JAN 22, 2006

THE DISH OF DEATH: MORE FOODS TO AVOID

I realize I’m fortunate.  I can eat pretty much anything I like.  Sure, salad can torment my colon, and on more than one occasion too-spicy or too-coarse foods have left their marks of discomfort the next day.  But there are people with Crohn’s who can’t have any gluten, others who cannot consume lactose, and some for whom raspberries, strawberries or anything with seeds is explicitly forbidden.  Me, though, well, I can eat pretty much anything, at least in moderation.  There’s nothing that is completely prohibited, though sometimes, when I am feeling like a picky, spoiled four-year-old, it is convenient to imagine that I must not come within arm’s length of raw vegetables. 

Last summer, I spent almost two weeks in the hospital, and when I was released — and that is the right term, “released,” as one releases an animal from a trap or a wrongly-convicted prisoner from jail — the hospital nutritionist gave me a sheet listing foods I should eat and those I should avoid. 

At first, I didn’t even look at it.  I know that a sore gut calls for soft, bland foods.  Soup.  Porridge.  Apple sauce.  White bread with creamy peanut butter.  Overcooked potatoes and well-done chicken.  Anything with the consistency of marshmallows and the taste of rubber.  I’m not new to this.   

A previous trip to the hospital, several years ago, had netted me (among my collection of brochures and leaflets) a sheet that the nutritionist had clearly printed from the internet without reading.

Eat meat, it said.  Eat meat rich in iron and not too fatty, it said.  Such meats include beef, bison, elk and squirrel, it said. 

Honestly, it listed squirrel. 

So, never one to disobey the commands of medical experts, I went down to Jim’s Shotgun Shack, got a rifle, and picked off some particularly large critters, ones that looked like they were packed with iron and acorns and other good stuff.  Fried ’em up.  Put ’em in a sandwich. . . .

OK, that part was a lie.  What I really did was think, “If you’re going to give patients stuff you got straight from Ask Jeeves [this was before Google], at least paste it into a Word document so that that the URL, www.apatheticnutritionist.net doesn’t print at the top.” 

Fine, that was a lie, too.  What I really, really did was stop reading and decide never to listen to nutritionists ever again.  I know what I need.  Vitamins and minerals and calories.  Lots of all three. 

After my most recent hospitalization, however, I was in pretty bad shape, so I thought perhaps it would be wise to consider what the nutritionist had to say.  I mean, I was broomstick-skinny.  You could see my bellybutton through my back.  Clearly, some careful consideration of food consumption was in order.  There would be lots of doughnuts and milkshakes, I resolved, in spite of the surprising absence of these items on my list of foods that I was to eat in abundance. 

Meat appeared on the list, as before, but no squirrel or other varieties not commonly found in your grocer’s freezer.  Nuts were out, as were whole grains and the familiar green leafy villains.  White bread and canned fruit were approved, along with pretty much everything else that might be considered “overly processed.”  Clearly, my can opener and I would become great friends. 

As I scanned the list, I tried to figure out what would be the worst possible food to consume, the Dish of Death that would surely vanquish my colon in an instant.  Pizza, cheeseburgers and anything greasy seemed to rank high on the list, but the truly ideal Dish of Death had to have all of the varieties of gastrointestinal torture. 

It must me spicy.  It must include seeds and/or nuts, as well as fresh vegetables.  It must be laden in grease.  It should, ideally, include potato or tortilla chips, which, according to my list, occupied their own little circle of hell-on-the-gut for their potent combination of coarseness and fat. 

After a moment of consideration, I realized the identity of the true Dish of Death, the colon’s nemesis. 

Nachos.  Specifically, nachos with fresh salsa.  Cooking the salsa, after all, would soften the vegetables.  But fresh salsa, with abundant, seeded jalapeño chunks and layer upon layer of chips and cheese . . . that would be killer. 

Now, unlike salad, nachos are something I really, really like to eat.  Specifically, alas, nachos with fresh salsa.  I may not like salad, but somehow I can’t resist the piquant medley offered by chopped-up tomatoes, peppers, onions, cilantro and whatever else you care to put in there.  The spicier the better.  So in the name of science, not to mention happiness, perhaps I should have experimented to determine the precise Effects of the Foodstuff Known as Nachos — With Fresh Salsa, Not that Bland, Cooked Sludge — On a Colon Afflicted With Severe Inflammation.  Catchy title, no?  I’m sure some science journal would have snapped it up for publication.

But I couldn’t do it.  I was frustrated with being a skeleton, and scared out of my wits by a doctor who warned — or rather, threatened — that another colostomy, this one permanent, might be imminent.  My colon, I resolved, would be happy, no matter how much I pined for nachos, or at the very least, a handful of chips and a bowl full of salsa.