyer, and so on. I really am all for freedom to name your child what you want and while these names were troublesome for me the teacher, they we actually no big deal. It’s not like the family I read about who named their poor little child Adolph Hilter and caused a big stink when the local bakery would not write Happy Birthday Hitler on the kid’s birthday cake. (Yes, ‘cause we are free like that in the great US of A.) And one more thing, why do all of those F-ed up people have to come from Pennsylvania?

Do I know how to digress or what? I wanted to write about terms of endearment and I ended up on a kid named Hitler. (not any relation to a boy named Sue – that’s for the Jonny Cash fans) What are some Polish terms of endearment? My personal favorite is misiu. I find that is more often used by women for their men and also for kids. If you want to get the attention of a lot of men, I recommend saying Miiisiiuuu (meeeeshoooo) in a crowded IKEA on a Saturday afternoon. I guarantee every guy within earshot will turn their attention to you. I had a male acquaintance from New Zealand who took great offense when one of his students called him misiu. He exclaimed, “What? I’m not fat!” There is the suggestion that when using the term misiu, the recipient should be a little misiowaty, I mean kind of soft and squishy and huggable like a teddy bear. My Misiu fits the bill but I would qualify him as a pół-misiu, a half teddy. He’s not as squishy as he could be.

I also like that you can easily make the diminutive even of people’s given names. The diminutive is sometimes longer than the original but sounds sweet and little. Anna changes to Ania or Anka. Katarzyna changes to Kaśka. Zbigniew changes to Zbyszek. Marek changes to Mareczek. Hitler changes to Hitlerek which is Rosie’s current nickname. She’s a real tyrant. Lizzie’s current nickname is monsterek, our version of potworek or little monster.

Here are some more popular terms of endearment:

kochanie –love, sweetheart

żabka – froggy

słoneczko – sunshine

kotek, kicia, kiciuś – kitten

myszka – little mouse

kwiatuszek – little flower

ślicznotka – my pretty

żoneczka – wifey

mężulek – little husband, hubby - This one will also get all the guys at IKEA to give you a look. They will give a sad look at your whipped husband as well.

So I have shared with you my nickname for my husband which is misiu. Are you wondering what his nickname for me is? He can’t make up his mind but his top 3 names for me are:

mordka/mordziak - little mug, not coffee mug but mug-shot mug

gruba - fatty, which I am not

stara - the old lady, which I definitely am not

Romantic, isn’t he?

What are your favorite terms of endearment?

Monday, September 28, 2009

How I learned I was fat

I was one of those kids blissfully unaware that someone could be considered fat or thin or that being either fat or thin had any meaning in life other than having to buy bigger or smaller clothes.

Until the day I was made aware.

Ok, let's face it, I was a big kid compared to the rest of my class at the Immaculate Conception Catholic School (yep, that’s the real name, try to explain to a bunch of 5-year-olds what it means). Not only was I the biggest kid in my class, I was also bigger than our classroom teacher and bigger than our principal Sister Sandra. Do you remember how tall you were and how much you weighed in elementary school? I do, thanks to the once-a-year height/weight check performed by our always tactful PE teacher Mrs T. In the 5th grade, I was 5 ft. 4 in. tall and weighed a slightly pudgy 116 lbs (162 cms, 53 kgs). In the 6th grade, I was 5 ft. 6 in. tall and weighed 110 lbs (167 cms, 50 kgs) and I haven't grown an inch taller since then. Hardly a fatty you say, but those times were different. Anyone over a hundred pounds was deemed suspicious. I remember exactly because it was commented by Mrs T. that I was on the road to obesity (she didn’t use the actual word obese, she used just plain old fat) as she could practically predict my miserable future based on those miserable height/weight figures and also on my inability to overhand serve in volleyball (or underhand serve for that matter). I brushed it off not really knowing what she was talking about, but I started to think.

I figured it was pretty much bull. I was an active kid. I played AYSO soccer, but later in gym class while wearing my beloved AYSO shirt, Mrs. T., always sympathetic to the fragile self-esteem of children, asked me who I got my shirt from. When I replied that it was mine she said in disbelief, “they’ll take anybody these days.” OK, I said that I played, not that I was any good. I started to think.


