No Compromises: Gluten Free and Tango Savvy

SANTA OR SEX

2012-02-03T07:44:00.000-08:00

Oddly enough telling our children that we have been playing Santa for the past ten years and telling them about sex, seems to developmentally occur around the same time. This year my younger son (fourth grade) did not write a letter to Santa, did not set out cookies and milk and seemed relatively unthreatened that Santa was watching and he better snap to. At the same time, he and all of his friends are all ears, giggling when the word sex is mentioned and his eyes are glued to the screen during kissing scenes.

Hence – my dilemma – Santa or Sex. Which do I tell him about first? As luck would have it, I have a fifteen year old and can draw upon that experience five to six years ago to guide me. I recall discussing both Santa and sex with my older son but I cannot for the life of me remember which one‘s truth was first revealed.

The Santa discussion I believe was in the fall, before Christmas and I encouraged him to now be a Santa for his younger brother and sustain his belief. He took it pretty well, with a little surprise but I thought he understood until Christmas Eve when he frequently kept checking the Santa tracker on TV. I remember thinking, didn’t we just go over the existence of Santa and why is he constantly checking on Santa’s whereabouts? I didn’t mention it at the time and by the next year he seemed to have adjusted. Perhaps, he was in a transitional phase. Understood. I’m still not over it.

The sex discussion, I believe was the following spring near the end of school after his 11^th birthday. I went to the library and after looking over several books on “breaking the news” I selected one that was “middle of the road.” Some were all about the egg and sperm and really skirted the intercourse issue by saying “when the Mommy and Daddy hold each other really close.” Hmmm. At the other end of the spectrum, there were books that were committed to discussing the pros and cons of a variety of condoms. Okay – we weren’t there yet. In the end I selected something that described some of the biology and got down to it with a paragraph that described intercourse. At last – the defining paragraph.

I brought the book home and set up a time to read it together with my older son; quite a change of pace from our usual morning ritual of reading Harry Potter together. Nonetheless, I was committed to sharing the good news. He took it all really well and seemed a bit bored actually until the “defining paragraph.” Although the date escapes me, I recall him saying –“Could you read that paragraph again?”

After rereading the paragraph, I asked him if he had known that. He answered honestly that he had not and then came the classic question “Do you and Dad do that.” Despite my relative ease with the topic, I owned up to it only happening once by saying, “We had your brother didn’t we?” My older son is adopted so that answer would make sense to him but it also opened up a new door about his biological parents.

The ensuing discussion went well focusing on the reproductive qualities of sex rather than the pleasure factor. My husband promised a follow-up discussion but that did not happen for at least a year. In the meantime, I had my own follow-up discussions covering such topics as protection, masturbation,” no means no”, legalities, i.e., you are seventeen and your girlfriend is sixteen. Many of these topics were covered on car rides when my son and I were alone, he was seated up front and I unfairly had a captive audience. Whenever, I embarked on one of my information sessions, I usually got an “Oh Mom,” but I did notice how sweet and attentive he was with his girlfriend a couple of years later. I tried to have a tone that communicated a healthy but responsible attitude towards sex. Somewhere along the line, I think he now knows that we had sex more than just the time we conceived his brother. Whatever.

I believe as a child I may have learned about Santa first. I recall my Mom telling me about Santa and confiding that my older brother, David, already knew and had been keeping up the charade. As to sex, I recall pestering my Mom about how one became pregnant. When she broke the news calmly about intercourse, I was shocked, really shocked. One would think that I would have had an inkling. After all, my mom had already informed me about menstruation and how babies were born. Furthermore, we had a small farm and there was a virtual sex arena in our backyard as the cows gave each other “piggyback rides”. One would think, but no I was shocked. The conversation did not stop there. I beleaguered my mom with question after question. My brother had apparently heard the news and walked away without a question. I think there could be the same outcome in our home: my older son took it quite calmly and my younger son will be filled with questions. And why not. It’s worth questioning.

So – Santa or Sex. I’m not sure yet but perhaps next fall as my younger son is in 5^th grade and Christmas is around the corner, an opportunity will present itself and my dilemma will be solved. You see, it truly will be Santa or Sex; somehow, the topic comes up at the same time. But if I had my druthers, there would be a Santa and then my problem really would be solved.

Diane Lachtrupp Martinez

Backstage at the Thanksgiving Show

2011-12-15T14:29:00.000-08:00

Husband and Guest doing a frogstand

I’m not quite sure how it started. How the first germ of an idea came to be or how it developed into the extravaganza it is today. Perhaps it was the Adirondack family fitness challenge, which could do the most sit-ups, push-ups and pull –ups that provided the spring board. Maybe it was the constant climbing/ dance lifts my niece Cara did onto my now husband then boyfriend’s back that clearly needed a performance opportunity that spurred us on. Or maybe the fact that Grandpa Dave, mom and I would sometimes casually sing together provided an inspiration.

