Sunday, January 22, 2006

Whole Wheat Pasta in Vodka Sauce and Kidney Beans (gag?)

Tonight's dinner: Whole Wheat Pasta with Kidney Beans in Vodka Sauce.
Are you a diabetic too?

My blood sugar whch has traditionally hovered around 280 to 425 is resting nicely at 121 after a lunch of sardines on whole wheat toast. That went over so nicely I thought I'd give the cardboard pasta a try. It's not so bad with a ton of vodka sauca on it! So with 5mg of glipizide (my regular nightly dose) and a glass of wine (which lowers blood sugar) the big question is, what's this big pasta feast gonna cost me? Am I going to wind up short of breath wishing I had insulin to counteract the big bad sugar monster? Or am I going to feel buyant and good, the sugar monster at bay and my regular blood flowing nicely throughout?

Tick tock. Tick tock. I check my watch and wait the requisite 2 hours. Who wants to wait the 2 houirs? Have to.
Whoa!!! The result: 130. Are you kidding? I checked it again: 130.

This is a record. An after dinner shockeroo. The pasta actually tasted halfway decent with the vodka sauce and kidney beans, so I ate a lot. Too much. Who cares, I just wanna have a decent dinner, I've had the WORST day and deserve a comfort food. But what is this? 130? It's registering like a gestapo-minded "you need to eat this" cardboard-flavored dinner. But hark! It's pretty decent, all things considered. I don't get it. But let it be known: you can have pasta and your bg can still test at 130. There you go! I'm writing this down for posterity.

It was warm and comforting, pasta-esque with the wine and everything, and I even phoned my mother as I fished the colander out of the closet. Steam rose deliciously from the b\pot on the stove as I swirled the can of kidney beans into the vodka sauce and then into the cooked pasta, eventually allowing it to sit on the shut-down burner for a few minutes. The sauce smelled suspiciously delicious of fresh basil in thick rigotto and tomato paste. The whole wheat spaghetti was extra thick like linguini, and once it was bured in sauce you couldn't tell the linguini was green.

Overall, with a sip of wine, and stabbing and turning the fork while talking to my mother on the phone, the steaming pasta went down like angels in a bowling alley. I slithered and fell, with grace, into the great opening in my esophagus, the big hungry hole, whose taste buds had already prayed to the great Virgin Mary that this food would taste good and not require cracked pepper, which I had run out of last night. No, it was perfection, in a word. And so was my blood sugar. Is this fabulous or what? I am thinking of making seconds.

I will never disparage green linguini again. Or kidney beans! The doctor will never mention vodka sauce but believe you me, it's good for your nealth. So bon appetit!