Food Label Terms That Indicate a Product contains Milk

Milk protein allergy is the most common food allergy among children. Many newer parents may have no idea if a food contains milk protein or not. Here are some terms that indicate that milk protein is present.

* Artificial butter flavor * Buttermilk * Cheese * Cottage Cheese * Cream * Custard * Curds * Ghee
* Half-and-half * Lactoglobulin * Lactulose * Nisin * Nougat * Pudding * Rennet casein * Sour milk solids
* Whey (in all forms) * Yogurt * Butter, Butter fat, Butter Oil * Casein or casein hydrolysate
* Caseinates (in all forms) * Lactalbumin, lactalbumin phosphate * Milk (all forms including goat’s milk)
* Sour cream, sour cream solids

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The Old Sperm Donor

Catfish has just finished his 80th trip around the sun and has plans for many more such trips. The Pickle Queen and I were invited to a ‘doings’ to help him celebrate this past Friday evening. His children did an outstanding job on hosting the celebration and were able to keep it a secret from him. Seeing all of his family and friends there made me think of how all of us are getting older with each passing day. Soon Catfish, some of his other friends, as well as myself, will be like the old sperm donor.

A 92-year-old man goes to the sperm bank, where he tells the receptionist that he would like to make a donation. “I’m sorry,sir,” she tells him, “but at 92 you’re just way too old to donate sperm.”

“Listen here, young lady,” the old man says. “I’ve led a full and active life, and I’m as fit today as I was at 30. In fact, I even bench press twice my weight.”

To get rid of him, she gives in. Handing him a beaker with a cap on it, she points to a room at the end of the hall. “When you’re done,” she tells him, “please come out and see me.”

A half hour goes by, and the old man has not come out of the room, so the nurse knocks on the door. “Are you okay?” she asks.

“Well, I’m having a little trouble,” comes the reply from behind the door. “I’ve tried with my left hand, I’ve tried with my right hand, and I’ve tried it between my knees,” the old man says, “but nothing seems to work.”

“At your age,” the nurse says, “I’m not surprised.”

“Okay, smartass,” the old man says, “how would you get the cap off?”

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Roast Pheasant

Back in South Dakota where pheasants are usually plentiful, this fine tasting bird is often found on the supper table. Here is a way we liked to fix pheasant when we lived there.

1 pheasant, cut into serving pieces
1 tsp. salt
1/2 c. cooking oil
white cooking wine (optional)
3/4 c. flour
1/4 tsp. pepper
1 c. sweet or sour cream

Dredge pheasant in flour seasoned with salt and pepper; brown in hot oil. Arrange in covered casserole; add cream. Bake, covered, at 375 degrees for 2 hours or until tender. Add water as needed; baste occasionally with cream and drippings. Add a small amount of white wine the last 30 minutes of baking time to tenderize and add flavor.

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Storing Cabbage

Cabbage varieties may either be a short season variety that may mature in around 45 days or long season varieties that take several months to mature. As cabbage is a cool season crop, plant in early spring for summer harvest or in late summer for fall harvest. We put in our second planting for fall harvest this past weekend.

If you are harvesting during the summer, cut the head off at the base with a sharp knife and leave the roots undisturbed. Smaller heads may form on the cut surface. Cabbage will last for a couple of weeks in the refrigerator. Harvest before the heads get too large and split.

Fall harvest cabbage should be left in the ground as late as possible and yet be pulled up by the roots. If the heads get nipped by a frost, don’t worry as it will taste better than if harvested earlier. Again, be sure to harvest before the head splits. Remove the roots and wrap the heads in newspaper or burlap material. They may be kept at zero degrees over the winter. You may also freeze the cabbage and use it as needed. Last winter we kept several heads in a second refrigerator and was still enjoying homegrown cabbage into late spring.