Whatever it was led us down the path of the annual post dinner Thanksgiving show. No sitting around after dinner regretting our gluttonous intake with our belts loosened; we were ready for action. It started small with my niece Cara singing the repetitive song Mr. Pumpkin, followed by one of my brother’s twin sons Jeremy executing his hand stands. Next, Grandpa Dave would take out his harmonica and play something down home like the “Swanee River.” To bring back the vaudevillian flavor of our program, my brother and I would then perform the family frog stands on the rug. Those who could like my husband’s nephew Tommy, the twins Jeremy and Greg as well as my husband Johnny joined us. Cara and Johnny would perform a few ballet lifts and we would finish off the show with an uplifting rendition of “Amazing Grace.” Grandpa Dave, my mom and I would sing the first verse and then everyone would join us on the remaining verses.

I think you see where we are going with the show; nothing too typical, nothing professional, the unusual was favored. We used our lesser talents and brought forth are parlour tricks, if you will. My husband and I are professional dancers and performers but have never used that as an act; we prefer to do frog stands or acts of flexibility. An Argentine Tango just wouldn’t fit in. In addition, I produced the show yearly and Johnny was our unflappable MC. I seem to have the talent of creating something out of nothing, putting a spin on it and justifying it. He, on the other hand, had the talent of communicating this to the audience with conviction, comedy and drama.

What kind of family puts on these yearly events? Well, “the show” never occurred until I met my husband and his family and we started having our annual Thanksgiving celebration up at our camp in the Adirondacks. We all slept there for two to three nights so perhaps our personalities coupled with cabin fever provided the right atmosphere for our theatrics. My husband’s family is artists of varying talents, and my brother’s family is divided between sports for the three guys and dance for my niece and her mom Bonnie. On top of this each family possesses some circus like abilities; my husband’s family is extremely flexible through the hips and my brother’s family has unusual balance. As the producer, I have exploited both characteristics to provide comedy and oddness for our annual shows.

Over time new family members arrived and with the new additions, the show altered. As the creator and producer, I was thankful for the additions, as putting a new and interesting spin on Mr. Pumpkin and a frog stand every year had become challenging. Tommy’s girlfriend Melissa (now wife) joined us in 2000, and my family expanded to include two boys Joey and Lucas in 2002. Thanksgiving 2002 included the mystery of the stolen prince that involved my 10 week child and somehow tied the whole thing together. Tommy was always fun by himself but now with the addition of Melissa they would add an act that entailed art. No slouch in the athletic category, Tommy also participated in the flexibility category while last year Melissa somehow sustained her yoga headstand next to my flailing headstand that lasted all of 2 seconds before falling three times. Persistence is one of my strengths and downfalls, as I continued to say “I got it, just one more try.”

Sadly, the theater was black in 2008 when Thanksgiving was in New York City without my brother’s family and we were uninspired with half the cast missing. However, in 2009 we were back together in Vermont and the New Yorkers made the six hour trip up to Stowe, Vermont for the Holiday. I’m going to say that this was one of our better shows. Grandpa Dave had written his own introduction for his musical performance and had a costume, Tommy and Melissa had planned some camera flashing in the dark outlining the body act, the flexibility acts with the Martinez hips and my head to toe touching flexible back were impressive and the dog obedience act outdid itself. We were back.

Son executing the frogstand

Of course no show is complete without an audience and we were lucky to every year have Uncle Freddie, Johnny’s mom Carmen and Cream Puff (Uncle Freddie’s dog) as our consistent fan club. My brother was also in the audience but annually made his walk to the stage with dignity to perform his requisite frog stand and his wife Bonnie (also in the audience) was frequently involved in a dog act. My mom, sitting in the audience, rose every year to sing the finale “Amazing Grace” with solid harmony. The rest of us were running around backstage in the dining room and kitchen readying ourselves for our barely rehearsed acts.

Thanksgiving 2010 was filled with joy to be together but tinged with sadness as the Adirondack house was for sale and we were quite sure it would be our last Thanksgiving there. Nonetheless, the show must go on and we received new inspiration that year in the form of the neighbors. We had just found out that new friends (the Maxwells) in Saratoga had a home down the road from us in Speculator and they were joining us for dinner. They took their food and theater seriously, bringing all sorts of goodies to eat and arriving for the show with a violin and a reading from Geoffrey Chaucer’s “The Canterbury Tales.” I’m not sure anyone quite knew how to take the first thirty seconds of Otis’s reading of “The Canterbury Tales” in Middle English wearing a unique hat, but within minutes, we realized that it fit the 19^th century salon theater style we craved and embraced it. Hence, we had ushered in a new era of “the dramatic reading.”

