Is it worth it?
A Chef Faces a Dilemma of Dietary Proportions
March 2018 was the last time I had sangria. This sangria wasn’t particularly special, but it was the catalyst that signaled the end of my enjoyment of alcohol and many other things. The night that I had my final cup I was awoken to awful stomach pains and profuse sweating. To keep the imagery clean let’s just say I spent the entire night hugging my toilet bowl for dear life. Through the pink haze in the toilet, I saw my life flash before my eyes and it was not exactly what I thought my life would look like.
Let me backtrack a bit and say that I loved alcohol up until this point. I loved a cold crisp beer and tried any cocktail that was put in front of me. A fun night on the town for me was spent at a bar with girlfriends or snuggling up with my boyfriend and a glass of wine.
The following day I contacted a gastroenterologist at the request of my boyfriend who watched me lay pale and sweaty by the toilet. At the doctor’s office, I was asked if I had any allergies or triggers to foods to which I responded “um, no?”. The doctor then told me she wanted to shove a camera down my throat to see what was up and asked me if I had ever heard of gastroesophageal reflux disease, also known as GERD, to which I also responded “um, no?”.
After a couple more rounds of questioning, prodding and a lovely microscopic camera put down my throat to take pictures of my stomach I was diagnosed with a severe case of GERD. My sangria vomit-inducing adventures were the case of a GERD flare-up. The doctor gave me pamphlets and a handout to put on my fridge to remind me what I shouldn’t eat and that was that.
I went home exhausted and slightly incredulous about her diagnosis. Yeah, I’ve had my ups and downs with food slightly aggravating my stomach, but that could be solved with chewing chalky tasteless tablets of TUMS. According to the black and white photocopied handout on my fridge I was to avoid basically everything that tastes delicious. This included alcohol, coffee, fried foods, fatty foods, onions, garlic, citrus, tomatoes, spicy foods, and chocolate. Giving up chocolate was a no-go for me. So was everything else on this oppressive list of foods I was supposed to give up. I took her advice with a grain of salt and went right back to eating and drinking all the things I wanted and instantly regretted it.
Knowing I had GERD was like opening the floodgates of literal flare-up hell. I ate roast pork like it was a dangerous game of Russian roulette. How many bites of crispy pork fat can I get in before I’m curled up in the fetal position? How many sips of margarita can I drink before I feel like I might have to go and hug the toilet bowl again? I played this game for far too long before I really started to question how it was affecting my job as a chef and my eating of meals in general.
I was a chef who at the time was teaching young adults who aged out of foster how to cook. I loved showing them how to cook delicious healthy meals for themselves with fabulous spices and using fresh ingredients that were sourced from local farms. I ate most of the meals they cooked with me as a sign of trust and solidarity. Did I have some flare-ups? Occasionally, but nothing like the flare-up that really made me re-evaluate how I ate.
My students wanted to show me some of their cooking skills and asked if they could cook me some Rasta Pasta. Rasta Pasta is a Jamaican dish of sorts that has a creamy alfredo-esque sauce spiced with jerk seasoning and spicy peppers. The meal was presented beautifully, the taste was exceptionally spicy, and the heartburn was instant. I had two bites of the pasta before excusing myself to run to the corner bodega to buy a Zantac 150. The pills usually were my go-to to take before eating something on my “naughty” list of foods or during a flare-up, but this time they didn't do the trick. I ended up wrapping up my class early and running home which was an hour-long train ride from the Bronx to Manhattan.
The train ride was a trip. A literal trip. I started to hallucinate and see double. My knees were buckling on the exceptionally packed train. I prayed to myself to get home safely and to not be the reason the train has to stop because of a sick passenger. I thought I was going to die right on the D train, which if you ask me isn’t the train ride you want to die on. I made it to my neighborhood and ordered a vanilla milkshake from a local ice cream shop. The man behind the counter looked at my sweaty face with worry. He handed me the vanilla shake and asked me if I needed anything else. I shook my head and slurped the thick frosty drink before even handing him any money.
Months prior I had found a slight trick for my flare-ups which were dairy products. I found that drinking a cold glass of milk or having vanilla ice cream helped cool the intense burning of my esophagus and stomach. That day while my wobbly knees walked me home I decided to take my diagnosis more seriously. I decided to quit hard alcohol and other things that made me feel like I was slowly dying.
As a chef who enjoyed having New York City restaurants, holes in the walls, and food stalls be her beautiful oyster I had to let it all go. I had to really think before eating something. Will this hurt me later? Is this beautiful piece of crunchy crispy fried chicken absolutely worth it? Most days I say “no” and other days, which are rarer, I give in and allow the burn of the fiery flare-up to engulf me.
Dealing with GERD has unfortunately changed the way I cook. I don’t cook anything I want with reckless abandon. If I’m preparing or catering a meal for others with problem some ingredients for myself I try my hardest to just take the smallest taste to make sure the balance of flavors is right. I have been asked if cooking still excites me and honestly it does, but the act of constantly questioning what I eat and how it will affect me after has somewhat dampened my spirits.
My question for myself is can I still be a chef and a lover of all things food if my condition gets worse? I guess only time will tell. In the meantime, I’ll have to slurp on a vanilla milkshake to help me get through.