We’re in Disney this weekend for the Food Blog Forum. People are often surprised that a world traveling family like ours would be Disney fans, but we do enjoy a Disney long weekend. Getting a life size Pooh bear hug is a pretty great experience and the Magic Kingdom fireworks never fail to make me cry. Walking around Epcot is obviously not the same as strolling through the streets of Paris, but the Disney imagineers do an amazing job of recreating details from around the world. We’ve had the opportunity to travel here more than normal thanks to blogging in the past five years. We’re nowhere near experts, but we have our favorites and what we consider our insider tips that I thought I’d share.

Tip #1

My biggest tip is that you don’t need reservations to get a really fun character meal for your kids. The best character meals at Disney are at the Grand Floridian and can be had the day of without a reservation.

Tip #2

Here’s a guide to the street food and drink at Epcot.

Tip #3

And lastly, here’s a review of the Bistro de Paris: fine French dining at Disney.

Bored during a stupefyingly hot summer afternoon, my cousin and I decided to spy on my grandmother Lola. We wiggled our eight-year old bodies feet first under her bed and began to wait. Sunlight snaked through the slats of her wooden shutters into the darkened room and dust danced in the makeshift spotlights. My grandmother’s room wasn’t exactly off limits, but it was generally understood that we needed a good reason to enter her inner sanctum. We usually saw no reason to violate her privacy, but that day, we were on a mission. It wasn’t until we were committed and hidden that I began to question the purpose of our mission.

I turned to my cousin as best as I could under the heavy slats of my grandmother’s antique wooden bed and asked him to explain again what we were hoping to see in our spying mission. He whispered back that we wanted to see her put on her breasts. “Put on her breasts?” I asked, “Why does she need to put on breasts? Doesn’t she have breasts on her chest, just like our moms?” He looked at me, surprised that I didn’t know this family secret. “Don’t you know? She lost her breasts. The cancer took them.”

Our mission was soon aborted by boredom and we slivered out of my grandmother’s room a little dusty but unburdened by the guilt of committing a hideous violation of my grandmother’s privacy. But even without seeing her prosthetics, I never looked at my strong grandmother the same way again. The following summer, my breasts took on a life of their own, rubbing painfully against inflatable mattresses and a great source of entertainment for my male cousins. It was my first time feeling truly different as a woman, and I spent many hours wondering about “le cancer” that had robbed my grandmother of her breasts, wondering if it would one day rob me of mine.

Twenty years later, the cancer struck again, burrowing deep in the breasts of my mother and two of her sisters, all in one year. With varying degrees of mutilation, chemo, and radiation, all three sisters survived their bout with breast cancer, but a double mastectomy is nothing like a breast augmentation. Breast cancer is a disease that left scars worse than I ever imagined.

Knowing our legacy of breast cancer, I debated whether to get tested for the BRCA genes for over a decade. I feared losing health insurance coverage if the test was positive. I feared having to undergo painful operations that would rob me of my breasts and possibly my ovaries as well. The fear was overwhelming, and I postponed the test over and over again. I viewed my breasts as not only a source of nourishment for my children, but also a threat, two blobs of fat that would inevitably make me sick. What made me a woman and a mother, also made me vulnerable and far too mortal.

The odds of a woman in the general population developing breast cancer are 12%. The odds of a woman with the BRCA1 or BRCA2 gene are 60%. The odds for ovarian cancer are 1.4% for women in the general population and jump up to 40 to 60% for those with the BRCA1 or BRCA2 genes. There is also increased risk of cervical, uterine, pancreatic and colon cancer.  (Cancer.org Facts on BRCA genes) Angelina Jolie’s risk was 87% for breast cancer and 50% for ovarian. The odds vary for each woman.

Finally, two months ago, my ob made the decision for me. He interrupted our third long discussion of the pros and cons of getting tested and told me, “You need to know. The result will affect the medical decisions we make for you. For your family, for your daughters, you need to know. We’ll do the test, right now, in the office. It will take you five minutes, and you’ll finally know.”

Waiting for the results was the hardest part of being tested for the BRCA gene. It took six long weeks to get a quick call from my doctor’s office, informing me that I was not a carrier of the BRCA gene. I was pulled over at a red light, in the middle of the chaos of after school activity car pools, and I suddenly felt like this huge weight I had been carrying on my shoulders for years was lifted from me. No BRCA gene. No preventative mastectomy or hysterectomy. No passing on a legacy of fear to my three daughters.

My family and I are finally free from the fear of BRCA. My vigilance against breast cancer hasn’t changed. I still do routine breast exams and yearly mammograms, but I sleep easier, knowing my odds are a little lower, knowing that any action I take will be reactive rather than radical and preventative. I am glad I waited as long as I did to take the test, waited to feel like my family was complete, but facing that fear, and finally knowing where I stood in the genetic lottery has been one of the most wonderful gifts I’ve ever received.

