Authors: Jenny McCarthy
Stirring the Pot (6 page)
“You might want to look underneath me if you are missing something. Playing hide-and-seek is the only fun I get to have. So far I’m hiding one earring, two remote controls, one of Evan’s shoes, and your ‘back massager.’ ”
“I’m not a maxi pad. Mark a calendar and come to bed prepared, girl!”
“Tell Evan’s friend Mikey that I’m not a trampoline. Next time I’m gonna make it hurt.”
“You are multitalented: you snore, you fart, and you talk in your sleep.”
“Even though boys may come and go, I’ve got your back, girl. Literally.”
1. You have strong feelings about the way Dora the Explorer treats Boots.
2. Most of the food you eat is off your child’s face.
3. There is a Go-Gurt or a juice box in your car door.
4. You haven’t had an alcoholic cocktail in two years.
5. You bite someone at Walmart for taking the sale item you wanted.
6. You tell your husband you’re not going to blow him unless he eats all his broccoli.
7. You use your spit to wipe something off a friend’s face.
8. At the end of the day you’re wondering what letter brought the day to you.
9. You wear a macaroni necklace out to dinner.
10. You check your husband’s bum to be sure he wiped properly.
I grew up on the South Side of Chicago, and we liked our meals big in them parts. This was years before serving sizes and processed foods and calorie counting were a big part of the lexicon. Not in my family, anyway. Our test for a meal’s worth was portion size. Roadside diners always got high marks; I gained the nickname “Truck Driver” because of the way I could put away the mounds of food they served at their counters.
Later in life, I gained something else: about eighty pounds in pregnancy. I read somewhere that the average weight of checked baggage is fifty pounds, and I can tell you it sure felt as though I was dragging around an extra suitcase or two—on my ass. My high-water mark was 211 pounds. It turned out that Evan’s adorable body only accounted for six of them. The other goop that was in there added up to another ten pounds; I left the hospital at 195.
Evan didn’t mind my doughy body. He didn’t
judge. But producers judge and casting directors judge and magazine editors judge. I don’t care what some celebrities say about not paying attention to tabloid headlines—no one
wants
to see her ass or thigh magnified (with a circle or arrow making sure everyone sees the cellulite) on the cover of a magazine. If I was going to stay in show business, I obviously needed to get busy losing some weight.
My mom had had success with Weight Watchers, so I decided to give it a whirl. The portion control portion of the program made sense to me, and I could get my limited brain bandwidth (babies suck the intelligence right out of you) around the point system. I also liked that they didn’t overdo the lecture about having to work out as well. I mean, one thing at a time, right? Weight Watchers worked for me. I lost all my baby weight. I even became a spokesperson for the program for a while. I can’t argue with the results, even if I often wanted to gnaw off my baby’s pudgy arm on days when I’d consumed all my allotted points by 2:00 p.m.
I’ve also tried a lot of fad diets when I’ve had to get “red carpet ready” (how I loathe HD—a girl can’t get away with anything anymore!).
I tend to do a juice cleanse in early January every year even if it seems to make me more toxic … to be around, anyway.
On the first day of the cleanse my hunger is predictably persistent but low-grade. I think about food with great fondness; not being able to chew anything makes me a little blue. The second day I am a hangry bitch. For those of you not versed in diet-speak, “hangry” is hungry + angry. In other words, short-tempered, headachy, and
in no mood to deal with your shit
. Day three is supposed to bring me renewed energy and internal lightness, but all I feel is dizzy and disoriented. By day five I’m googling for pictures of food like a porn addict. Every year I swear I won’t do this again, but every year I do it anyway.
More recently I’ve discovered something totally, mind-blowingly, life-alteringly revolutionary: vegetables fill my belly without making my butt big. I can eat them to my heart’s content and the only thing I might get is gassy.
Not news to you? Well, when I was growing up, the potato was the only vegetable we ate regularly (fried, baked, mashed, and hashed), so you’ll have to forgive my awe and excitement over the variety now available in the produce aisle. With the range of color, shapes, and sizes, it’s like the bra and panty section in department stores. Vegetables like carrots and broccoli and peas are the equivalent of granny panties—familiar, comfortable, and easy to put on (the table). Artichokes
and eggplant and fennel? More like silky lingerie—I eat/wear them often but not so much that they become uninteresting. Then there are the more exotic vegetables—kohlrabi, bok choy, or mustard greens—that are kind of like the Swarovski-bedazzled bras and thongs only available at the Victoria’s Secret runway show. Pull those out on rare, rare occasions and wow someone with your ability to rock his world!
The most nutritious, generally low-calorie, and easiest way to make any vegetable into a meal? Put it into a pot with some broth and a protein and
ba-bam—
soup. Another earth-shattering revelation for me!
