With Halloween around the corner, it’s time to talk about something that really gives kids the creeps. Forget about vampires (those hunky blood suckers) or zombies (they have feelings too). What terrifies many children are cruciferous vegetables. Even the name sounds scary -- sort of like crucify or crucio (for all you Harry Potter fans).

Cruciferous vegetables, also known as brassicaceae, are the ones that hit the market in fall, just in time for Halloween. Cabbage, kale, broccoli, cauliflower, and Brussels sprouts are just a few of the commonly unloved veggies that make up this plant variety. Yet although the cruciferae are often sneered at, and even loathed by some, they are hardly villains. Dubbed super vegetables, they are full of antioxidants and vitamins, are thought to have cancer-preventing and fighting agents, and also protect against cardiovascular disease. So, contrary to popular belief, these under appreciated vegetables are actually the heroes of the food world.

Yet as much as I put myself in the role of PR rep for these amazing plants, multitudes of kids (and even some adults) meet a plateful of cauliflower, kale or Brussels sprouts with scrunched up faces and pursed lips. Of course there are many people (adults and children alike) who love all things cruciferous, but I don't think it's farfetched to say these vegetables have a bad rap.

But don't lose heart. If your child has decided she hates all things cruciferous, you can trick her into getting excited about eating them. Don't worry. I'm not suggesting you hide the vegetables (as I am strongly against deceiving kids about food -- Santa Claus, however, is a different matter). Rather, I support getting your children interested in eating these amazing vegetables with their eyes wide open, and some of the little darlings will even come to love them. The younger your kids are, the easier your job. So if your kids are a little older, your task will be more difficult, but with a little effort -- along with a fair amount of Parmesan cheese and bacon -- it's possible to convince your kids that cruciferous vegetables are not only edible, but quite tasty.

Here are a few ways to get your kids to eat all things cruciferous. A few of the items on this list repeat some tips I provided last year, but as they really do work, it's worth mentioning them here again.

• Try roasting your vegetables instead of steaming or boiling them. Roasting allows the natural sugars in the vegetables to caramelize, which makes them more flavorful. It is also a great way to make sure the veggies turn out al dente instead of mushy. And, if you need another incentive, boiling and steaming emit the vegetables natural gassy odors while roasting helps contain the smells.

• Try fun colored vegetables. Right now you can find purple or yellow cauliflower, or those lovely Tuscan ones with spiky cones all over them. Even the most cauliflower-hating kid will be interested in nibbling something purple.

• Buy an entire stalk of Brussels sprouts. It's fun to take the sprouts off the stalk, and you are then left with a long green baton your kids can play with.

• Don't overcook your cruciferous veggies as they are high in gas and cooking them for too long makes them stinky. See if you can get your kids to eat the broccoli or cauliflower raw (with salad dressing or melted cheese if necessary) and then cook the rest al dente.

• Make a creamy soup. When blended with milk or cream and butter, vegetables become much more manageable for kids who reject foods out of hand because of weird textures. So if your child thinks Brussels sprout leaves are slimy, puree them.

• Add bacon and cheese (if you eat these things). Let's face it, everything really does taste better with bacon and cheese. Kale sautéed with bacon or pancetta is truly amazing. And cauliflower baked au gratin with cheese and butter is beyond decadent. Toss in your children's favorite pasta to make the dish even more appealing.

• Take your kids to a garden or farm at picking time. Picking vegetables is fun and kids are far more likely to eat something they got to commune with in the garden. Many local farms have family days where you and your brood can pick to your hearts' content.

• Let your kids pick out your weekly vegetables in the market. Go to a farmer's market if you can as they offer inviting opportunities for your little ones to touch, smell, and even talk with a farmer.

And now for that irresistible purple soup.

Roasted Purple Cauliflower Soup

Serves: 4 people

Ingredients:
1 medium head of purple cauliflower chopped into small florets
1 medium potato chopped into 1/2-inch pieces
1 small onion chopped
3 cups chicken or vegetable broth
1 cup milk (preferably whole milk)
4 Tbsp butter
Salt and pepper to taste
1/2 cup grated Parmesan cheese

Preparation:
1. Lay the cut up cauliflower and potato in a pan. Drizzle on some olive oil, black pepper, and salt (kosher or sea salt preferably). Roast in a 400 degree oven for 20 minutes or until you can easily pierce the cauliflower and potato pieces with a fork.
2. In a medium pot, sauté the onion in 2 Tbsp butter until soft. Add in the roasted cauliflower and potato along with the chicken or vegetable stock. Cook until the broth is heated through.
3. Using a hand or stand blender, blend the cauliflower mixture until all chunks are gone and the soup is smooth.
4. Add the mixture back to the pot and mix in the milk. Season with salt and pepper to taste. Bring the soup to a low simmer.
5. Mix in the Parmesan cheese and the remaining 2 Tbsp butter. Serve.

Anxiety is a snowball rolling down a hill. That's a cliche, I'm aware. I don't know how to accurately frame it in the right physiological terms, but I know how it feels, and it feels kind of stupid -- like a clumsy cliche. I won't pull out the $30 workbook a therapist made me buy years ago, but I'll do my best. It starts with an errant thought -- a rickety wheel sliding off a safe train into the imagination's most dangerous corners, flooding the body with false signs of warning, gaining momentum in thin shards of half-remembered facts and hearty swirls of lunatic fiction. Regardless of the worry's origins, sometimes, rarely, it's so bad, you can't really sleep. You wake up preposterously early, eyes so open they might shoot out of your head. You drink tea and watch the sun rise, but everything feels terribly wrong. A leg won't stop shaking. There are a million things to do but you can't start doing any of them. Something is stuck. You're overwhelmed, consumed, pouring over whatever is troubling you at the expense of every other concern -- so focused, in a sense, that you're distracted.