The Maxwells were not the only new performers that year. Logan Blaise Martinez (heir to Tommy and Melissa) had entered the world and was debuting at the age of eight and one/half months. Actually, he was in two acts; the first being a series of unusual baby sounds assisted by Tommy and he opened up the lift act. I am practically proud of this further development of Johnny and Cara’s lift act which had grown a little predictable and needed a new spin. I called this act – the unaware, the bizarre and the classical. Tommy and Logan did some interesting poses in which Logan unaware of his participation was highly cooperative. Lucas and I on the other hand worked our butts off. Lucas and I frequently do lifts at home and it was time to bring it to the public combining my strength and sense of drama with Lucas’s flexibility and passion for the bizarre. We concluded the lift segment with some classical ballet lifts with Johnny and Cara who has now grown to 5 foot 7 inches. As always, the frog stand is done as both a nod to the tradition of our show and a nod to vaudeville. Amazingly, it never gets old.

To bring you up to date with our most recent show, I’m going to say that it was one of our most casual shows. With our beloved Adirondack home now sold, we hosted Thanksgiving this year in Saratoga. Additionally, it was my birthday, so my energy was high but I started to slow down after dinner and had not given the show as much forethought. Unfortunately, we were missing my brother’s family but I did have many people from which to cast the show from. Providence prevailed and the arrival of some new guests and presence of the Maxwell’s violin and dramatic reading script pushed me into action. Within fifteen minutes, I had auditioned a hoola hoop participant, secured some audience participation on the frog stand and put together a show order. I notified the sound man (Joey), the MC (Johnny), cleared the living room floor of the Greco/Roman pre-show act going on by the four young boys and organized the audience.

Somehow the show always comes together and this year was no different featuring a wonderful harmonica act, a hoola hoop act, a poem, a violin and piano duet, a Thanksgiving reading, a gymnastic feat of cart wheeling into the chair, a piano solo, a reading of the menu from the Thanksgiving dinner at the NYC Delmonico Hotel in 1888 and of course our closing song “Amazing Grace.” New audience members appeared simply stunned after some of the acts before clapping. We aim to please.

Perhaps not our best show, but entertaining nonetheless and after the music, the solemn readings and the comedic physical acts, we bring it all together with the singing of the song ‘Amazing Grace.” As we face each other and sing our thanks with moist eyes, I am touched by our ability to do our show in any location. In past years our strains of Amazing Grace drifted across the quiet Adirondack lake and the solemn November landscape. Now our voices carry out into the Saratoga Thanksgiving evening and a passerby can look in and see a group facing each other with meaning and grace. No television, cell phone or computer required. Just us and our many “talents.” It is a time worth revisiting. It is a time worth preserving.

Diane Lachtrupp Martinez

Author performing the frogstand

ONE TOO MANY SOCK FIGHTS

2011-11-03T15:45:00.000-07:00

I thought I had hit an all time low when I was wearing one Halloween sock and one Christmas sock last week, but no, I was capable of going lower. Saturday evening, I had a performance at a benefit; I was to dance a Tango solo with my husband, Johnny, and a group Latin piece with two other dancers in our company Tango Fusion. In my preparations of gathering together my costumes, my three pairs of dance shoes, my jewelry, hair products, gloves, thong and fishnets, I added red toe nail polish to a small bag of make-up. After doing our run-through at 7pm, I had one hour and fifteen minutes before show time, seemingly enough time to do make-up, paint toe-nails and don my costume. Please note, that my Latin costume required open toed shoes and decent polish was a must as my August pedicure had seen better days.

So – I go to polish my nails, only to discover, that the little bag that held the polish, had been left behind along with two bracelets and some make-up. No one had polish so one of the dancers suggested red magic marker. Excellent idea and since we were dressing in a pre-school room with art supplies my luck was returning. Simultaneously another dancer’s gaze and mine went to the top of a shelf and we saw a container with art paint. Its contents revealed a number of containers of red paint featuring an array of colors. I chose a straight forward red that we’ll call “lipstick red” selected for its’ hopeful potential to wash off.

So there I was, with my foot propped up, tissues separating my toes, using a small art paintbrush to color my nails with watercolors. In and of itself, not so bad, but after being down to one pair of daytime earrings and one pair of evening earrings for the last couple of weeks and after being able to only pull together one Halloween sock and one Christmas sock to wear with slacks, I felt I was at a very low point in regards to accessory organization. In my defense, I am high functioning: mother, wife, family gal, friend, dance teacher, dancer, choreographer, writer, volunteer, cook, gardener, tennis player, book lover, assistant soccer coach and party thrower extraordinaire – so something has got to give.

I had recovered fairly well from a huge sock fight that we had in the spring; most of my socks made it back to their original pair. (In the heat of the battle, many pairs come undone) But our last skirmish in late September left me undone. My younger son was in charge of repairing the socks and although capable of organization, this was not one of those times. Couple the sock fight with the fact that we had yet to really put everything back in place from our summertime rental http://dianelachtruppmartineznocompromises.blogspot.com/2011/09/exit-strategy.html and you have the recipe for missing clothing, accessories, paperwork, etc. Upon entering your home at the end of the rental season, you are filled with high hopes of maintaining the order that you thrust upon your home for the rental; you vow to put the contents of packed away boxes in their place. Then school and fall activities start and your goals are pushed aside; boxes remain unpacked and the socks that you didn’t take with you are difficult to locate.