Then one day I forgot my lunch at home. In the 1st grade, this was reason enough for total nuclear meltdown but in the 6th grade, I thought I'd just have to suck it up and wait until I got home. Unavoidable question from the lunch monitor, “Where's your lunch?” My honest answer, “I forgot it at home.” That couldn't possibly be the truth and an impromptu conference between the lunch monitor, our teacher and the principal ensued. A decision was made--to call my mother and explain that in a desire to lose weight I had been skipping lunch. Funny that not even one of them thought to offer me any lunch, but anyhow. My mother, thank goodness, had enough sense in her head to see my forgotten lunch in the fridge at home and to only tell me not to forget it and to carry some extra money with me to school in case that happened again.

That was the 6th grade, my last year in elementary school. I think kids nowadays would be really lucky to be unaware of things such as weight, sex, drugs till that age. Let’s fast forward to the summer after 7th grade at the church fair where I ran into our elementary school principal, “Hi, Chris. It's good to see you. Don't lose any more weight.”

PS. How did they explain the meaning of Immaculate Conception to the young pupils of the school? They ran a kind of Bill Clinton/gays in the military “don’t ask, don’t tell” policy. If we didn’t ask, they didn’t tell us. Usually our school was referred to as the Catholic school (there’s only one in the area) or simply IC. The kids from our class did finally ask in about the 3rd grade (apparently we were not very sophisticated or curious for that matter and we didn’t even have Google back then). Our teacher gave us a kind of general explanation of God giving the Virgin Mary the baby Jesus in a special and holy way and even explained to us that “virgin” meant “holy”. We agreed and immediately began using the word virgin as a synonym for holy as in the Virgin Jesus or the Virgin God. Our teacher never did explain to us exactly what it meant but she did tell us to stop using it when we referred to our principal as the Virgin Sister Sandra.

Thursday, September 24, 2009

Maiden name or husband’s name?

Have you heard the old joke?

What is long and hard and you get it from your Polish husband on your wedding night? His surname!

Ha, ha, ha.

You cannot imagine how many times I have heard this stupid joke. I don’t even pretend to laugh anymore. My husband’s surname is not that long and not really that hard either, but I still decided to stick with my own name. Why? It is because I'm a strong, independent woman who doesn't want to be enslaved by the patriarchy of society by being forced to take my husband's name.


If you believe that then you don't really know me. I'm just simply lazy. I got married in Poland so by law I would have to take the feminine form of my husband's name and then go to court to request a name change to the masculine form. I wanted to have the masculine form that my husband has so that in our American ID's, we would have the same name. Then I would have to change all my Polish ID’s and all my American ID's. Get the picture? And did I mention that I'm lazy.

PS. Once while at the hospital after my 1st child was born, the nurses were calling for me by Mrs and my husband’s surname (because our children carry their father’s name). For a split second (ok, it was longer than that - I was kind of spacey after the birth), I looked around to check if my mother-in-law was there and wondered what they were calling her for.

Ladies, opinions???

Wednesday, September 23, 2009

Why are Americans so fat?

Once again, I was asked the question I have been asked so many times before. It’s not why I came to Poland although that question is high up there on the frequency ranking. Instead today it was why Americans are so fat. When I am in America, I do not feel responsible for the global reputation of the American people but now that I live abroad, I feel the need to explain the complexities of American problems. You may feel that this problem is not a complex one, that Americans are simply gluttonous and eat too much. While that is one part of the problem, there is a little more to it.

One of the main contributors to the obesity epidemic in the US is the fact that many American people eat very poorly. My father always says about Americans, “We eat good!” and he should know because after a quadruple bypass he still goes to Taco Bell. While eating quantities large enough to sustain not only ourselves but maybe even 2 or 3 people, for some is the epitome of “eating good” but for me (and probably some nutritionists) it represents eating poorly. Eating poorly in my book means eating too much food loaded with salt, sugar, fat and preservatives. The food is packed with calories but not necessarily with nutrition. Eating well would be eating fresh food, fruit and vegetables as well as keeping salt, sugar, fat and protein intake within an acceptable range. Maybe a better question than why Americans are so fat would be why Americans eat so poorly.