Sleep is important from a health standpoint, but it's also a little boring. I don't mind losing a little bit of it here and there -- especially for a good cause. Appetite, on the other hand, is a different matter altogether.

I was a senior in college the first time mine was threatened. The catalyst was utterly mundane, the sticky, drawn-out fizzling of a relationship that probably shouldn't have started in the first place. Suddenly rudder-less, I flipped out, laid low, wore the same jeans for two weeks straight, and stopped eating. After a couple of days, I started again, very gingerly. I subsisted almost entirely -- two meals a day, pretty much every day -- on packages of Lipton's noodle soup. I'm not sure why I decided to submerge my strain and sorrow in salty dyed broth and slippery strands, but in retrospect the choice makes sense. Soup suited an emotional invalid in need of rehabilitation. It was also austere, a form of self-doled punishment for my melodramatic pining. I couldn't eat anything else. I tried to have a veggie burger with fries at an on-campus dining hall. The first bite was unswallowable, dry and mealy. The rest of the sandwich fell apart in my hands. The ketchup was a sickly puddle, like melted make-up. The thumb-sized fries were soggy, unpalatable to begin with. I pushed the plate away and went home for soup. Towards the end of the episode, I began gussying up my steaming bowls with vegetables smuggled from the dining hall salad bars. I'm not sure what actually eventually caused me to calm down. I just woke up one day feeling better.

If dieting, not convalescence, had been my aim, the two weeks of biting nails and sucking soup would have paid off. Somewhere along the way, I had lost ten pounds. Once-tight pants now had a flowing, Hammer-esque cut. I bought new jeans. And I started eating real food again. It was February in Ohio, in a tiny town just ten minutes from Lake Erie. My house-mates and I threw a barbecue on the snow-blanketed hill behind our sprawling white house. The air outside was wet, cold, and invasive, but everyone bundled up. I wore a silly apron and grilled myself a shark steak I'd purchased from the nearby IGA. It was fishy but I relished it on a bun with ketchup, mayonnaise, mustard, and Srirachi sauce. I started drinking again. Cans of beer have never since tasted quite so good. I had one after another, and I thawed out, and saw a little bit of amazing in everything.

These two weeks, I'd later learn, were a preamble, a canape, really. I had a problem, but I didn't know it yet. I soon graduated, from slipping past traumatizing break-ups to fumbling with larger, more complicated issues that sadly proved much more of a challenge to my increasingly ambitious cooking and eating habits.

I'm not looking to spill a lot of ink on the subject of my own kookiness. This is the first time I've written about any of this, and it's kind of pleasant doing so from a fresh perspective. All the same, I'll keep it pretty brief. The second time I lost my appetite I was almost 25. I'd been living in San Francisco for a few years and working at my second paralegal job for nearly six months. I had a girlfriend and a big house full of friends deep in the Mission District. I was home for the holidays, back in Kentucky, preparing to fly to New York City to celebrate New Year's Eve with friends. I ate a shrimp quesadilla with mango salsa a few hours before I was supposed to head to the airport. Thirty minutes after the last bite, a wave of weird nagging pain crashed through my stomach. I didn't feel sick, but it hurt. I felt light-headed and frantic. The feeling passed. As my plane circled LaGuardia, I nibbled a few peanuts, and it returned. Two hours later, I was in Greenpoint, Brooklyn, at a Polish restaurant with a friend. I contemplated the platter of boiled cheese pierogies, cabbage, and applesauce set before me. I took a bite. Something in my belly bucked. It was as if my innards were caught in the the throes of a coursing electric current. This time, the pain stayed -- fluttering in the depths of my gut like a little molten bug -- and my whole body couldn't help but shake -- just barely, but almost constantly once I realized the sensation in my stomach wasn't leaving. I gobbled antacids but they did no good. I didn't want to eat because food made my stomach hurt more. I wasn't sick in any other way, but I worried I was dying nonetheless. I ran up a bad, bloated cell phone bill calling and texting my girlfriend back in California. Each day, from the second I awoke, until I flopped down to sleep hours later, my gut was twisted in painful knots. More importantly, my thoughts had gone haywire. Regardless of what brief bug or extended twinge of indigestion had triggered my symptoms in the first place, anxiety had now taken over. I had an ulcer. I had cancer, of the stomach, perhaps the colon as well. I had been infected with a rare form of evil bacteria that was swiftly chewing its way through the lining of my worn-out tum.

At some point, not long after my return to California, the stomach ache faded, but the next year was still a hard one. I'd awakened something. My brain were on high alert, constantly combing my body for symptoms on which I could fixate. Any ache, cough, or unsettling sensation was an excuse to worry, and when I worried -- regardless of what I was worrying about -- the pain in my stomach returned, accompanied by dreadful premonitions, sweats, and heavy heart palpitations. I fretted about everything, usually medical concerns, like incurable cancers, aneurysms, devastating hemorrhages, and drug-resistant infections, but my fears truly knew no bounds. My doctor wanted to shoot me. I'd bump my head hard and think brain damage was imminent. I'd walk through Union Square and worry about stray bullets, the live-action equivalent of cartoon pianos dropping from the sky in Toontown. I hated driving because all I could think about were hideous mangled car accidents. I jumped from worry to worry, living like a sick person when I was not sick. I missed too much work, staggering around the house, wrapped in a towel, behaving like a consumptive mentally unsound very minor poet stricken with mysterious ailments for which there were no known medical solutions. I needed leeches and balms and wizardry.