As I wait for my toe nail polish to dry, I reflect on what socks and earrings have in common. Ah – they are in twos. This leads me to wonder what else comes in twos on my body and what will be the next jeopardized accessory. Let’s see, I have two eyes, but fortunately the contact lens case connects the two lenses so that helps. I have two breasts and as luck would have it the bra cups are attached, so no mismatching there. Oh-oh –shoes, yes shoes I believe are next. They are not attached when not on my body. Well - I am forewarned. Wish me luck.

Diane Lachtrupp Martinez

THE WATER STATION

2011-10-15T14:31:00.000-07:00

Prepping for the next onslaught of runners

“Do you have the water poured?”

“Did that earlier.”

“Is the music playing yet?”

“Working on it.”

“What time are they coming?”

“Now!”

“Now?”

“Now!”

“I thought I had three more minutes.”

“Nope. The lead runners are out there now. Is our eldest up yet?”

“Not counting on it. I’ll try.”

“See you out front.”

Two minutes later, I burst out our front door to see scores of runners passing our front porch on White St. I see a friend running past and yell out, “Uwe.” He turns to me with a smile, a wave and a “Hi.” It is one of our favorite times of the fall, the Melanie O’Donnell 5K and half marathon run. The race goes right by our home and this was the fifth year that we had provided a water station.

Five years ago, we awoke on a Sunday to find the race in progress and decided to set up an impromptu water stand. My husband set up the speakers on the front porch serenading the runners with the Rocky Theme Song as they passed. It brought a smile to many as they passed and to others gave them the boost they needed to keep going.

We set up a folding table with hard plastic cups that we would fill with water from our storage of spring water. Johnny would pour and the boys and I would stand on the street and do the hand off to the runners. As the race continued, we experienced a variety of hand-offs. Some runners smoothly take the water from our outstretched hands without a glitch and others manage to douse both us and themselves. When we ran out of cups, I would run inside, wash them and start all over again. We stayed until the last runner walked by, our voices sore from yelling encouragement and our clothes wet from sloppy hand-offs.

The next day, our doorbell rang and a member of the Melanie O’Donnell 5K committee dropped by with gifts for us. Apparently, many runners had mentioned our stop as being inspiring and memorable and they wanted to thank us with four excellent tote bags. We had been unofficially voted – “Best Water Station.” We didn’t do it for the recognition but our family was thrilled by the thanks and totes.

Over the next two years, our water station grew. Now we had more cups, placed the garbage can more strategically and started to perfect our hand-offs. In addition, some of the neighbors came to expect our station and would drop by to help out.

There are several different hand-offs: 1) the water bearer stands with the cup in their outstretched arm and the still moving running takes the cup as they pass, 2) the runner actually stops to take the water from us and then starts up again and 3) we (the water bearers) run alongside the runner for the hand –off without a second of running time being wasted. It is the most challenging hand-off and the most satisfying for me. However, be warned that the front runners are usually not interested in water and you should waste little of your energy and theirs inquiring.

By the fourth year, we were invited to be an official stop- we had arrived. The committee provided the table, the cups, the garbage bags, the water, the Gatorade and the exciting addition of bananas. We provide the road space, the manpower and our signature tunes – Rocky’s Theme still being a favorite. At some point, a half marathon had also been added, so we were busier for a longer period of time.

This past year, (September 18, 2011) for some reason became confusing. We didn’t have our eye on the date of the race and the committee forgot to call us. Late Saturday night, before the Sunday race, we agreed to have the water station. During the early dawn hours, my husband and I heard the supplies being delivered to the front of our home and then went back to sleep.

Since the race wasn’t completely on my radar, I overslept and experienced the panic of throwing on clothes, checking in with my husband (who was on it and already had sliced bananas) and running outside only to find out I had missed the first 30 runners or so. However, all was not lost as the committee had in addition to all the supplies, also sent us a water station staff. Perfect.

While the staff (Dave and Jake) was holding down the fort, I ran inside to wake my sons. When I woke my younger son by telling him that the runners were coming –NOW- he summed it up by saying, “It’s the best thing we do in September, next to my Birthday.” He jumped out of bed, dressed and ran outside to join the fun. My older’s son response was less enthusiastic, as he grunted, rolled his eyes and rolled over.

Now that our household was mostly up, I ran outside again to work the station. Jake and younger son were pouring two gulp size portions into cups and I joined Dave in handing out our beverages. I suggested to him that we each take a side of the street and announce our wares. Over the next 30 minutes, we yelled out “Water here” and “Gatorade there” indicating each other’s product. I recognized many of the runners and many of them recognized us from years past. Apparently, when I was inside, a runner asked Dave, “Where’s that woman who is usually here?” People counted on our water station for our enthusiasm and music.

At some point there was a lull before the half marathoners came and we foolishly thought that the bulk of the runners had gone by us. Not so!! A biker came by us to let us know that the leaders were 5 minutes out. No big deal. We got this. Normally, the 5K is the larger of the two categories. Not this year. The half marathon had hundreds of runners and we were about to be swarmed.