Why do Americans eat so poorly?

It is hard to say. As a society, we have all the information we need to make healthy choices. We are probably the best informed consumers in the world. We are taught good nutrition at school and every food product contains fully transparent information on the label. Why do we make such bad choices?

To start to understand the problem, I welcome you to my hometown grocery store, which is in fact not a grocery store but a Wal-Mart Supercenter. The grocery section takes up one corner of the store. It is found directly on your right after entering, getting your shopping cart, and being officially welcomed by the Walmart Welcomer. On Misiu’s first visit he was in awe of the cracker aisle. He is not a huge fan of crackers but just the fact that there is a whole aisle just for crackers impressed him. There is a small fresh produce section, a meat and cheese area, a bakery, a dairy section, an aisle with staples such as flour, sugar and cooking oil and all the rest of the aisles are dedicated to things to drink and snack on and processed foods. (In this store the paper and cleaning products and shampoo and things like that are located in another part of the store) Most of the shelf space is dedicated to processed food, in fact. More and more shelf space in Polish supermarkets is dedicated to processed foods as well (Gorący Kubek, Pomysł na..) but not on the same scale.

I knew that we were going to have a problem with food right from the yogurt on the airplane on the way from Poland to the US. Although we were traveling from here to there, our breakfast yogurt for some reason was from the US. Misiu took one bite, said “What is this garbage?” and put it on my tray apparently thinking that I am genetically programmed as an American to eat garbage (Misiu actually said shit not garbage but I am trying to clean up my act). The yogurt looked like any other yogurt but it was incredibly sweet and had kind of a fatty texture leaving a feeling of fat on the roof of my mouth (as if you’ve eaten a spoon of Crisco shortening). Probably if you ate it everyday you wouldn’t notice the sweetness. That is the one of the problems with the food industry in the US. Sweet things are sweeter. Salty things are saltier. Fatty things are fattier. And just about everything is processed. Ok, Ok, all that processed food does have an ingredient list on the label and also a nutritional information breakdown. Once again, I stress that American consumers have the most information probably of any food shoppers in the world. Theoretically, we should be able to quickly see that this product or that is basically shit and we shouldn’t eat it. However, the information is usually given by serving size which is often unrealistically small, like a jar of soup which I would eat myself contains 4 portions according to the label. So I am not consuming the amount of salt, sugar and fat in one portion as stated on the label but 4 times that much as I down the whole jar. So what, you say, just choose another product. That is another problem. All the products are the same.

Back to our Wal-Mart shopping. We headed past the bakery items until we found the produce section which was considerably small for a shop so large. Alone in the produce section, we started searching for apples. We found them in plastic and styrofoam packs of 4. I don’t remember the price, but I do remember that it made me look twice, not to mention that later when I ate those apples my lips swelled up (after washing) from whatever had been sprayed on them. But they sure did look perty!

Next on our list was orange juice. I’m not too particular but I wanted to buy a carton of orange juice that had only orange juice inside of it. The juice options were vast, with calcium or without, with vitamin D or without and even with extra pulp if we so desired. All we wanted was juice with no sugar added. I found a big carton labeled for kids which said NO SUGAR ADDED and was disturbed to find out that it contained saccharrin. We finally found one with just juice, only to realize the next day at the breakfast table that it was not exactly what we had been looking for. Misiu said that there was something wrong with the juice. I tasted it. It was a bit sweet but I thought maybe it was the kind of oranges they used. I sat down and studied the carton until I found “concentrated for sweetness” in teeny tiny writing after the asterisk next to the slogan “Naturally Sweet”. I got up walked to the water facet and added some water. Problem solved, but how many people would do that? Few, I imagine. I myself would probably stop doing it after awhile too and thus drink more sweetness than I had intended.