My psychological state governed my eating habits. When I sensed no symptoms, I dined out and cooked fancy meals. When I was anxious, eating was unappealing, a tough predicament for a lover of food to face. Above all, I had to find foods that wouldn't torture a nerve-wracked digestive tract. I ate no Mexican for months and months at a time, which was sad considering my proximity to El Metate, El Farolito, and La Torta Gorda. Nothing spicy or rich agreed with me when I was feeling anxious. I ate turkey sandwiches and, yes, soup. Rice was okay, so long as I didn't cover it with curry, gumbo, or a lake of hot sauce. I had to stick to the bland and uncomplicated food groups. Even vinegary salads made my weak stomach throb.

One of my most persistent concerns was food poisoning -- probably because I'd never to my knowledge suffered from it. I'd known a guy in high school who'd almost died from E. coli in his blood, and I'd read some things online that I, knowing my tendencies, should not have read. One night that year, my girlfriend and I ate squid stuffed with chicken at a Thai restaurant. After a few bites, a slice down the middle in the right light revealed that the filling of one crispy bulb was slightly raw. We met friends at a bar afterwards, but the image of the glistening under-cooked meat, pinkish and pale, studded with nuts and spices, stayed with me. I felt feverish, and headed home early to sweat out my worries.

Obviously, my anxiety about illness wasn't just about illness; it was largely a reflection of other concerns. By preoccupying myself with symptoms I had to address in the moment, I could avoid thinking about real issues -- my relationships, my family, figuring out something to do with my life -- and my worrying about imagined problems actually ended up impeding my ability to find solutions to potentially legitimate ones. I was obsessed with dying -- from uncommon illness, in a freak accident -- because it was a reliable distraction, and the fact I couldn't consistently eat well made everything worse. Food is wholesome and sustaining, but my relationship with it at the time kept it framed in an unhealthy light. Food was something that had once made me very happy. I was tired of surrendering it to an unpleasant fantasy realm, where my brain waged war against my body, and limited what it could enjoy. That pissed me off as much as anything about my predicament, and I finally decided to do something about it -- with some counseling, a gym membership, and plenty of tacos. I wanted to spend my life eating, and in time, maybe make a living doing so.

After a summer of hearing about death panels and tea baggers, it's nice to finally see the discussion on health care reform turn to nutritious eating and exercise. What's interesting to this arugula-eating liberal, however, is that this conversation has started on the conservative side of the table. After President Obama's speech on health care last week, Rep. Charles Boustany, R-La., a cardiovascular surgeon, gave the GOP response. While supplying the nation with his rebuttal to President Obama's speech, he mentioned what I found to be a very interesting plea to include a sense of personal responsibility for one's health into the dialogue. According to Representative Boustany, "... insurers should be able to offer incentives for wellness care and prevention. That's something particularly important to me. I operated on too many people who could have avoided surgery if they'd made simply -- simply made healthier choices earlier in life."

This portion of the speech really surprised me. At face value, it makes sense that people should take responsibility for their own health and for insurers to offer incentives for healthy behavior. Yet eating well is more complex than deciding to have grilled vegetables for dinner instead of a double cheeseburger, particularly for those who are poor and without time and resources. It's no secret that unhealthy foods are simply cheaper and more prevalent than whole grains, fresh vegetables, and unprocessed meats. Think of McDonalds' popular dollar meals. Cheap meals are often the only food available for many Americans, and actual food choices are often nonexistent for people on constrained budgets.

Interestingly, the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC) recently released an obesity map of America. It's a depressing bit of data, but here you go:

CDC's Obesity Trends, which includes a breakdown of state by state percentages

It's disheartening to see that the obese population in numerous states is over 30%, with other states close behind. Yet, although I appreciate Mr. Boustany's commitment to healthy choices, I don't think providing "incentives for wellness care and prevention" is realistic without first implementing legislation to make healthier foods accessible to everyone -- rich, middle class and poor. For instance, both Republicans and Democrats have traditionally supported some serious corn and soy subsidies in the farm bill, making cheap corn and soy-based products pervasive in the American food system. Many nutritionists, doctors, and health professionals believe the prevalence of corn and soy in our diet has lead to those skyrocketing obesity rates in America. It doesn't seem fair to tell people they need to make "healthier choices earlier in life" without first changing the farm subsidy program so real food choices emerge. How about instead creating incentives for farmers to grow more nutritious crops so healthier foods are more affordable?

Another interesting feature of the CDC map is that the highest rates of obesity occur in traditionally conservative strongholds, including Mr. Boustany's home state of Louisiana, which has a 28.3% obesity rate compared to 23.7% for California. Mississippi's rate is a staggering 32.8%. Now I am not trying to claim that Democrats are healthier than Republicans. There are plenty of Republicans who run 10 miles a day and love tofu, and lots of Democrats who fry Snickers bars and drive if they are traveling more than 100 feet. It seems, however, that overall, states that favor conservative candidates are simply fatter (at least according to that pinko institution the CDC) than more liberal-leaning states.

So here's the question: in the name of better health care opportunities for all citizens (or even just those in Mr. Boustany's backyard), will Republicans embrace their own current plea for a healthier general public? Will they put their money where their mouth is and support a farm bill that evens the playing field for small family farms that want to grow something other than corn and soy? In the name of positive health care reform, will our Congressional leaders promote healthier school lunches, more money for food stamp recipients so they can purchase fresh vegetables instead of canned or frozen ones, and provide more money for public transportation options so people can get out of their cars and walk to bus stops, subways, and transit systems instead of driving?