The first half marathoner runner went flying by us politely refusing a beverage or banana – all business. It was the same with the next 25 runners – beverages are not a priority. We looked west on White St. towards Nelson and saw a horde of runners heading for us. We were down to 20 pre-poured water glasses and about 15 pre-poured Gatorades. To add to our crisis, the large vat of water with the spigot was almost out and we were left with pouring water from bottles which is significantly slower. My 9 year old ran in the house in to fill the pitcher and I left my hand out position to just pour with Jake.

Fortunately, back-up had arrived as well in the form of my teenage son and a neighbor who had just finished the 5K with his young son. My younger son, Jake and I poured intensely and my older son, the neighbor and Dave hawked the drinks. There were times, when we were pouring a drink and handing it straight away to be handed out. Soon, we were 50 waters ahead and 50 Gatorades ahead and I went back to handing out. (My favorite position)

Interesting enough, we discovered that the runners in the earlier part of the half-marathon wanted water and people halfway back and more preferred Gatorade. We were constantly adjusting to meet the needs of the athletes.

Soon, another issue reared its’ ugly head – the trash. The trash barrel was overflowing and mis-thrown cups were all over the road. My teenage son stepped in to help out and some smaller neighborhood children helped pick them up. Many runners were concerned with making the garbage can with their toss.

By 9:30am, business had become intermittent. But – I still like to be out there for each runner offering water, music and words of encouragement. I stepped away for 15 minutes to run my kids to religious instruction. They were unhappy as they enjoy participating to the end. When I came back, Jake and Dave said that we were down to a runner a minute. Soon the last runners came by followed by the monitoring bike to announce that it was over. I cleaned up, sad that it was over.

The next day in the paper we read to the statistics to say that there had been 500 5K runners and 800 half marathoners. That explained a lot. What a great way to interact with so many people so quickly and so meaningfully. The runners are all appreciative with a smile, a wave or a thanks and I am always touched by the neighbors who drop in and start helping unasked. No words are needed.

Author's older son executing the water hand-off.

A SPECIAL TONGUE

2011-09-19T14:21:00.000-07:00

A view in the southern Czech Republic town of Znojmo

By - Diane Lachtrupp Martinez

Special to the Times Union

Explaining that you have gluten and dairy allergies to a waiter is challenging enough but asking for gluten-and dairy-free meals in Czech takes it to another level. Preparing for a recent trip to Czech Republic with my mom, who speaks a little Czech, and by brother, who speaks none, I knew I’d need a better knowledge of the language than my one Czech song, if I was to avoid the socially averse physical reactions of food allergies and, possibly, a trip to the ER. I thought preparation, good manners and charm were needed to ensure that I could get food that I could eat.

Gluten-free meal on Delta Airlines.

First the airlines. We asked our travel agent to request a gluten-and dairy-free meal. That being done I decided to start working on my Czech pleasantries so that I could garner waiter cooperation. Food is important to me and I wasn’t interested in an endless parade of grilled chicken on a mixed green salad. I wanted the real deal -local Czech food. I consulted my Czech dictionary and found out that please is “prosím” and that thank you is “dĕkuji vám.” Further research revealed the phrase “I am allergic to…” “Jsem allergicka na…” and I looked up the word for wheat “pšenici” and milk “mléko” to finish my phrase.

Before going, I searched for useful web sites and I found these useful for information: www.travelglutenfree.co.uk (for restaurant suggestions), www.praha.eu (for purchasing gluten –free products) and www.glutenfreeglobetrotter.com for articles about traveling gluten-free in different countries including the Czech Republic. Most of the web sites were geared to Prague and had little regarding some of the smaller cities that we would be traveling to.

As a final preparation, I took along some gluten-free bread and crackers and some rice cheese. While getting settled in your new digs, you may not have time to search for the closest health food store or market. I always travel with my bread and cheese, so I can enjoy a sandwich anywhere and toast with my eggs. My go-to snacks are hummus, nuts and dried fruit. While other travelers may be able to grab a quick yogurt, health bar or cheese as a small meal, I am limited.

Once on our way, we found Delta had honored my request as a gluten-and dairy-free passenger and delivered to me a respectable dinner of flavorful chicken, rice, vegetables, salad and a fruit salad. Before landing in the morning, they provided me with a rice cake, fruit and meat and cheese. Truth be told, my food looked better and fresher than my fellow passengers who were dining on the regular fare.

But, I had yet to be put to the true test. After checking into our hotel by the Charles Bridge, we ventured out for lunch. We happened upon a Czech/Austrian restaurant in an open square. I tried out my phrase ” Jsem allergicka na pšenici ” on the waiter and he tilted his head to the side in confusion. I repeated it several times and eventually he understood, broke into his excellent English and corrected my phrase to include the word for gluten “lepek” as opposed to wheat. Our waiter, Hanza, was generous and tweaked and rehearsed my phrase. My pronunciation of the word for dairy had been so laughable Hanza suggested I stick with the word for milk to express myself. After a tasty meal of boiled beef, grilled fish, potatoes and vegetables, I left the restaurant with a satisfied tummy, a new confidence and an invaluable piece of paper that now read “Jsem allergicka na lepek” and “Jsem allergicka na mléko.”