We cruised the whole store oohing and aahing over the huge packages of goodies calling out to us. We found an enormous package of chips called “The Weekender” or something like that. It contained 3 pounds of potato chips! 3 pounds!!! The largest pack of chips you can buy in Poland, chips “TV PAK” is 165 grams + a current promotion of an additional 30 grams gratis which isn’t even a half a pound. Anyhow, we finished our shopping and after getting home we started to do some analysis. Yes, ‘cause we are interesting like that. The final result of our analysis was that it is cheaper to buy garbage. Not only was the fresh food section of the market poorly stocked, it was also relatively expensive. Right now here in Poland in my Polish kitchen, I am staring at about 200 apples from one apple tree in my yard that I don’t know what to do with. I’ve pawned off as many as possible on my neighbors and the girls’ nanny, my in-laws and I’ve made an apple pie (and eaten an apple pie) everyday for the last week. Those apples were free (well sort of) but I wouldn’t have any problem finding or buying the same amount of apples here in Poland. Why does fresh produce cost so much in the US? I’m not talking about organic. I’m just talking about the difference between an apple and an apple pie from McDonald’s. I read an article somewhere that in some locations in the US there will be something like “fruit and vege” trucks operating like ice cream trucks to supply some areas with the fruit and vege they can’t find at the local store. Gawd, it is sad that is has come to that, but bravo to whomever thought of the travelling fruit and vege truck. The next problem is get people to buy it.

Back to my US hometown with only one grocery store. We do however have 2 McDonald’s, a Burger King, a Pizza Hut, a Taco Bell, a Subway, an Arbie’s, a Wendy’s and probably more that I can’t remember. These restaurants if you can call them that are a fast hamburgerand cheap answer for the overworked American family that doesn’t have time to shop and cook and sit down together for a family dinner. Do Polish people work any less? Do they have more time to cook? Do they have more money to spend on fresh ingredients? I cannot see that Polish people work less or have more time to cook. In my experience, my friends here in Poland just organize their time a little differently. A lot of us with children find ourselves at 9pm or later in the kitchen preparing dinner for the next day. Maybe it is just a habit or social pressure to be a good homemaker,to live up to the Matka Polka ideal. Many Polish ladies (and myself) are struggling with that issue today. Polish people definitely don’t have more money (Gross monthly minimum wage in Poland is 1276 PLN which is about 450 USD) Apples are cheap but fast food isn’t. In Poland, it is still cheaper to make dinner yourself. Even if you paid yourself for the time it takes to make the dinner, it still comes out cheaper for most people. Having said that, homemade does not always equate healthy either. Exhibit A would be dinner at my in-laws. A typical dinner would be breaded chicken breasts fried in butter with salt or another flavoring aid added to the breading, potatoes swimming in butter and/or cream with a soup spoon of salt added to the pot and some kind of vegetable or salad. Last week it was fried cabbage containing a half a block of butter, bacon and another soup spoon of salt plus another of sugar. Once my mother-in-law called me while I was on the way to her place and asked me to pick up a kilogram of salt from the store. She was out of salt and couldn’t cook dinner. I brought her the salt and she said she was set for the next month. The next month! I bought a kilogram of salt 8 years ago and I still have most of it. Does salt go bad? Maybe I’ll throw it out and buy a new bag.

So the fast food/junk food is cheaper in the US and that’s why they eat so much, right? Well, not exactly. If it is cheap to eat a huge pile of food it stands to reason that it would be even cheaper to not eat it, so we cannot rely on that explanation alone. Also how many mega-rich reality TV stars have I seen stuffing their faces with food from the drive-thru. Sorry, but if I were a rich pop star or hotel fortune heiress there is no way I would eat that stuff. I don’t eat it now so I especially would not do it if I had money to eat the best of the best. I am now re-thinking my idea of it is cheap to eat a pile of food but even cheaper not to eat it. That is true that the pile of food costs x amount of dollars and not eating it costs nothing but is it half cheaper to eat only half? I remember my last visit in McDonald’s in America when I actually ordered something (my last-last visit was with some friends and I couldn’t order anything-the place was so filthy). I ordered a burger, small fries and small Coke. I was informed that it would be cheaper to order from the value menu which meant a Big Mac or 2 burgers, a huge fries and a bucket of Coke. I explained that I couldn’t eat all of that. The response, “So what it is cheaper. You can throw it away.” Thus, it wasn’t cheaper to eat half. It was cheaper to eat more. And that brings us to the problem of portion control in America.