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You’d Think I’d Learn

The medical profession around here may never learn. Last week while with my primary care physician I was being asked some questions relating to family history. There was a medical student from UVA with him taking notes on the visit. If Dr. Ross had read my chart he’d have saved us both some frustration. He asked, “Is your mother still living?” I replied, “No.” “What happened to her? he continued. “She died,” I answered. “I gathered that,” replied Dr. Ross. He continued, “What did she die of?” “Her heart stopped beating,” was my answer. Hearing a muffled snicker, I looked over at the medical student. He had tears running down his cheeks. Knowing he wasn’t going to get ahead of me, Dr. Ross started talking about a colonoscopy. Evidently he hadn’t learned.

This week I had to see my rheumatologist at UVA. As I was checking in, the receptionist asked me which doctors I was suppose to see. “Dr. Jeckle and Dr. Hyde,” I replied. “Jeckle, Hyde, Jeckle, Hyde,” she kept repeating to herself as she searched on her monitor. The receptionist setting next to her was biting her lip so had to keep from laughing out loud that tears were running down her cheeks. Finally I had to say, “Swamy and Lewis.” The second receptionist had to tell her that I was jerking her chain. The Pickle Queen, standing behind me, just laughed.

Looking at and examining my hands, Dr. Swamy had plenty of questions. You wouldn’t think that I could re-injure my ribs again by answering a simple question. Not only did I re-injure them, I also got a severe case of whiplash. Getting tired of answering questions, when he asked, “Are you stiff in the mornings?”  I saw my chance. “You bet I am,” I answered. When he asked, “Where?” not only did I get an elbow in the ribs that made the jab in church (see Butt Dust) feel like a love tap, I felt the back of my head hit my back between my shoulder blades as the PQ grabbed my ponytail. I darned neared had tears running down my legs. Evidently I hadn’t learned.

Next week I see my Ophthamologist and Nephrologist. We’ll see what happens with them.

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Beaver Tail Beans

Don’t throw away the beaver tail when you make the Beaver recipe from my August 23rd post. Either blister the tail over a fire, dip in boiling water for a couple of minutes, or broil over hot coals for a couple of minutes until the rough, scaly hide blisters and loosens. When the hide is removed, the tail should be clean, white, and solid.

Cut up the clean tail and boil in a pot of beans. Add some chopped onions for flavor along with salt and pepper to taste.

Beaver tail is also good when roasted over an open campfire or in the oven.

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Getting Old Can Be Fun

Someone once said, “Good friends are like quilts – they age with you, yet never lose their warmth.” You are probably like myself. Both you and I have seen too many friends leave this world, too soon, before they understood the great freedom that comes with aging. I got this from a friend and want to pass it along.

Whose business is it, if I choose to read, or play on the computer, until 4 AM, or sleep until noon? I will dance with myself to those wonderful tunes of the 50s, 60s, and 70s, and if I, at the same time, wish to weep over a lost love, I will.

I will walk the beach, in a swim suit that is stretched over a bulging body, and will dive into the waves, with abandon, if I choose to, despite the pitying glances from the jet set. They, too, will get old.

I know that I am sometimes forgetful. But there again, some of life is just as well forgotten. And, eventually, I remember the important things.

Sure, over the years, my heart has been broken. How can your heart not break, when you loose a loved one, or when a child suffers, or even when somebody’s beloved pet gets hit by a car? But broken hearts are what gives you strength, and understanding, and compassion. A heart never broken, is pristine, and sterile, and will never know the joy of being imperfect.

I am so blessed to have lived long enough to have my hair turning gray, and to have my youthful laughs be forever etched into deep grooves on my face. So many have never laughed, and so many have died before their hair could turn silver.

As you get older, it is easier to be positive. You care less about what other people think. I don’t question myself anymore. I’ve even earned the right to be wrong.

So, yes, I like being old. It has set me free. I like the person I have become. I am not going to live forever, but while I’m here, I will not waste time lamenting what could have been, or worrying about what will be. And I shall eat dessert every single day (if I feel like it and the pickle queen lets me).

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