The following day we stopped for lunch at a small restaurant in Staré Mĕsto (Old Town) where they were offering beverage, soup and bread for 75 Korunas about $4.50. After a couple of tries with my new allergy statement, the waitress understood and said in Czech that the lentil soup contained no lepek or mléko. Without prompting, she added a rice cake to the side of my bowl. Although it was one of our simplest meals, I was touched by her thoughtfulness. We communicated through my one sentence in Czech, her 10 words of English and my mom’s understanding of a few words.

Our final morning in Prague, and after two days of eggs and toast, I decided to try and communicate a favorite meal of mine to the staff at our hotel. The buffet breakfast was lovely with fruit, eggs (no milk) sausages, smoked meats, cheeses, yogurts, croissants and an assortment of breads. It was heavy on dairy and gluten, so I was limited. I brought my bread and rice cheese down to the dining room and tried to ask that it be grilled panini style. After a couple of minutes of incomprehension, the dining room staff sent me to the kitchen to talk to Tatiana, the cook, who spoke absolutely no English. After five minutes of pointing to pans, butter and my bread and rice cheese, we were making a grilled cheese sandwich together. Thrilled with my communication and my new breakfast, I headed back to the dining room, my mother and brother wondering what had happened to me.

About halfway through our trip my brother, frustrated with witnessing my thrice daily long communications with the wait-staff, suggested I simply write it down. Of course that’s a great idea for those who are shy to try the language, but I wasn’t. I was there to take in the culture, eat the local food and try to speak their language. I was meeting with great success with my sentence and, as a result of my allergies, was enjoying great experiences with the local Czechs. He suggested his idea more than once and I ignored it more than once.

While staying in the small town of Mikulov, near the Austrian border, we decided to go for lunch in the nearby chateau town of Lednice. Soon after arriving, we received directions to a local restaurant; and local it was. Our waiter spoke not a word of English, the menu was completely in Czech and my trusty allergy phrase seemed to mean little to him. After a five minute futile discussion of the menu, the man at the table next to us could not take it a moment longer and broke into our conversation and offered his help. We welcomed it and soon were eating a delicious gluten-and dairy-free meal of roast pork, potatoes and vegetables. We sent a round of beer to the helpful man and his table companions and enjoyed our conversation with them which……. would not have occurred if I did not have food allergies.

As to shopping for food, the large markets in Prague contained gluten-free products and dairy alternatives. In the small city of Znjomo, I found a health food store that had a number of gluten-and dairy free-products, a helpful proprietress who spoke only Czech and a friendly customer who stepped in. Gluten-and dairy-free issues are definitely on their radar.

Gluten-free bread from the health food store in Znojmo
Note the wheat symbol crossed out in the upper right corner.

So- go forth and travel with your food allergies to the Czech Republic. Remember to contact the airline and hotel in advance and practice your Czech pleasantries. If a molecule of gluten is an issue for you, stick to the restaurants listed on the web sites. If your allergy is not as severe, then dine in mainstream restaurants, practice your phrase with enthusiasm and a smile and expect cooperative waiters and shopkeepers. If you must resort to English as your means of communication, ask politely if they speak English. Don’t assume. Finally, take satisfaction in the fact that there are many wonderful Czech meals to be had without gluten and dairy.

EXIT STRATEGY

2011-09-02T21:00:00.000-07:00

Along with hundreds of other Saratogians, we rent our home every summer for the racetrack season. Our rental habit started as soon as we purchased our home July 16^th 2004 and rented it the next day for the full track season. Our family of four did not move to Saratoga from New York City until February of 2005, so we had a taste of the rental bug immediately. We did full seasons in 2005, 2006, 2007, 2008 and 2009 and then after a challenging 2009 summer, we decided just to rent our home for two to three weeks as opposed to the entire season for several reasons: 1) We became homesick. Emotionally it was draining to be out of our home so long. Although, we usually travelled at least part of the rental period to some great places like Prince Edward Island, Costa Rica and Europe, when we were in town staying at my mom’s we would always find ourselves driving by the house with longing, covetous looks. 2) The preparation to ready a home for a six and a half week resident is overwhelming for a family with two active boys. While a week long renter is happy with one dresser and partially emptied closet per bedroom and one kitchen cupboard for dry goods, the full season renter requires emptying all dressers, all closets and more kitchen cupboards. 3) Preparing ourselves to depart for six and a half weeks is staggering. During that time, we have never done just one activity and remained stationary – No – we have to be prepared for a possible camping trip, a sailing trip a Central American trip or a trip to NYC to visit family. Then of course, there is our everyday life of teaching dance and performing, so if we forget the correct Tango music or if I bring the wrong black fishnets, I’m out of luck. We do have a casual understanding with all our renters, that if we get booked for a last minute show, we can re-enter for a few minutes and retrieve our Latin costumes or whatever.