Why do you eat and when do you stop?

I eat when I am hungry and I stop when I am not hungry anymore, not when I am full no matter how much food is on my plate. I try not to eat when I am not hungry and I try not to stuff myself. Of course, I sometimes eat too much and I snack and I eat cake and cookies sometimes and even chips. I use the internal cue of my own hunger to start eating and the satisfaction of that hunger to stop eating. Many people use the external cue of portions to determine how much they eat. In Poland, you’d probably be ok with that but in the US portion sizes are much larger and more dense with calories (additional fat and sugar) resulting in a larger and denser YOU!

Back in the days before my kids, I even used to go out to restaurants, the real ones with menus and waiters and napkins. In Poland when I order dinner, I can eat the whole dinner and even a little bit more actually. The last time we ate in the US, we ordered appetizers and dinner. After the appetizers arrived, we cancelled our dinner order. We watched as the family next to us piled their plates high at the salad bar and then went back for more. They were behaving like gluttons and were totally unembarrassed. Being gluttonous is not embarrassing in America (all-you-can-eat buffets, need I say more) but in Poland it would make people talk. One American acquaintance of mine in Poland who is very overweight does her shopping in several different shops just so she can avoid the stares that she thinks are saying –Hey, is that all just for you? It all is just for her but she can’t stand the stares which she never thought about in the US. Her embarrassment isn’t enough to lose weight (she is happy with her weight) or to stop buying all that stuff. I, on the other hand, am lazy. In fact that is my diet plan. I am too lazy to go to the store and buy something. Heck, I am too lazy to go to the kitchen to get something to eat. Embarrassment also works on me. When I go out with my Polish girlfriends, I eat much less than when I go out in America with my American friends. One reason is the portion sizes but another is the size of my friends. No one wants to be the biggest in the group and then eat a lot on top of that, but if everyone is bigger (even a little) and eats more then I can join in. What is considered normal in Poland is often called skinny or even once I was called malnourished (Don’t they have food over there in Europe?) in the US. What is considered overweight in the US would draw comments in Poland.

When I was pregnant, I was neither too lazy nor too embarrassed to eat and gained about 12-15 kilograms (26-33 pounds) during each pregnancy. I remember my doctor telling me as I reached the 10 kg mark in about the 7 month of pregnancy that I should lay off the chocolate. He explained that gaining too much weight was bad for me and my baby and would make the birth more difficult. I informed him that my chocolate consumption was none of his business, but he did have a point. How many doctors in the US tell their pregnant patients to watch their weight? When I was shopping for maternity clothes, the shop assistant brought me a medium that I could not have fit into even if I had not been pregnant. I laughed and wondered out loud who could wear such sizes. She informed me that their biggest sellers were sizes small and extra small. I took my large and got the heck out of there.

What has been happening to the sizes in the US? If you look at the sizes in people’s closets, you just might think that the American population is shrinking not expanding. I personally have got GAP jeans in my wardrobe spanning a decade or more. The oldest and the “largest” pair is a size 6. There are a couple of 4’s, a lot of 2’s and even a 0. Soon they will be running into the negative numbers. I distinctly remember in high school buying a GAP size 8.

I never really thought about the fact that someone was overweight or not until I left the US. My first time abroad I got a feeling of something being different (other than the obvious different country, different language thing) but I couldn’t quite put my finger on it. It was the lack of larger people on the streets. Poland, don’t feel left out, you still have more public drunkenness than in the US. I have started to think about it lately because more and more of my students go to the US on business or on vacation and I get asked about it more often. I thought I would try to write about it to get my thoughts in order so I can answer with some sense. I understand that some people are destined to be overweight. But 64% of the population in the US as overweight and 26% of those as obese is not some people. That’s getting closer and closer to all people. When I look back at my primary school photos there was one “fat kid” in the class (I know, kids are cruel because for a year or 2 that fat kid was me). I’m afraid of what the class pictures must look like now. But we cannot blame the kids. It is their parents that have taught them how to eat. When we were kids, my sister and I were allowed to split one small glass bottle of Coca-cola per week. I don’t know if it was because it was expensive or because it was a bottle of liquid sugar. Tap water in Poland is not really drinkable. I try to ignore the amount of money I spend on drinking water, but even if Coke was 10 times cheaper I wouldn’t switch over.