Although I have serious doubts that our food system will be revamped any time soon, I am more hopeful after reading an opinion piece by Michael Pollan in last week's New York Times. In his essay, Mr. Pollan states "Agribusiness dominates the agriculture committees of Congress, and has swatted away most efforts at reform. But what happens when the health insurance industry realizes that our system of farm subsidies makes junk food cheap, and fresh produce dear, and thus contributes to obesity and Type 2 diabetes? It will promptly get involved in the fight over the farm bill — which is to say, the industry will begin buying seats on those agriculture committees and demanding that the next bill be written with the interests of the public health more firmly in mind." I hope he's right.

Spinach, alfalfa sprouts, peanut butter, beef...almost weekly, FDA and USDA alerts fill my inbox with notices about food recalls due to Salmonella or E. Coli. How does our food supply get contaminated? And what safeguards exist to ensure that the foods we eat are produced in safe and sanitary conditions? In response to concerns about the food supply, President Obama called for tougher food safety measures, and in May of this year launched a Food Safety Working Group to update the system of food safety in America.

Workers harvesting romaine hearts in a field at Ocean Mist Farms in Castroville, CA, in the Salinas Valley. Because of concerns over hygiene, workers now wear hair nets and plastics gloves. Photo by Sarah Varney

Tonight at 8pm on KQED Public Radio, Health Dialogues, takes an in-depth look at the safety of the food we eat. Host Scott Shafer begins by interviewing two voices familiar with food safety at the federal level: Michael Taylor, the newly appointed Senior Advisor to the Commissioner at the Food and Drug Administration, and Dr. David Acheson, who, until the end of July, worked as Associate Commissioner for Foods at the Food and Drug Administration. Later in the program, award-winning health care reporter Sarah Varney looks at how proposed food safety legislation in Washington could affect California's food industry. We also pay a visit to the kitchen of UC Davis food safety expert Christine Bruhn, to hear about tips on consumer food safety in the home.

Research shows eating fish contaminated with mercury may cause brain damage or learning disabilities. The FDA regulates commercial fish, but what about sport fishing? Health Dialogues looks into the safety of fishing in the golden state.

Sport fishing may not always be safe, but growing your own food must be safe, right? Not necessarily. Gardeners, especially urban gardeners, should always test the soil for lead and other toxins before planting. You'll hear a piece about a group that helps to plant gardens, and test the soil, in Alameda County.

Health Dialogues also visits two grocery stores in San Francisco's Outer Mission with food inspector Sheldon Lew to see what the food inspection process looks like. Lew talks about what red flags he looks for during food inspections. Experience an audio slideshow of the food inspection tour.

Also, check out an audio slideshow of foods imported into the United States with FDA inspectors at the Los Angeles Port of San Pedro.

Listen to Making Fruits and Vegetables Safer on The California Report
When Congress returns to Washington after the August recess, the Senate will take up sweeping legislation to reform the nation's food safety system. California's produce industry could be affected.
Reporter: Sarah Varney

Listen to the entire program on Food Safety:

More Information:

• Food Safety Information Center
• Food Safety Working Group on Twitter
• Food Safety Information Center on Twitter
• USDA Recalls on Twitter
• President Obama's Food Safety Working Group
• USDA Food Safety Channel on Youtube

Post by Shuka Kalantari

Diagnosed seven years ago with allergies to wheat and dairy, Lauren Hoover was thrilled. Finally, she had a reason for the stomachaches and congestion that had plagued her for decades. All she had to do was cut every last bit of wheat and dairy out of her diet. How hard could it be, especially for a smart foodie and trained chef?

"I didn't think I ate a lot of processed food, but the first time I went to the supermarket after my diagnosis, I stood outside in the parking lot and cried," Hoover relates. Everything, it seemed, had some sneaky remnant of wheat or dairy in it. "I thought, what am going to eat, besides chicken, fish, fruit and vegetables? I decided right then that I wasn't going to live the rest of my life without the foods I love."

As a professional pastry chef trained at the California Culinary Academy, Hoover was better equipped than most to start tinkering with her favorite recipes. Having worked at numerous high-end hotels, resorts, and restaurants including San Francisco's La Folie, she didn't want to ditch her pot pies and chocolate cakes for quinoa and sprouts. Instead, she wanted her meals to be healthy but normal-- the sort of thing anyone would be happy to eat, whether or not they had food sensitivities.

What began out of necessity turned into a mission. Returning to college to pursue a psychology degree, she had dreams of becoming a child-advocacy lawyer. In between classes, though, she kept baking, bringing wheat, dairy, and soon sugar-free treats to her study buddies. Friends clamored for her cupcakes and other goodies, and finally an enthusiastic friend insisted that she share her recipes in a cookbook.

"This has become my legacy, the way I can help people who are suffering," says Hoover. The 150 sweet and savory recipes in her new book No Wheat, No Dairy, No Problem are the result of seven years' worth of experimenting, testing, and teaching. She'll be celebrating with a launch party on Saturday, July 18 at 3pm at Noe Valley's Omnivore Books.

So, what are the must-haves for the wheat- and/or dairy-free kitchen? Since Hoover doesn't cook with refined sugar, agave nectar is high on her list, although she also likes date sugar, sucanat, and maple syrup for sweetening. "Along with agave nectar, I'd say oat flour, olive or grapeseed oil, and some kind of milk substitute-- I like coconut and almond milks, but you can use rice or soy milk, too," she notes.