“Life comes with many challenges. The ones that should not scare us are the ones we can take on and take control of.” – Angelina Jolie

These soy glazed roasted sweet potatoes were a hit with four out of six at our dinner table: wild success by my count. I’ve been thinking a lot lately about the pressure we put on ourselves to achieve 100% satisfaction at the dinner table, especially when you have picky eaters. Picky eaters complain loudly, and it’s tempting to avoid their disgusts by lowering the common denominator to try to please everyone, resorting to tried and true “favorites” like pasta with butter and chicken nuggets. This strategy of pleasing everyone just leads to bland dinners that people consume without noticing: food as fuel rather than food as pleasure. I’d much rather have an 80% satisfaction rate if that satisfaction means that more than half of those at my table are thrilled by what they’re eating. Over time, their enthusiasm will win over the remaining 20%.

Every child has picky eater moments. Even my adventurous Juju.

Some nights, all the complaining is too much for me. If you open my freezer, you’ll find bags of chicken nuggets. When my kids have friends for dinner, I rarely rock the boat. You’ll find chicken nuggets and plain pasta at our table, but never on a regular weeknight. Our family dinners are our walks on the wild side. If anyone at the table is unhappy after taking a bite, they are welcome to get up and make themselves a cold cut sandwich and eat some fruit. More often than not, laziness overcomes the fear of novelty, and the picky eater in question just eats dinner quietly and resentfully, lowering my satisfaction rate but not the rest of the family’s enjoyment of dinner.

But trying new sides like these Soy Glazed Roasted Sweet Potatoes is a relatively risk-free way to take a walk on the wild side of dinner. Making a side that no one likes is less devastating than making a bad main dish. But it’s a good way to get started, and these sweet potatoes are sweet, soft, and addictive, a real crowd pleaser, regardless of whether you’re 5 or 50.

Yesterday I was finally able to put the image of that white nasal tube out of my head.

I flew to Toronto for a quick visit today see my father during his first full day in rehab hospital. 155 days after his lung transplant, he is finally out of the hospital, working on rebuilding the strength in his legs and upper body. The rehab facility is in the outskirts of Toronto, a small building surrounded by beautiful gardens. It was a beautiful spring day and we took him for a short walk in his wheelchair. Chipmunks were darting in and out of nearby bushes and birds were singing in the trees above our heads. Seeing the sun fall on his drawn face after so many months inside made me realize how many little joys in my daily life I take for granted: walking the kids to school, barbecuing on the grill, going for a run.

He’s breathing on his own again, no longer tied to any oxygen to survive. Five months in bed have melted away his body down to skin and bones and he’s now finally at the stage where food can be an important part of his medicine. He needs fuel to do the work to regain his former mobility and strength. It’s time to fatten him up with high protein and high fat comfort food. The rehab hospital encourages food from home. They even have a small kitchen for patient families to reheat home cooked meals.

Watching him eat real food was wonderful, even though it was hospital food. He had to force himself to get the bland fare down. My dad’s wife is a stellar cook and she has a few of his favorite dishes that she can’t wait to bring him. But she could use your family’s favorite comfort foods to add to her repertoire as well. This is going to be a long road of hard work and we could use your help to keep him inspired through food. So send your favorite fattening recipes our way. Link up in the comments or email them to me chefdruck AT gmail.com. We thank you in advance.

Tacos with lemon marinated shrimp and mango salsa

When grilling season returns, we desert the taco joints and make our own at home where taco nights become al fresco affairs, with the kids running around on the lawn as we linger over our last taco. Once I’ve assembled the little bowls of fun toppings and set them on the table, the marinated steak and shrimp grill up in minutes. I love it when dinner is easy, quick, and a crowd pleaser.

Steak Tacos: perfectly cooked medium rare skirt steak with avocado, salsa, and cheese. HEAVEN!

My tacos are usually overflowing with a lot of toppings, but most of my kids like their tacos more plain. Seasoning the meat and shrimp becomes particularly important when they’re the only ingredient in the taco. Nothing too spicy, but still the right set of spices that give a particular festive summer flavor. For steak, we use a sweet Asian influenced marinade with lots of soy sauce, sesame oil, honey, lemon peel and a dash of ginger. The shrimp is also heavily citrus infused as well as garlic powder, a dash of dried jalapeno for a hint of heat and any fresh cilantro that’s ready to harvest in my newly planted garden pots.