In America, many people stick to the illusion that their status of overweight is either temporary (I’m really a thin person) or genetic (I don’t eat anything). While I do believe that there are tendencies for some people to be larger than others, you cannot get to 400 pounds by not eating anything. After having my children, I returned more or less to my pre-pregnancy weight. I gave myself maximum a year to do it and I achieved my goal. The weight doesn’t look the same as it did before, but I’m satisfied. Some of my American friends refer constantly to their baby weight, that they can’t lose their baby weight. If your child can walk and talk, ride a bike and go to school, you cannot use the baby weight excuse anymore. It is just plain weight, drop the baby part. I won’t lie and say that I wanted to lose my baby weight just for me. I wanted to lose it because most of my friends in Poland who have had children are thinner after having a baby than they were before. Yep, that’s right, thinner.

If you are overweight that state may have snuck up on you over the years with a little extra potatoes here and a little too much pie there, but the fact that you are overweight shouldn’t be big news unless you are Misiu. I have many ways of monitoring my weight. First, I can weigh myself. Next, I can see how my clothes fit, or don’t fit to be more precise. I can look at myself or look in the mirror. Lastly, I could calculate my BMI. Misiu, on the other hand, is able to ignore the sensory intake of all the methods of monitoring his weight except the last one, the BMI. He recently returned home from work with the shocking information that he is overweight! “Really, how did you know?”, I asked. “I calculated my BMI!” he shouted.

Misiu does not consider himself politically correct and also is not exactly tactful. If you ask him why he has a little extra around the middle he will tell you exactly why. He eats more calories than he burns. He knows exactly how to lose weight too. He has to burn more calories than he eats. It is simple but not easy. One Christmas in America, we were invited to my cousin’s house for a family get-together. I couldn’t wait to go as my mother and I had been cooking all day, but she wouldn’t let us eat anything. “It’s for tomorrow,” she said. When we arrived at my cousin’s in the evening I said hello to everyone and then dived into the buffet table. My cousin (weighing in at my estimation 130 kilograms about 280 pounds) asked surprised if I eat like that everyday. I replied that I do and continued to stuff my face. Misiu on the other hand would not touch the beef that I was inhaling. “Chris,” he said, “ you shouldn’t be able to cut beef with a fork. What’s in that meat to make it like that?” Hmm, I hadn’t thought about that. My cousin started the topic that she wished she could eat like that and stay so slim but with her genetics (mine too, we are 1st cousins) it was impossible. I highly doubted that considering the fact that she had doubled her weight in just 10 years but I replied something like, “Yes everyone is different…” so on and so on. My cousin defends, “I have even tried not eating anything but even that doesn’t work.” Misiu, always the diplomat states, “You didn’t do it long enough. For sure if you didn’t eat anything for a month, you’d see results.” The evil eye was shot at him from around the room. He had broken the rules. He tried to break the illusion. I commented something like not eating anything isn’t healthy (because it isn’t) and that it can wreak havoc on your metabolism (because it can). My cousin agreed but Misiu stated that their is nothing wrong with being hungry from time to time. My cousin continued on with the conversation to which Misiu gave the true if not distasteful observation that there were no fat people at Oswięcim. Luckily, he said it in Polish and my cousin was not paying attention to him by that point. We are not very good guests. We come to your house, insult you and eat all your beef. (Oswięcim is the Polish name of the city where the German concentration camp Aushwitz was located)

