Diseases

Sample Recipes from The Ayurveda Solution to Type 2 Diabetes: A Clinically Proven Program to Balance Blood Sugar in 12 Weeks by Jackie Christensen Ph.D. and Pat Crocker

Kitchari  [one-week detox]

This dish is a key recipe to the Ayurveda Solution Diet for all doshas -– use it as a daily staple during the one-week detox. For variety, add 2 cups chopped vegetables (recommended for your dosha) in the last 10 minutes of cooking.

• ¾ cup yellow split mung beans (see recipe notes)
• ¼ cup barley (see recipe notes)
• 1 tablespoon ghee or extra-virgin olive oil
• ½ teaspoon ground coriander
• ½ teaspoon ground cumin
• ½ teaspoon ground fennel
• ½ teaspoon ground fenugreek
• ½ teaspoon ground turmeric
• 3 cups water

1. Combine beans and barley in a colander. Rinse well and set aside to drain.
2. Heat ghee in a large saucepan over medium heat. Add coriander, cumin, fennel, fenugreek, and turmeric and stir well.
3. Stir in beans, barley and water. Increase heat to high and bring to a boil. Reduce heat to low. Simmer for 45 minutes or until the water has been absorbed and the consistency is similar to soupy porridge.

Makes 2 servings

Recipe Notes: Yellow mung beans (Vigna radiata) have been hulled and dried. They are available whole or split. The Indian word dal (or dahl) is often translated as “legumes,” but can mean many different lentils, peas, chickpeas, and beans that have been split, so we use the term “split mung beans” or “mung dal” -- to say “split mung dal” would be redundant. It gets complicated because a dish that is made with any kind of dried pea or bean (aka pulse) is called a dal. The other confusing fact is that mung beans are not actually beans or lentils but are part of the legume family.

Barley (Hordeum vulgare) is a cereal grain that is part of the grass family. It is sold in several forms including hulled or groats, hull-less, grits, flakes, pearl, scotch, quick, and flour. The whole, hulled form (also known as barley groats or Scotch barley) is healthiest because only the tough, outer hull has been removed, leaving all of the fiber and nutrients found in the whole grain. Whole, hulled barley is not widely available but may be found in natural/whole foods stores. Pearl barley is most common and, because it has been processed to remove the natural bran coating, it cooks faster and is less chewy.

Black and Gold Breakfast Bowl [Breakfast, Pitta]

Satisfying and delicious, black rice is super-charged with antioxidant and anti-inflammatory nutrients. For a savory change, substitute chopped artichoke, asparagus, or shredded carrot for the apple and strawberries.

• 2 ¼ cups water
• 1 cup black rice
• 1 cup chopped apple
• Warm Golden Milk
• 1 can (14-ounce) coconut milk
• 1 cup coarsely chopped goji berries or quartered strawberries
• 1 teaspoon ground turmeric
• ½ teaspoon cardamom
• ½ teaspoon ground cinnamon
• ¼ teaspoon ground ginger
• ¼ cup unsweetened coconut flakes

Bring water to a boil in a covered saucepan over high heat. Stir in rice, cover, and reduce heat to medium-low. Simmer for 30 to 35 minutes or until water is absorbed and rice is tender. Turn heat off and quickly stir in apple.

1. Cover and let rice and apple stand on the burner for 5 minutes. Remove lid, stir, and set aside to cool.
2. Meantime, combine milk, berries, turmeric, cardamom, cinnamon, and ginger in a saucepan. Bring to a simmer over medium heat, whisking constantly for 3 minutes or until small bubbles appear around the edges of the pan. Remove from heat.
3. Spoon rice into serving bowls and pour milk over. Sprinkle 1 tablespoon coconut flakes over.

Makes 4 to 6 servings

Quinoa Bowl with Lentils and Vegetables [Lunch, Vata]

For variety, try different Vata vegetables every time you prepare this recipe. It makes a beautiful presentation when served in a glass bowl but you can layer the ingredients into four or six individual bowls.