I know what you’re thinking: soup is a watery appetizer, the skippable section of restaurant menus. Until I began experimenting with soup, I would have agreed with you. But now soup works for me on so many levels. There’s the one-pot thing, for starters. You can make vats of it and not dirty a lot of pots and pans. Almost all soups freeze well—perfect for people like me who only want to devote one afternoon to stocking up on what I’ll eat for the whole week. And there’s the fact that my energy level is way up and my weight has stayed down while I’ve been eating as much soup as I could ever want. Oh, and eat soup regularly and you’ll be regular: my bowels are in the best shape of my life.
I know this is getting a little carried away with the metaphor, but the humble soup is a lot like life. Good soups use simple, basic ingredients, are easy to modify with whatever you happen to have in your own personal pantry, most often get better with age (more flavor with each passing day), and can not only feed large gatherings of people but also nourish the soul. I have stacks of one-serving containers of my homemade frozen soups in my cold, cold Chicago garage. People beg me for my recipes! Maybe I’ll have to write that book next.… For now, here are two of my favorite veggie soup recipes.
CARROT GINGER
Ingredients:
½-inch finger of ginger, peeled and sliced paper thin
⅓ cup hot water
1 medium onion, chopped
1 garlic clove
½ tablespoon olive oil
¼ pound carrots, peeled and diced
4 cups chicken or vegetable stock
1 teaspoon salt
¼ teaspoon black pepper
Directions:
Steep ginger in the hot water for approximately 30 minutes, then strain out the ginger pieces and reserve the water.
Sweat the garlic and onion in the oil until translucent.
Add carrots and sweat for another five minutes, stirring occasionally.
Add the stock to the pot, bring to a boil and then reduce to simmer until the carrots are fork tender.
Add the ginger water to the pot.
Puree the soup and season to taste with salt and pepper.
NO-CREAM OF BROCCOLI
Ingredients:
2 tablespoons Not-Butter Earth Balance Spread
1 onion, roughly chopped
2 garlic cloves, minced
½ tablespoon olive oil
4 cups chicken or vegetable stock
1 head broccoli with most of the stems trimmed off
1 russet potato, peeled and roughly chopped
1 teaspoon salt
¼ teaspoon black pepper
Directions:
Lightly sauté the onions and garlic in the oil until translucent.
Add the broccoli florets and the potato, sauté for about 5 minutes.
Add the stock and continue to simmer until the broccoli and potatoes are tender.
Puree the soup and season to taste with salt and pepper.
If I ever write a book about staying thin, getting in shape, or being in the “optimal wellness zone” (does anyone really know what those books are about?), I would call it
The Souper Skinny Soup Diet Cookbook
. All of my recipes would be gluten- and dairy-free. That is, mostly fart-free. Here are some I might include:
A playful twist on Gwyneth’s preciously packaged, über-healthy, gold-plated cooking style. (Chef’s tip: stock up on air freshener for the bathroom before making this deliciously perfect pipe cleaner!)
A colon-cleansing concoction that draws heavily on detoxifying herbs and veggies to clean out the garbage truck your body has become.
A lean and green version of Italian wedding soup (that is, no meatballs, lots of kale), tailored to help you lose weight quickly but not harshly. It’ll also give your complexion an antioxidant-fueled glow, so you’ll look great in your BFF’s wedding photos (though not in that atrocious dress!).
When you’ve got only about six weeks to get your bod ready for its close-up, this pea-based soup is just the ticket! It’s a moderately fast fat burner. You’ll lose weight without losing your mind. (Chef’s note: This soup can’t protect your mind once you’re in Las Vegas, but at least your ass will look good.)
Nothing’s worse than being taken for someone who’s seven months pregnant. Nothing. This waist-whittling white-bean-and-broccoli preparation will help you lose weight at a sane pace, with the added benefit of giving you the kind of gas that will shut everyone up.
Wondering whether you are in need of my weight-loss cookbook (see
this page
)? Here are some clear indications that it would be a good idea:
1. You think you find a new mole on your boob, but it’s a Raisinet.
2. You eat the warm boob Raisinet.
3. You wear yoga pants everywhere except to do yoga.
4. You eat Lean Cuisine meals as snacks.
5. You try the dog’s food because it smells so good. Mmmm,
bacon
!
6. You think you may have a thyroid condition.
7. You drive back to a fast-food restaurant because they forgot your sauce.
8. Every time you go grocery shopping they have to ring up at least two empty containers of something.
9. You burn your mouth at least once a week.
10. You ate your edible underwear.
RECIPE FOR SUCCESS
Ingredients:
3 cups gut instinct
A long, hard look in the mirror
The willingness to pay attention to what your gut instinct or the mirror is trying to tell you
1 girlfriend who will confirm your gut instinct or be your mirror
“The Gambler” on your playlist