Bah Humbug

Apparently, I don't possess an immune system. This is the only conclusion I can draw from the fact that I'm a sneezy, snorfly mess for the third time in TWO MONTHS. That doesn't even seem possible. But I do live with a man who has been trying to hack up a lung for over a week now, and a child who's in training to replace Typhoid Mary, so there you have it. And it makes me crabby.

In other news, David got me Jessica Seinfeld's Deceptively Delicious for Hanukkah (he wasn't trying to hint anything; I asked for it) and I finally had a chance to read it cover to cover yesterday. My findings? Jessica Seinfeld is apparently a cyborg.

She cheerfully details how she sets out trays of crudite and dip "fifteen minutes" before dinner is ready (how does she have that timing down?) in case the children can't wait until the real meal is ready. And if they only nibble at dinner after that, she doesn't have to worry, since they're getting their nutrients. Right--that would have me twisting my sheets in knots into the wee hours, too.

Then there's her Sunday evening "date night" of choice, during which she chats with her husband while she chops and processes "a week's worth" of vegetable and fruit purees to freeze, which only takes an hour (!) Then she's all set for that week's healthy recipes, into which she craftily slips a dollop of cauliflower here and a glop of butternut squash there, and her angels are none the wiser. It's so naughty; I can't stand it!

She even has the kids weigh in with charming little endnotes, such as when Sasha, age 6, comments that her mother can easily whip up whole-grain French toast with fruit puree "even when I'm late for school." Me, too, definitely. I've got Jarrah's French toast in one pan while I'm coddling the hell out of David's Eggs Benedict in another. I'm just a multi-tasker that way; there's no help for it.

The recurring graphic of Jessica, with her round eyes and pert ponytail, makes me think of the '50s, perhaps because that was probably the last time women spent their days entirely focused on their family's meals. (Ironically, I've read recently that the '50s were a low point for "whole food" consumption, because cans, bottles and boxes were seen as the wave of the future--hence all the jars of Ragu in the wonderful '50s-era series Mad Men.)

Perhaps you've heard tell of the brou-ha-ha surrounding the publication of this book at the very same time as another, very similar book which was not written by a rich comedian's wife. Of course, Jessica publicly professed total ignorance of the other book, claiming that she's been in the test kitchen for several years now, whipping up purees, tossing them into otherwise decent-sounding food, and then forcing her family to eat it so they get the correct ratio of beta carotene to Vitamin B each day.

And now that I've read the book? I believe her--100 percent. I just wish I had someone to make me broccoli-infused brownies. Clearly, I'm not going to do it, and my immune system could apparently use the jump-start.