Renting for two weeks and a weekend went swimmingly in 2010 and my husband and I felt we had made the right decision. So it was with this false sense of confidence and ease, we approached the 2011 rental season. By June, two one week contracts were confirmed and our first renters were due Sunday July 31^st. In July, our confidence dimmed as to our ability to have a calm preparation as my husband took on a full-time job teaching dance, Monday through Friday from 1pm to 9:45pm. To add to this, our entire family was involved with a local production of Doctor Dolittle and had rehearsals from 9am to 1pm Tuesday through Friday. My husband was the director, I was the choreographer and both boys (eight and fifteen) were in the production. We were scheduled for camping two weekends in July, tech rehearsal was scheduled the weekend of July 24^th and the last show was July 31^st, the day that our renters were scheduled to arrive. There was little time to prepare.

The day after July 4^th, and the first day of rehearsal we began our daily march of duties to our July 31^st deadline. After coming home from rehearsal and having lunch, I gave the boys goals to achieve in their room: sorting and recycling school papers, organizing toys, etc. They grumbled but stuck to it and made small improvements. Meanwhile, I would clean a drawer, prepare clothes for giveaway and sort through my own papers. We were determined to have an organized exit, not just the one where everything is thrown in bags and tossed into a room on the third floor. We were above that. We were wrong.

Although we had many summer activities, there was always the ominous cloud of preparing our home for the renters over our heads. To ease the tension, I would orchestrate breaks from our chores in the form of card games, (Uno) ice pops or a movie. My husband’s teaching job was nearby and he would come home between 5pm and 6pm for a break and/or dinner. One sweltering hot day he came home to the sight of us poised with water pistols in the backyard, demanding that he change and join us. A riotous half hour of running around, shooting each other and reloading from the rain barrel followed. It was a great break from our fate. It was our last great break.

A few days later, Tuesday July 19^th, (twelve days before the renters were due) our realtor calls us at 8:30am (en route to rehearsal) and asks if we would like to have weekend renters arrive this Friday. “You mean in three days,” I gasp over the phone. “Yes,” he replies. My heart is already pumping, we discuss a price and I tell him I will let him know shortly. We need to see if we can do it. Before I turn to my husband, I already know our answer. My husband and I look at each other knowingly and have a pointless conversation as we pretend to discuss the feasibility of readying ourselves by Friday. He has to work from 9am to 9:45pm for the next four days; I have to work from 9am to 1pm for four days and am teaching several nights. “Let’s do it,” we say in unison. An audible groan washes over us from the back seat as the kids are clearly not on the same page as us. My husband and I love a challenge, the financial rewards and why not?

I receive the word that all is a go from my realtor during rehearsal and spend the next two hours choreographing the dance number “My Friend the Doctor.” In between steps I start a cleaning, sorting and organizing schedule in my head that will start the moment we arrive home. By some miracle, I had already scheduled our monthly cleaning person to come on Thursday anyway so that is a huge help. I contact her and she agrees to do most of the cleaning on Thursday and finishing touches on Friday.

I start another list in my head of things that will not be happening this week: pedicure off the list, film forum on Thursday evening out the window and tennis on Friday goes by the wayside. My husband’s previous fun dinner time breaks at home are a thing of the past. No more backyard water pistol fights for us; my husband now comes homes on breaks to clean the grill and organize the laundry room. Upon arriving home from work at 10pm, he installs air conditioners, cleans the office area and starts work on his closet which needs to be emptied. No sacrifice is too great.

Meanwhile, I am constantly cracking the whip with the kids persuading, coercing and demanding that they clean their rooms. The command of cleaning your room is way too general and every hour I set up a new task for my eight year such as sort this pile of papers into school papers to keep and tests and homework that go to recycling. He manages to recycle quite well although he is hourly distracted by a ball or something else that is throw able. My fifteen year old son's room is a constant source of concern and stress as there is no clear path to an end. I ease my angst every now and then, by taking him off his room duty and asking him to empty the fridge or take possessions to the basement. At least something measureable is getting done.

By Thursday, I am feeling hopeful but can see that yet a third list must be made; what things are not going to get done. Cleanliness is non-negotiable; the house must sparkle but if a drawer or two is not sorted for weekend renters, so be it. We prioritize what is necessary and decide that the lawn will not be mowed, only one freezer shelf will be available and although the bathroom contains three areas that are cleaned off for the renters toiletries, the medicine cabinet is not one of them. Something had to give as we were beyond panic, near hysteria and approaching madness.