Food in the US is also more and more a form of entertainment or recreation or even comfort as the phrase “comfort food” can attest to. Is there a similar phrase in Polish? Misiu calls food ads in the US food porn. Graphic images of ooey gooey cheese or chocolate but no images of people actually consuming the food. Is it shameful to eat? Most of the ads are for fast food chains or other processed foods full of preservatives and other additives that cheese pizza make the food taste so darn good. Some ads show what a good time can be had in connection to that food. Our food, if not part of a balanced breakfast, is at least part of a happy childhood. When I tell people that my children do not eat at McDonald’s they look at me as if I am denying my children something essential to life. A new McDonald’s is being built near our apartment in the City, so we have opened the dialogue with our children that some people like to eat there but we do not. Lizzie had one opportunity as a guest at her friend’s house to try some McD’s food. She didn’t like it (except for the juice box and toy) so we are using that fact to our advantage. One thing is that our McD’s is going to have a killer playground. Generally, the McD’s looks quite nice. The last McD’s I visited in the US was so filthy that I didn’t even want to sit down let alone eat something there. Misiu says that with a 64% rate of overweight folks in America, McD’s doesn’t have to be nice or clean anymore, they’ve done their job. When do we decide that it is ok to give our kids garbage to eat? When do we switch from the Gerber jars to the Happy Meal? Why are we so careful with our babies and breastfeed them and then give them juice boxes which make their tongues blue?

I don’t know where to fit this into the rest of the information but how must someone feel physically who eats the typical American diet. I imagine tired, sluggish, gray, fuzzy, bloated. Not to get too graphic but I suppose you’d have terrible gastric problems in addition to immunity issue, skin problems, yeast problems.

One thing I would never say to an overweight person is that you cannot possibly be hungry. I know that for me the more weight that I carry, the hungrier I get. The larger the portion I eat now, the hungrier I will be later. I saw a program on the Discovery channel that said that stored fat on our bodies in an attempt at self-preservation produces enzymes which spur on our appetites. Scary!

Of course, if you watch other channels and not just the Discovery channel you might think that everyone in America is tall and thin with perfect teeth and meticulously groomed eyebrows. Even in the background scenes you can see people riding their bikes, jogging, rollerblading. In my hometown, Misiu looked at me as if I were a crazy person when I explained to him that we had to drive from the gas station to Wal-Mart because there were no crosswalks. Forget about sidewalks. There was no way to cross the street at a busy intersection. And that’s another reason why Americans have weight issues. We don’t exercise as much as we should and are not embarrassed to drive from one end of the shopping center to the other. On TV, we would jog or rollerblade or ride our bikes from one end of the shopping center to the other wearing super white tennis shorts to match our super white smile. Maybe that’s what inspires all the questions from my students. Maybe it is the difference between what they see on TV, the TV America, and the real America that causes the confusion.

My last student who came back from a business trip in the US couldn’t wait to ask me something. Here it comes I thought and I started to answer the question before he even asked. “No, Chris,” he said, “we don’t want to know that. We want to know why you sell mini-skirts in a size XXXL?” Well, why the heck not? That’s one good thing about America, the freedom to buy a mini-skirt in size XXXL. If you think you can work that mini-skirt, then work it girl!

Tuesday, September 22, 2009

Fell asleep at 28…

Sometimes I feel like I fell asleep at 28 and woke up at 35. Some of the last things I remember about my old life: my parents came to visit us, we went on vacation to Turkey (my last appearance topless in public that didn’t involve a doctor or breastfeeding), we started to look for an apartment to buy and we went to the doctor to make sure everything was ok with us so that we could start trying to get pregnant. Then I got sick. Incorrect diagnoses and shot-in-the dark treatments lasted almost 2 years. After a proper diagnosis, real treatment lasted another two. Then I had to be weaned from the meds and totally detox myself at the very end of treatment. After receiving a clean bill of health from my doctor(s), we started trying again. It didn’t quite work the first time so after one failed pregnancy, we tried again. It worked and 9 months later we had a Lizzie. When Lizzie was one year old, we were pregnant with Rosie. In the meantime, we bought that apartment and also a housek (house + domek = housek). We haven’t been on vacation anywhere and my parents have not visited again. And here I am, 35 years old and I can’t remember how I got here or who I am.