• 2 tablespoons ghee or olive oil, divided
• ½ onion, chopped
• 2 cloves garlic, finely chopped
• 1 tablespoon Vata Spice Blend, page xx or see Recipe Note
• 4 cups water or vegetable stock
• 1 cup dried red lentils
• 1 cup quinoa, rinsed
• 1 cup fresh or frozen (defrosted) corn kernels
• 1 cup fresh or frozen (defrosted) 1-inch pieces green beans
• 2 tablespoons apple cider vinegar
• 2 avocados, peeled and diced

1. Heat 1 tablespoon ghee in a large pot over medium-high heat. Add onion and cook, stirring frequently for 5 minutes or until translucent. Add garlic and cook for 2 minutes, stirring frequently for 1 minute. Stir in spice blend and mix well.
2. Add water and bring to a light boil. Stir in lentils and quinoa and reduce heat to medium-low. Cover and simmer for 25 minutes or until lentils are tender.
3. Meanwhile, heat remaining ghee in a large skillet over medium heat. Add corn and green beans. Cook, stirring constantly for 7 minutes or until vegetables are crisp-tender.
4. Toss vinegar and avocados together in a small bowl.
5. To assemble: Scrape quinoa-lentil mixture into a large glass or wooden salad bowl. Spread cooked corn and beans over. Spread avocados and vinegar over all.

Makes 4 to 6 servings

Recipe Note: If you don’t have the Vata Spice Blend (page xx), combine the following spices and use them in place of the blend:

• 1 teaspoon ground chili, optional
• 1 teaspoon ground cumin
• 1 teaspoon ground coriander

Carrot-Zucchini Ribbons with Avocado Drizzle [Lunch, Pitta]

As a variation, you could use 1 cup shaved Brussels sprouts, 1 cup chopped cabbage, 1 cup chopped bell pepper, and 1 cup 1-inch cut green beans in place of the carrots, zucchini and eggplant.

• Ribbons
• 2 large carrots
• 2 medium zucchini
• 1 medium Japanese eggplant
• 1 tablespoon ghee
• 2 cloves garlic, finely chopped
• 2 cups cooked lima beans
• Avocado Drizzle
• ½ lime, juiced
• 2 avocados, peeled and diced
• about 4 tablespoons extra-avocado oil

1. Peel and cut carrots, zucchini and eggplant into thin ribbons using a mandolin slicer.
2. Heat ghee in a large skillet over medium-high heat. Add garlic and cook, stirring frequently for 2 minutes or until soft and fragrant. Add carrot, zucchini and eggplant ribbons and cook, tossing frequently for 7 minutes or until crisp-tender. Stir in lima beans and cook, stirring constantly, for about 3 minutes or until beans are heated through.
3. Make Drizzle: Combine lime juice and avocados in a small bowl. Mash using a fork. Add oil, 1 tablespoon at a time, until a thin consistency is achieved.
4. Divide ribbons into 4 equal portions and pile on plates. Drizzle each with avocado mixture.

Makes 4 servings

Vegetable-Mung Bean Pots with Seed Crust [Dinner, Kapha]

The seed crust is crunchy and makes a tasty topping for the beans and vegetable stew. Be sure to use ovenproof pots or ramekins for this oven-baked dish.

• Bean Pots
• 1-1/2 cups water or vegetable stock
• ½ cup split mung beans
• 2 tablespoons ghee, divided
• 1 onion, chopped
• 1 carrot, chopped
• 1 celery stalk, chopped
• 1 broccoli, chopped
• 3 cloves garlic, finely chopped
• 1 cup tomato sauce
• Seed Crust
• 1 cup cooked wild rice
• ½ cup sunflower seeds
• ¼ cup flaxseeds
• ¼ cup pumpkin seeds
• about ¼ cup sunflower or almond oil

1. Preheat oven to 375° F. Place 4 heatproof ramekins or small bowls on a baking sheet and set aside.
2. Bring water to a boil in a saucepan over high heat. Add beans, reduce heat to medium-high and simmer for 30 minutes or until tender. Drain and combine with 1 tablespoon ghee in a bowl. Set aside.
3. Meanwhile, heat remaining ghee in a large skillet over medium-high heat. Add onion and cook, stirring occasionally, for 5 minutes. Add carrot, celery, zucchini, and garlic and cook, stirring frequently, for 7 minutes or until vegetables are tender. Remove from heat and stir in tomato sauce and cooked mung beans. Divide mixture into 4 equal portions and spoon into heatproof ramekins.
4. Make Seed Crust: Combine rice and seeds in the bowl of a food processor. With the motor running, add oil through the funnel in the lid until the mixture starts to clump together. Divide crust mixture into 4 equal portions and pat over vegetable mixture in ramekins. Bake in preheated oven for 30 minutes or until bean mixture is bubbling and crust is browned.