Making her book accessible, even to novice cooks outside the well-stocked environs of the Bay Area, was very important to Hoover. "I'm not interested in using a lot of weird ingredients; I think people should be able to make these recipes whether or not they have a Rainbow Grocery down the street."

Accordingly, her recipes offer plenty of suggestions for substitutions, along with instructions for whipping up homemade basics like raw almond milk.

The back of the book also offers a crash course in supermarket label-reading, including a 4-page list of often-overlooked wheat and dairy derivatives, from whey protein to modified food starch.

Having seen too many food-sensitive friends give in to momentary brownie or pizza cravings only to suffer the consequences for days on end, Hoover promises that "with this book, you can have everything you love without having to suffer." The hardest thing for her to leave behind? "Triple-creme cheese, and yogurt," she sighs. "But I know, for me, it's just not worth it."

Summer Fruit Crisp

Adapted from No Wheat, No Dairy, No Problem by Lauren Hoover

Yield: 6-10 servings

Ingredients:

Filling:
3 pounds of stone fruit (nectarines, peaches, apricots, plums), washed, pitted, and cut into 1" slices
½ cup agave nectar
1 teaspoon real vanilla extract
zest and juice of 1 lemon
1 teaspoon tapioca starch or 2 tablespoons oat or barley flour

Topping:
1 cup oat or barley flour, sifted
½ cup date sugar, maple sugar or sucanat
1 stick Earth Balance, cold or frozen, diced
zest of one lemon
1 teaspoon vanilla powder, optional
¼ teaspoon freshly grated nutmeg
¼ teaspoon ground cinnamon
½ cup chopped nuts (walnuts, pecans, almonds)
½ cup old fashioned rolled oats (not quick cooking)

Preparation:

1. Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Toss fruit with filling ingredients and pour into a 9x12 glass baking dish or a 2-quart round soufflé dish. Set aside.

2. Put topping ingredients into a food processor with the 's' blade, and pulse until it is until it is crumbly and the size of cherries. (This can also be done with a pastry cutter in a bowl.)

3. Pour topping evenly over fruit and bake for approximately 30 minutes, until the topping is golden brown and fruit is bubbling. Let cool for 1 hour before serving.

"On Independence Day, Americans will enjoy 150 million hot dogs, enough to stretch from D.C. to L.A. over five times."
--National Hot Dog and Sausage Council

My first reaction to this quote was "is there really a national hot dog and sausage council?"; while my second reaction was mild nausea mixed with a hankering for my own dog slathered in mustard and relish.

The all-beef American hot dog should not be confused with its namesake the frankfurter, which is a German regional sausage made from pork. Nor should you think it tastes much like an Austrian wiener, which is a pork and beef delicacy. Sure, frankfurters, wieners and hot dogs are all sausages, but there's very little that is European about a hot dog. Mass produced, precooked, and stuck in a bun it's as American as a food can get. Dirty Harry even eats one right before famously saying his "Do you feel lucky" line. So here's Clint, eating his dog, for you to enjoy.

Unlike Harry, my family and I don't eat a lot of hot dogs. Nothing against them; we just tend to eat more sausage when we want some sort of meat product in a tube, probably due to my Italian upbringing. I'm also not a big fan of processed foods. But there are certain occasions when a hot dog is the perfect meal, especially if you have a couple of hungry kids with you. Baseball games and the 4th of July top that list.

So in celebration of National Hot Dog Month, and also to better educate myself about American hot dogs, I have created an unscientific comparison of the major brands. Included in the list are organic, nitrate-free, and standard hot dogs that you can find locally. I am not recommending one frank over another as I did not try every brand, and, honestly, I've only tasted a few. Rather, I wanted to share the nutritional information and ingredients lists provided by the manufacturers so people can make their own educated decisions.

The following list is also limited to beef hot dogs as these are the traditional choice at block parties, backyard barbecues, and baseball games. Plus including chicken, turkey and tofu dogs would make the list ridiculously long. Please note that my inventory is in no way complete. I am not attempting to compare all the brands; just the ones I see most often. If I have missed something obvious, or something you really like, feel free to add the information in the comments section. Finally, I should say that I don't distinguish between kosher and non-kosher brands.

When comparing the hot dogs on the list, you should note that each brand's hot dogs vary in size. So while the Nathan's Famous beef franks look at first to have the most sodium, they are also twice the size of many of the other hot dogs, so be sure to look at the size column when comparing products.

Here are the lists. I have grouped the brands by type for easier viewing and listed the size, calories, calories from fat, saturated fat grams and sodium levels, along with ingredients lists. I was very interested by what I found. I hope you will be too.

Organic and Grass Fed Hot Dogs
These hot dogs are all made from organic, and often grass-fed, beef. No nitrates are used for organic hot dogs.

view larger version of table

Nitrate-Free but not Organic Hot Dogs
Non-organic beef but no nitrates are used.

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Standard Hot Dogs
The hot dogs are all beef and the meat has been preserved with nitrates and other preservatives.

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I'm going to start everyone off with a "duh" today: Every pregnancy is different. Okay? I've put that out there, and it's my disclaimer for this post. I am acknowledging that what worked for you or me might not work for your sister or friend. However, we can take comfort in the fact that SOME things might work for many.