The toppings are where the tacos can get really twisted and crazy. Sour cream, cheese, salsa, and avocado are traditional and we would never dream of leaving them out. But fruit is a great way to invite the kids to be a little more adventurous in their taco creation: kiwi, pineapple and mango are pretty  and exotic. Grilling them along with the meat and fish caramelizes them and brings out even more flavor. We’ve also included cut up grapes and roasted sweet potato chunks as part of the mix: anything to inspire the kids to make their next taco a little more loco.

What’s your favorite taco recipe? The McCormick spices Pinterest page has tons of great taco recipe ideas to get you inspired. There’s a great contest going on right now for 30 people to win a kit of assorted spices from McCormick for their future taco nights. To be entered to win, just follow the McCormick Pinterest page and repin five recipes from McCormick’s Taco Night Pinterest board to their own boards using the hashtag #McCormickTacoNight and tagging @FrenchFoodieMom in each repin. Readers who participate will be randomly selected by The Motherhood .

This post, along with the Pinterest contest is part of a taco night campaign sponsored by McCormick spices and coordinated by the Motherhood.

Jack loves the game of baseball more than any other sport. He loves the strategy, the history, and most of all, the dug out camaraderie. When we watched 42 together on opening night, he whispered the details of Jackie Robinson to me as the movie unfolded, thrilled to see his hero come to life on the big screen. He only closed his eyes for one scene, when Robinson got hit by the pitcher in the face. He huddled in his seat, face covered with his hands, saying, “I can’t watch him get pegged. It’s coming. He’s about to get hit. Tell me when it’s over.”

The pegging was personal for Jack. He’d been hit in the face by a pitch last summer in the second to last tournament of travel baseball. The ball gave him a big shiner, but also left him with a deep fear at the bat. The rest of his summer baseball games were a disaster. He ran away from the pitch, struck out and slunk back into the dug out, baseball hat shielding his eyes.

life lessons in the dug out

We hoped that a few months would get the fear out of his subconscious, but time had ground it in even deeper. He ran away from every pitch, arms out in protest, and rubbed out his tears of strike out frustration in the dug out with dusty hands. After four long and painful games, I made an appointment with a baseball coach. A little league shrink! In their hour together, he hit Jack with tennis balls. He helped him strategize how to present his shoulder to a pitch aimed too close. And he pitched to him over and over again. He forced Jack to face his fear and move beyond it.

The moment of truth – bat meets the ball.

Tonight, under a perfect spring sky, Jack got his first hit of the season. It wasn’t a home run, just a single, but you wouldn’t have known it by the reaction of his team and the parents in the stands. Everyone was shouting his name, jumping up and down, and when he made it home, all the boys rushed the dug out to clap him on the back. The joy on Jack’s face was beautiful, and it was my turn to wipe a tear discreetly. In one night, he got his confidence back, rediscovered his swing, and learned that he had the support of his entire team.

The final game score was a tie. 12-12. But Jack came out as a winner, having faced his fear and won. A life lesson in the little league dug out.

Sophie’s diet at the Olympics in London was English peas, scones and breast milk. Finally I understood what people meant when they said breast milk was more convenient than formula.

I have a new personal essay published in this month’s Chicago Parent magazine entitled My Long Road to Lactation, all about how it took me three kids to become a nursing mother. I got comfortable nursing with Juju and was a pro when Sophie arrived as a tiny preemie, ready to deal with pumps and the NICU. The moral of my story? Be kind to yourself. Take the pressure off yourself, feed your babies whatever works best for you, and be a happy and relaxed mom. Either that, or have a lot of kids for better practice.

Grab a free copy at your library, school, or wherever Chicago Parent is found. I’ll share the online article link when the current issue goes live on the website.

His words were scribbled in response to a vocabulary question, a manifesto that burst out of his pencil, filled with a passion that probably took him by surprise. They certainly shook me to my core.

Here is the poem, complete with a spelling mistake.

KIDS ARE TOO BUSY – a spontaneous poem by Jack Druckman

On Monday I do baseball and homework.
On Tuesday I do tae kwon do. and also homework.
On Wednesday I have my tudor and then I do more homework.
On Thursday more Tae Kwon Do. Piano. And homework again.
On Friday, soccer and baseball.
Then Saturday is baseball again. Sometimes I even have homework.
When do I get to be free and to do nothing? Kids are too busy.

I got on the phone immediately, of course, and took off some of the overload. Parenting is a constant juggling act, giving them enough exposure to activities without giving them too much. There needs to be time to be bored, to play, to invent, to be free. There needs to be time for joy. I am grateful for his reminder, almost lost in the sea of work in his backpack. And I am grateful for the freedom of summer, the long days that stretch into night, fireflies dancing while kids play until they drift home, dirty and happy and free at last.