Makes 4 servings

Spaghetti Squash, Turkey and Greens in Lemon Broth [Dinner, Vata]

This makes about 1-1/2 cups extra broth that you can enjoy between meals or as a pre-dinner aperitif. You could use a mixture totaling 4 cups chopped summer squash, asparagus, green beans, kale, or rutabaga in place of the squash. Omit step 1 and add vegetables in step 3 with carrots and parsnips.

• 1 spaghetti squash, halved
• 2 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil or ghee
• 4 cups chicken or vegetable broth
• Juice of 1 lemon
• 3 cloves garlic, thinly sliced
• 1 lb boneless, skinless turkey breast
• 2 carrots, sliced crosswise into coins
• 2 parsnips, sliced crosswise into coins
• 2 cups spinach or turnip greens

1. Preheat oven to 375° F. Scoop out seeds from squash and drizzle cut sides with olive oil. Place cut side down on a parchment-lined, rimmed baking sheet. Roast in preheated oven for 40 minutes or until flesh is easy to shred.
2. Meanwhile, bring broth, lemon juice, and garlic to a boil in a large pot over high heat. Reduce heat and when broth is gently simmering, add turkey. Cook in simmering broth for 15 to 20 minutes or until temperature reaches 160° F. Lift turkey out to a plate and set aside.
3. Add carrots and parsnips to the broth and simmer for 7 minutes or until vegetables are crisp-tender. Lift out of broth using a slotted spoon and divide evenly among 6 bowls.
4. Add spinach to broth and cook for 1 minute or until wilted. Lift out and divide evenly among the bowls.
5. Shred turkey using 2 forks and divide evenly into 6 portions and add to bowls. Shred squash, divide evenly into 6 portions and add to bowls. Spoon ¼ cup of the broth over each bowl and serve immediately.
6. Store remaining broth in a covered jar in the refrigerator for up to 3 days. Heat and serve as a between-meal drink or as an appetizer before lunch or dinner.

Prologue

I was on my phone in my favourite writing spot in a bookstore, where four green leather wingbacks clustered near a fake fireplace. I think what I heard was the doctor asking how he could help. Maybe he said he got my message or he’d heard about my son from whoever found it first. It was his caring tone that cracked me open. Before, I would have mustered a giggle-worthy comeback to make him comfortable, some sarcastic quip to break the tension between strangers, but the last vestiges of my Funny Girl veneer were gone. I’d dismissed her from my cast of characters back in the pediatrician’s office. The part of me that could react to crisis went over the cliff’s edge as I stared at a pile of my son’s school pictures and wondered how the hell I’d missed the signs. By the time the doctor asked the next question, I was managing only mumbles to convey I didn’t know how he could help, but I sure as hell needed it.

“Tell me what you know so far,” Dr. Graham said.

I blurted out a list of the medical facts I’d gleaned up to that point from doctors with specialties I would previously (and contentedly) not have known existed. Then I rhymed off blood levels and tumour measurements, and when I got to the part about my son’s pain, I stood and paced because I thought movement might quell the tears that were rising. I sat back down, just on the edge of the chair at first, but the tenor of the conversation made me feel wobbly, so I slid to the floor, and a few minutes later, I was on my knees. I dissolved into sobs for the first time since I’d heard the word gigantism from my son’s pediatrician days before. My tears dropped onto the orange carpet, where the little orbs lost their borders, pooling into one almost-red wet spot.

I’d plunged into the Google-verse on the hunt for someone who was expert enough to get my son conclusively diagnosed and tell me what his treatment options were. There had to be an expert somewhere. I didn’t know how many doctors it would take to get the information I needed or how far around the globe I’d need to reach for them. Google found a press release announcing an award to a specialist at a California hospital. I clicked the “more info” link and then the “contact us” button.