I now have three pregnant friends, who are all a gradation of weeks behind me in their pregnancies, so since I'm the one to run the gauntlet first, I'm the one who answers questions and gives out what advice I can. I like it. I like sharing what I've learned, especially if what I learned can provide even one hour of relief to the expectant.

By nature, I'm a fairly nauseous person. That is, I'm easily nauseated -- cars, cabs, planes, naval gazing, American Idol -- will all do it to me. I've been this way for awhile and so learned early on in life that Dramamine was my friend, my confident, my constant companion.

I had feared that pregnancy might be much worse for me because of this disposition. (Remembering a ten-year-old New Yorker article that talked about pregnant women who have uncontrollable nausea and vomiting to the point of hospitalization didn't help allay my worst fears.)

Happily, I was wrong. Aside from those annoying people, who don't ever get any morning, noon, or night sickness, I don't think my nausea was any worse than what a lot of others experience in 1st trimester.

The most valuable thing I learned was that the nausea was a result of a blood sugar drop -- explaining why it's worse in the morning and therefore given the totally fallacious name of "Morning Sickness" -- so as long as I had enough food in me at all times, I'd be okay. In order to stave off what was for me 24-hour nausea, I had to eat every two hours.

My stomach was a clock. It would even wake me up in the middle of the night to warn me of waves of impending ickiness. I started keeping food next to my bed because, as the books warned, even the mere act of walking to the kitchen was a lot of effort for a body that was working hard to build a baby from scratch.

Ignoring the resulting crumbs, crackers and almonds were my food of choice for middle-of-the-night noshing. Sometimes cookies for a valuable quick sugar kick.

Food

Carr's Table Water Crackers: Bland, bland, bland, but they will line your stomach.

Almonds: I still carry the Diamond resealable bags of these around with me in case of emergency. I learned early on that the rush of protein these nuts gave me was a sure-fire way to get ahead of the nausea.

Apples and Cheddar Cheese: This was pretty much my lunch for seven weeks. Apples have always been a stomach-soother for me and the cheese was that needed protein. The cheese wasn't fancy -- as you might have expected from an old cheesemonger -- it was just bulk, yellow, grocery store cheddar. Comfort food.

Grilled Cheese Sandwiches: Ah, the ultimate in comfort food. Yes, I ate a lot of these in first trimester because I couldn't handle anything else. What is it about grilled cheese sandwiches and why are they so comforting for so many of us? Is it all rooted in childhood? With a lot of psychoanalysis, I'm sure we could get to the bottom of it some day.

Totino's Frozen Pizza: Again, maybe it's going back to childhood and what we all individually define as comfort food, but Totino's was something we always had at birthday parties when I was a kid. Totino's Cheese Pizza was my Thanksgiving turkey this year.

Drink

Gleaning facts from friends and books and the ever-opinionated Internet, I discovered that sour flavors were great for beating off nausea. I also knew from my long relationship with motion sickness that ginger was also a good curative. Plus, it's very important to stay hydrated throughout pregnancy, so get that liquid into yourself any way you can.

San Pellegrino Limonata: Not sweet or sugary, this "lemonade" has sparkling water to soothe the stomach riots and a nice bracing citrus edge to it. I love this stuff and drink it regularly now. With some bruised fresh mint, it makes an easy and refreshing mocktail.

Fever-Tree Ginger Ale: Yes, I love Fever-Tree so much, it even cures my nausea. (Had the newest Fever-Tree flavor, Ginger Beer, been on the market, I would have stocked that in bulk. But that's for another review. It's a doozy of a drink!)

Sparkling Water: The partner to my Carr's Water Crackers in all times of tummy trouble, sparkling water is stalwart and true. During weeks 6-13, I stuck with the flavorless variety even though I normally prefer lemon (and now PAMPLEMOUSSE!) because the less flavor the better for me.

Miscellaneous

These are a few things that I either carried with me in case of a nausea emergency or gulleted to give me a stomach boost when I knew my preferred food might not be immediately gettable.

Ginger Chews: Jen wrote about these a few weeks ago. Before pregnancy, I was exclusively buying the Ginger People chews at Trader Joe's, but then Jen introduced me to the firmer Chimes chews, which don't go all soft and hygroscopic-y in their wrappers, and I was converted. I found my source of Chimes at Andronico's, but still eat Ginger People in a pinch.

Trader Joe's Triple Ginger Cookies and Trader Joe's Vanilla JoeJoe's Cookies: First of all, it's a ginger 3-way with the ginger cookies, so that's fantastic. Second of all, even if I weren't pregnant, I'd be craving these vanilla JoeJoe's. No, they aren't just like Oreos or other sandwich cookies out there. For god's sake, people, they have actual vanilla bean in the cream filling! Highly addictive and a perfect midnight snack.

Preggie Pops: Yes, it seems like a rip-off to buy very special pregnancy candies when you can just rely on lemon drops or Sour Patch Kids, but I was intrigued, so in the interest of research and in the interest of having a full arsenal to combat nausea, I ordered these. They come in sour fruit flavors (lemon, apple, raspberry, tangerine) and herbal (peppermint, ginger, lavender) and you can buy mixed or single flavors of some. My reaction? Not bad. I went through all the fruit first and picked my way around the herbals. They definitely quelled my rising gorge in times of car trouble, so it was money well spent.

It's not a long or balanced list by any means, but I wasn't being a Renaissance eater during weeks 6-13. You really don't care about the lack of dietary variety when you're just praying it will all stay down.

Good luck! Just remember: gag softly and carry a barf bag.