Dutch Babies are a cross between a souffle and a pancake with a hint of the texture and taste of the French clafouti. Kelly’s recipe landed in my inbox at one of those turning point moments on a lazy Sunday morning. The mood was just about to turn ugly as four children began to realize they were ravenous. I was feeling too tired to stand at the stove flipping crepes while the kids fought for the right to get the next one. Kelly’s Dutch Babies looked fluffy and fun, dusted with powdered sugar, so we spontaneously decided to give them a try.

The ingredients came together in minutes in the blender. The longest part was waiting for the oven to reach 425 degrees. When the Dutch Baby came out of the oven, it was as impressive as a souffle, with sides towering above the edges of the pan. The collapse came quickly, and soon everyone was devouring warm pancake slices topped with either a generous cloud of powdered sugar or a heaping spoonful of cherry jam.

Drama in the kitchen: Juju oohing as Banana Dutch Baby Collapses.

“The Baby” has remained a breakfast favorite, and we’ve made it our own by adding caramelized bananas to the batter. With the bananas added to the milk and eggs in the batter, it truly becomes a one dish breakfast, and the caramelized bananas mesh beautifully with the sweet pancake.

I love a one dish breakfast solution packed with nourishing ingredients.

To give everyone their fill of Dutch Babies, we’re now making two pans on a Sunday morning: one plain and one banana. Then I can crawl back to the couch to read my Sunday New York Times in peace while the kids disappear to play with full bellies.

Although I’m a big fan of Michael Pollan, I was a tad apprehensive. I was tired, mind churning with the planning to get through the busy week that would begin in the morning. I wasn’t in the mood to worry about the future, to feel guilty about eating too much meat, about not buying local enough, about not holding up my end of the bargain to fix the food crisis in the United States.  But I went home inspired, buoyed by Pollan’s optimistic tone and the simple message of his latest book, “Cook more. It’s good for you, and it’s good for the earth.”

Pollan’s latest book bridges the gap between the subject of his two biggest best sellers: Food (In Defense of Food) and Eating (the Omnivore’s Dilemma) by discussing the importance of cooking. By his own admission, “this is not a cookbook of 20 minute recipes.” Instead, Cooked is a celebration of cooking. Pollan’s discussion was filled with wonderful quotes about the importance of cooking:

The most important thing you can do with your health is cook. Cooking is more powerful than any medication.

Cooking is so central to our definition as humans. It’s what separates us from animals. THe discovery of fire and its use with cooking completely change our evolutionary curve, enabling us to shrink our guts and grow our brains.

 

The cook fire tamed us and socialized us by giving us the institution of the meal.

Poor women who cook have better health than rich women who don’t.

Cooking food creates a profound web of relationships, connecting us to each other and to the earth.

The book, which I can’t wait to read, is separated into the four types of cooking transformations: fire, water, air, and earth. It’s also filled with interesting anecdotes about the evolution of cooking through history and terrifying facts about the decline in cooking today. All in all, a manifesto to get people in the kitchen, a mission I share and the motivation behind this blog.

In many ways, the most exciting part of the discussion took place during the Q&A. That’s when Pollan had some surprising answers and statements. The first statement was when he was speaking about the next challenge of the good food movement: democratizing good food and making it available for all. He mentioned that the good food movement has not given enough credit to frozen vegetables and even canned vegetables in encouraging people to eat healthy all year round. As good local produce is only available all year round in a handful of locations in America, the championing of farmers’ markets and CSAs has been a very incomplete solution to improving our eating. Finally acknowledging that there’s nothing wrong with turning to the freezer case for peas, broccoli, and green beans for most of the year was beautiful vindication to my ears.

The second exciting answer was when Pollan was asked about his thoughts on the future of farming. I’ll try to repeat here as accurately as I scribbled it,

I think we’re going to see changes in farming, but we’re moving forward and not going back. Farmers out there are inventing new ways of doing sustainable agriculture, and it’s not all about organic.

This food system is not doing what it is supposed to be doing which is making food that keeps us healthy. Fertility [of the soil] is declining. Crops are not working as well as they used to. It is just not sustainable. WE annot continue to pump animals full of antibiotics.

I don’t doubt that in 50 years, we will see a different kind of agriculture. We need to foster research to support that. Farmers need all the help they can get to survive global warming. There is opportunity for farmers even in a corn and bean state like Illinois. Food service and healthy fast food is big dollars compared to farmers markets.

Closing on such a positive note was invigorating. It seems like the food revolution we all want may be further along than we thought. And if we can reverse the trend of eating on the run, bringing back a slow food mentality to this country, one homecooked meal at a time, that seems like a pretty wonderful way to continue to revolutionize our food system.