sick food diary

this and that 4/10/25

Well… there wasn’t a new Back to the Garden post last week, and there’s not going to be a new one this week either. I was, as the Brits say, “in hospital” Monday and Tuesday due to a pericardial effusion (excess fluid around the heart). I had picked up a virus and felt sick all last week, but when the chest pains started getting worse I thought it was best to go to the ER. They admitted me, but luckily I only had to stay over one night. The virus probably was exacerbated by the CML meds I was taking every day, so my hematologist is switching those up. I’ll stop talking about all this stuff now. If you love hearing about people’s medical issues, watch The Pitt on Max. I won’t be joining you.

Right now, the only medicine I’m taking (besides Colchicine, a gout pill that is also supposed to help get rid of that excess heart fluid) is bright, cheery, Millennial-branded “health” food. While our ancestors might have healed themselves on pozole, tom yum, or matzo ball soup, I’m looking for something a little more “sprouted” or “pasture-raised,” and containing a few more “prebiotics” than our poor bubbies and abuelitas could grab with their gnarled (but proud!) hands.

Here’s my sick food diary. Eternal thanks to my husband John, who went to two separate Whole Foods (cruisy, manic Silverlake and expansive, utopian Burbank) to find everything I was craving. NO Fishwife or Fly By Jing, I promise. I’m not that sick.

Breakfast:

I actually woke up pretty hungry. I turned on the tennis in Monte Carlo and toasted two pieces of Ezekiel sesame bread, dipping them into a mini-tub of Good Culture Whole Milk Cottage Cheese. I peeled a blood orange and sprinkled some Tajin on a few slices of pineapple. Washed it all down with a Watermelon Lime Olipop.

Lunch:

Tennis wraps up early this week (no night sessions in Monaco), so I started Paradise, the type of fun, dumb show I never would get around to while in full health. Julianne Nicholson (absolutely robbed of deserved awards attention for Janet Planet) as a tech-billionaire (and possible presidential assassin) grieving the death of her son from the confines of an underground bunker that looks like The Truman Show. Sold. I toasted two more pieces of Ezekiel bread and slathered them with lots of (Revolutionary! Earthy!) Majestic Sprouted Hummus and some arugula. Side of strawberries (bland, too early in the season) and more Tajin-spiked pineapple. Plus a few Triscuits and a black Babybel. And a Banana Cream Olipop.

Snack:

I read a little of my book, Hard Courts by John Feinstein, about the 1990 professional tennis season, and napped. When I woke up, I had a few more Triscuits with crunchy peanut butter and honey and a Guava Dragon Fruit Health-Ade Kombucha.

Dinner:

John and I watched the first three episodes of Seth Rogan’s The Studio. Rogan’s not doing his show any favors by invoking The Player in interviews. But if your expectations are more Larry David and less Robert Altman, it’s entertaining enough. One major complaint and one major WTF. Complaint: a total waste of Keyla Monterroso Mejia (Maria Sofia from Curb) in a nothing role as a receptionist. Give this comic genius something funny to do. WTF: everything that Kathryn Hahn is doing. A crass, clueless marketing executive is a role that Hahn-like brunettes Jenny Slate (Kroll Show) and Kate Berlant (Dream Scenario, The Other Two, etc.) have murdered. Hahn even steals the classic PubLIZity giant iced coffee gag. So why does her performance seem so off? Hahn can be a funny actress, but she’s not a comedian, and the broadness of this character doesn’t suit her strengths. I ate a Spicy Tsunami Combo (salmon and tuna nigiri + spicy salmon and spicy tuna maki) and an Orange Squeeze Olipop.