I'm stating the obvious, I know, but every single pregnancy decision you make is rife with potential controversy. Absolute strangers feel perfectly fine in their own heads about offering their opinions, advice, or finger-shaking at the slightest provocation.

I'll never forget the night I went to a dinner party and it came up that we were going to find out the sex of the baby. "Oh, I wouldn't do that," one old biddy advised me, "You really should be surprised." I'm sorry lady, but do I even know your name? More to the point, do you know mine?!

Luckily, my backbone was firmly in place and I calmly and decisively delivered my prepared statement: "We think it's a surprise at any point in pregnancy, and I'd rather not be hopped up on drugs when we do find out." Then I braced myself for the unasked-for lecture on unmedicated births, but happily, I was spared that.

This is the deal: your pregnancy, your decisions. Unless you are causing physical harm to yourself or your baby, no one has the right to make you feel guilty or like a bad mother. NO ONE.

And that goes for your food choices as well. A fellow pregnant friend had to deal with a co-worker, who was all Judgey McOpinionPants that my friend hadn't given up sugar for her pregnancy.

Personally, this pregnancy turned me into a Salt Vampire. Usually fairly light-handed in my application of salt in the past, I have really been piling it on recently. Which is odd because with my pregnancy-endowed super smeller, it would seem to follow that I've got a super taster as well, right? So why the need to increase my blood pressure?

Well, some articles, books, or blog posts might tell me that I'm craving salt because the baby wants minerals he's otherwise lacking. These same articles also tell me that I don't want chocolate because the baby is telling me to eat healthy food. So, then I gotta ask: what is said baby is trying to tell me when I crave McDonald's cheeseburgers, Safeway doughnuts, and root beer?

Look, I know there are pregnant chicks out there who make the irrevocable decision to eat healthy, healthy, healthy their entire pregnancy and that's admirable, it really is. However, for me, it wasn't at all reasonable in the first trimester. And by "reasonable" I mean, "either I eat this bag of Cheetos or the kid starves because everything else is making me nauseous."

Ironically, I was a fairly healthy eater before I got pregnant. I ate mostly grains, legumes, and vegetables with fish and some meats mixed in. I didn't overdo it in the dessert department, and I tried to restrain my rampant cheese obsession. Also, we mostly cooked at home with only occasional dinings-out.

That all went out the window in weeks 6-13 where I scarfed every possible item of junk food known to man and couldn't bear to set foot in the kitchen.

At my first doctor's appointment, I had to fill out a sheet describing what I had eaten in the previous week. This was my menu: hot dogs, grilled cheese, cookies, Totino's pizza, apples, crackers, water. My UCSF midwife smiled at the list. "This reads like one of my pregnant teenagers," she commented. I hurriedly told her that normally I was a really healthy eater and that I knew I had to get good stuff in my body for the baby. She calmed me down and said it was perfectly normal and no, I wasn't already a bad mother.

After I got past my nauseous stage, my body went back to allowing in all the stuff from my old diet without kicking up a mighty, bathroom-dashing fuss.

What I'm trying to say is, pregnancy is stressful enough as it is, so if you're craving "bad food," try not beat yourself up about it. Can you go overboard and eat ten donuts a day for every day of your pregnancy? Sure, all things in moderation and so on, but the upshot is, it's only nine months, you'll get your body back on track.

Note: Don't read this if you find my other posts disgusting or offensive. Move along now. I mean it.

I suspect that our doula saw my stash of pop tarts on top of the refrigerator. That would explain her hesitant tone when she called me after I had called her, hysterical, three weeks before my baby was due. Some women get post-partum depression; in my case, I had a whopper case of pre-partum depression, which, needless to say, did not bode well the post part of the partum.

“Um, Meghan, I know this might really not be your style, but maybe you'd like to think about something that I've read can help fend off post-partum,” she said.

“Anything, anything!” I would have freebased free range koala turds at that point if it meant I would okay after the birth.

“You could have your placenta, uh, processed,” she said.

“Processed?”

“Some studies have shown that consuming your placenta after the birth can prevent post-partum depression. And I know someone who can process it for you. Into pills.”

Pills, eh? Well now, I’m a fan of pills! And it’s not like I was a complete stranger to the notion of consuming placenta. In Thailand, one of my Thai friend’s favorite soups was made with buffalo placenta, and I’d certainly heard about women consuming their placentas in smoothies, omelets, etc. I did take birth classes in Berkeley, after all. (If you don’t believe me, there’s this thing called Google...)

Fast forward a couple of weeks...

I’ve just pushed out my kid. He’s across the room, getting meconium vacuumed off his schnozz, and the placenta (His? Mine? Ours?) is on its way.

“It’s in our birth plan to save the placenta, right? Save the placenta?” I called to the intern, who was busy between my legs. (A situation which can’t help but call to mind the classic Saturday Night Live skit with Dan Ackroyd playing Julia Child saving the chicken livers.

“Yep, we’ll save it, don’t worry. It will be in the fridge down the hall.”

Ah, really! In the fridge down the hall along with the Odwalla smoothies we have stocked there...and every other maternity ward mother’s snacks, too. Nice...

Fast forward two days...

Our newborn son is strapped into his car seat, and we’re headed home at three miles an hour.

“Shit, we forgot the placenta.”

Well, suffice it to say that much as we wanted our placenta, we weren’t really in the mood to turn back at three miles an hour. So, we called the hospital.

“Save our placenta! Please! Don’t throw it out! It’s in a Tupperware container in the fridge! Put a post-it on it that says, ‘Urgently needed placenta! DO NOT THROW AWAY!’”