The endocrinologist on the phone worked with the celebrated doctor, and somehow, he had heard about me already, less than twelve hours after I put some sentences into the online form at some public relations firm in Berkeley, California. I didn’t know enough yet to realize that this meant I had a very sick child.

I would never have been so brazen had it been about my health; I’m not the queue-jumping type. I’m more the wait-my-turn kind, the one who lets the customer with just one item slip ahead to the cashier. Being this unabashed for my kids was still foreign to me. I’d never left a middle-of-the-night harried message on the pediatrician’s answering service begging for the first appointment. In fact, I hadn’t taken either of my boys to the doctor’s office for so much as a fever, infection, or minor wound in years.

“You’re doing all the right things,” Dr. Graham said. Then, quiet. I wasn’t going to get the relief I’d desperately wanted. I’d counted on him to tell me about next steps, but he hadn’t dropped the details for a cure or told me that hundreds of other kids before Aaron had followed some treatment plan and were fine. I was still clinging to the hope that somebody somewhere (could it please be him?) might hear our story and tell me that this had all been one big mistake. Instead, I was sobbing, wiping my nose, snuffling like an ice-cream-dropping toddler.

“All the right things? You mean we’ve done everything there is to do?” My breathing quickened again. I needed to know what to do. Someone needed to tell me what to do. There’s still more to do, isn’t there?

“Even doing all the right things, it still may not be enough.”

What did he just say? I couldn’t have heard him right. Not enough for what?

I drew in my breath. Panic choked out any calm I was starting to manage. A thousand fears came rushing in.

“All the right things aren’t getting us to an expert, Dr. Graham,” I told him. “Not the tumour expert, the disease expert, or the brain surgeon we need. All the right things are just leading to more questions, more tests, more prescriptions.”

“You’ll need all those doctors and more,” he replied. I heard his practised calm. He wasn’t going to tell me how to find what Aaron needed. I was on my own.

“It’s not like I can just call them up.” I had a mental picture of me, uber-polite and bubbly on the phone to some receptionist: “Oh, hi.… Can I make an appointment this afternoon with your world-renowned brain surgeon–boss to check out the golf ball–sized tumour in my son’s head? Yes, sure, I can hold.” My voice was cracking. I was sobbing again, wiping my nose on my coat sleeve. Pleading tones seeped out of me. “It doesn’t work that way. At least not where I live. It takes a long time to be seen here and I don’t even know who we need to see.”

I’m pretty sure that doctors have no idea how difficult it is for patients to get access to them. Specialists, in particular, are oblivious to the long waits, the mystery of how to move up the queue, and helplessness of seeing a condition deteriorate before getting to the doctor. Even best case, it would take months to get Aaron a first consult. I must have said this out loud.

“Knowing what you’ve told me … in my estimation …” — he hesitated or stuttered maybe on this point — “Your son doesn’t have that kind of time.” My mouth fell open. I stared, stopped twiddling the pen between my thumb and forefinger.

No back-pedalling followed. He didn’t say, “I haven’t examined Aaron of course, so I can’t be sure.…” And Dr. Graham certainly had every right to not give me an opinion at all. He hadn’t even seen a photograph or test result. He was taking my word for it. And he’d called me. My kid really was in trouble.

“Fewer than a hundred or maybe two hundred children in the world have this condition,” he told me, adding that not many more than that were recorded in the last century. There were eight billion people on the globe. How could anything truly be that rare anymore? What would that percentage even be and out how many decimals? Why my kid? Why here? Why now? The doctor wasn’t done. “Unfortunately, rare as it is, we do understand the progression of the symptoms.” His voice had gone flat.

I might have been crouching, could have been in the fetal position under a display table. I saw nothing. I felt pressure in the side of my head, as if my eardrum was struggling to get closer to the phone. I could hear the doctor breathing. Was this difficult for him too? Didn’t he do this kind of thing every day? Did he know he was calling to destroy my life? I heard something else, something deeper than sound, larger than noise, rising from a sinister place where dark truths about children hide until frailty and hopelessness allow them to emerge. First a rumbling and then a ticking, uneven and random, settling at last into a rhythm, the cadence of a countdown. Tick. Tick. Tick. It had been running down for months, maybe years, before an eagle-eyed technician found my son’s tumour on a CT scan.

How much time is left?