Next phone call: the doula (not ours) whom we’d hired, for $250, to prepare our placenta. Bless her little organic soul, she agreed to go pick it up herself. (I had visions of our placenta, aging in its Tupperware, ready for a Manager’s Special markdown.)

Next phone call: back to the hospital. “Can you release our placenta to someone who isn’t us? Yes? GREAT!”

Fast forward another two days...

Post-partum depression has not, as of yet, struck. But I’m jonesing for my placenta pills, man. Big time. Because surely if I don’t get them THIS INSTANT my son will wind up in juvi hall in 15 years.

Panicked phone call to the placenta preparer: “Don’t worry,” she told me. “It’s all done. I’ll bring it over this afternoon.”

And voila:

129 pills of pure Laslocky placenta, steamed lightly with ginger, jalepeno and lemon, sliced thinly and dried in a dehydrator, then ground into a powder and put into capsules.

The label reads: “Placenta medicine. Dosage: Up to 2 caps 3x a day for 2 weeks postpartum. Take for immunity, menopause, and to augment the Chi and nourish the blood. Also for rites of passage: teething, walking, school, times of growth and separation.”

I could rub some powdered placenta on my boy’s gums, the preparer said, if I thought he’d ever lost his way.

Our placenta, she added, was a particularly beautiful one -- so beautiful she dried some of the amniotic sack that was attached to it. Here it is:

Oh, and this?

This is a bit of the membrane and the umbilical cord. The umbilical cord, some say, makes a great teething ring.

Fast forward another two days...

You know how fish oil pills make you burp? There I was, dutifully downing two capsules three times a day, burping up placenta like there’s no tomorrow. And it was NOT pleasant. Gag-inducing belches, and no matter how I consumed them -- with milk, with a sandwich, with an entire loaf of bread -- there it was: the unmistakable piquant flavor of placenta.

My neighbor sniffed the jar. “Hmm. Smells like mushrooms,” she said, oh so helpfully.

Mushrooms STUFFED WITH PLACENTA, that is.

Fast forward four months...

Okay, so I cut back and took just one pill a day for...a day. The jar of pills sits in my cupboard, nestled with the honey and my great-grandmother’s circa 1915 Noritake soup bowls.

I’m not inclined to take it -- fortunately I did not get post-partum depression -- but I’m glad it’s there, and the truth is that when I give the open jar a good whiff now, it doesn’t smell nearly as horrible. It smells more of ginger now than it does of placenta. There’s something really sweet about having it, and I’m not saying that with snark. Plus it’s always good to have options: Early onset of menopause could be right around the corner, and my boy will be teething any day now.

And I do have delightful visions of sending him off to college, rubbing the contents of the 129th pill into his gums. "Don't forget who's your mommy, baby."

I am an absolute freak for ginger. Anytime you see me, I will have one or two different ginger candies on hand and love trying out new types of candies. I personally love the taste, and find that it helps if I am feeling motion sickness on public transportation or in a car. Ginger is used in Chinese medicine and is recognized for multiple health benefits including increased circulation and help with digestive problems.

But even if ginger didn't make me feel better, I just like the taste and flavor.

There are a lot of types of ginger candies available in Bay Area stores, and I have tried quite a few of them. Below are some of the most popular types, but I would love to hear if there are any that you like which I have missed -- leave your notes in the comments. As you'll see, I don't love them all. To me, a great ginger candy has a very strong ginger flavor and little else. Texture is important, and I eschew candies that are too soft or don't last very long.

MY FAVORITES

Chimes Ginger Chews
Where to find: Cost Plus World Market

I first tried Chimes Ginger Chews from Powell's Sweet Shoppe. They come individually wrapped in a lovely little tin that is perfect for carrying in a purse. The chews are on the hard side in texture -- kind of like a taffy. The flavor is strong and pure. My suggestion is to find the tin if you can, and then purchase the more affordable bags of chews from Cost Plus to refill it. The chews come in plain flavor, peanut butter flavor, and peppermint flavor. I am addicted to the plain, but let me know if you've tried any of the others.

Plain Crystallized Ginger
Where to find: Ginger People, Reed's, Rainbow Grocery, various bulk sections

Plain crystallized ginger is easy to find, and satisfying in flavor. It's a solid piece of ginger that usually has a sugar coating. I look for the ginger that is as hard as possible, as I like to chew on it. I have tried packaged crystallized ginger in the past (from Reed's and Ginger People) and have found it to be too soft. I now purchase organic crystallized ginger from Rainbow Grocery's bulk section (in the back refrigerated bulk area) because it's fresh, strong, and hard in texture.

OTHER CANDIES I'VE TRIED

GoNaturally Ginger Organic Hard Candy
Where to find: Sweet Dish on Chestnut Street, San Francisco

I appreciate that these are hard candies, but the ginger flavor is not strong enough, and there is an off flavor that I can't identify. If I didn't read the package saying that the flavor is ginger, I wouldn't have known from the taste.

Ginger People Ginger Chews
Where to find: Trader Joe's

These are probably the most popular type of ginger candy. They're widely available at Trader Joe's and many people I know eat them. I find them to be too chewy and sticky in texture, but the flavor is nice.

Ginger People Gin Gins Boost
Where to find: Sweet Dish on Chestnut Street, San Francisco

Another candy from Ginger People, this is a small, lozenge-like candy that has a milky look to it. The ginger flavor was there, but not as strong as what I find in my favorites. I might buy them again if in a pinch, but they didn't leave much of an impression on me.

What have I missed? Are there any great ginger candies that I must try?