I work hard with the Doctor Dolittle cast members Tuesday through Thursday and am able to stay home Friday from rehearsal to finish the house Friday morning. My cleaning woman arrives at 8:30am (before the heat becomes unbearable) and we go to work finishing the house. After days of pressuring my teenage son to finish his room, I walk into it to 8:45 to complete it for my cleaning people and find it in better shape than anticipated. It takes me another half hour to make it presentable for the cleaners. The cleaning crew and I spend the next couple of hours cleaning, folding towels and making beds to perfection. I provide the renters with 12 pillows and pillow cases and 12 towels including hand towels. Organizing the linens alone takes a chunk of time. The final couple of hours are always a time of unpleasant surprises as a look under a bed or an opening of a closet or cupboard reveals one more thing yet to be done. Between 10am and 1:30 pm I clean the front porch, organize the back yard, finish linen laundry, finish packing my own clothes, empty the bathrooms, type up greetings and instructions for the renters, finish emptying the fridge, fill the cooler with stuff for my mom’s fridge, organize my paperwork, finish playroom, polish the grill, hide the candles, water the vegetable garden, backyard containers and front porch plants.

It is a very hot day and my husband arrives home at 1:30pm with the kids to find me delirious and wandering around the house. At 2:30 he kicks me out with the kids and says he will finish up, and for me to take our belongings over to my mom’s home where we are staying for the weekend. I am to take the kids to Stewarts for lunch as I have been rendered useless and unable to sustain the focus required to” bring it on home” with the finishing touches. Renters are due at 3pm and both my mental and physical state will make a bad impression.

I welcome the banishment and head on over to Stewarts with my eight year old to pick up lunch. While in Stewarts, my son first breaks a hot dog roll and then his meat sauce laden hot dog falls over and spills its contents. Not a major problem for most people but I am losing it. I say his name loudly and with irritation as other customers turn their heads to see what the problem is. I turn to them and say” I just moved out of my house for the track season. I’m on the edge.” Nonplussed they turn away as my son shrugs his shoulders and we sit down to eat.

Despite my mental state, I had promised the kids a reward immediately following our successful exit. After a quick lunch we are headed over to the mall to see “Harry Potter and the Deathly Hollows Part 2.” On the way, we pick up one of my younger son’s playmates and I warn him as he enters the car – that I am “a woman on the edge.” His mom who has just finished readying her carriage house for her full season tenant nods in agreement. She too knows the pressure of the exit.

The two hour long movie seems to have had a soothing effect on me and I’m ready to embrace the first day of track season. We run over to my mom’s to change and head on over to a dinner at Fornos. It is right near the dance studio where my husband teaches and he may be able to join us. My teenager calls ahead for a reservation and we are seated immediately and smoothly. And there we are wining and dining with everyone that makes up the” Saratoga Track Scene” – the homeowners, the renters, the horse people, the track lovers and other Saratogians who all contribute to this crazy, chaotic season.

Epilogue –Although the last couple of days have been beyond the pale, I am actually glad that we got the first exit over in a couple of days. Even if we had been given more time, I know in my heart that the last twenty-four hours would be sweaty, harried and unattractive.

After the initial push for the weekend rental, we moved back in and still had to exit from our home again on Sunday July 31^st for two one week rentals. This time the lawn gets mowed, the medicine cabinet gets cleared and I am coherent upon the exit. On Saturday July 30^th, my sister in law and niece call to say that they are coming to visit Skidmore College and would we like to have lunch. We take stock of our unimpressive state of readiness and decide to go anyway. True to form, my final hour before our exit from the house the next day is stressful. As I make my final survey of the house, I grab a tote and stuff it with remaining items. I rush out of the house and arrive at the final show of Doctor Dolittle one minute before the curtain goes up.

We move back in on Sunday August 14^th happy to be home. The question looms over our head? Do we unpack? How settled in should we get? We are out of town for Labor Day weekend and have offered the house as available to the realtors. While we don’t wait by the phone, we know that the next call could be our call to action. We’ll be ready.

P.S. As of printing, there was no call to action for Labor Day weekend and the Martinez household began to return their home back to the time before the grand exit.

Diane Lachtrupp Martinez

RECOVERING FROM THE RENTAL SEASON

2011-08-16T13:11:00.000-07:00

I have not written a current blog as we are just recovering from Saratoga Renter's Hell. We got out of our home three times; once for an unexpected weekend, once for the expected renters July 31st and then after a quick three hour turn around we came in and out on August 7th. We just got back in the house on Sunday August 14th. We remain unpacked as we wonder, "will we have to move out for Labor Day weekend."

That remains to be seen. Meanwhile I am working on a blog entry on our trials and tribulations of moving out this year. Should be out in a couple of days.

Enjoy!

Diane Lachtrupp Martinez

A SARATOGA TRADITION

2011-07-24T07:27:00.000-07:00

It's that time of year again when Saratogians rent their homes to incoming ballet, track and summer fans. The following article was my first published writing piece ever and describes our preparations and the exciting final 36 hours leading up to our exit the summer of 2009. We just moved out of our home again and a new article is in the works. Enjoy and if you are a homeowner who habitually rents out their home or first timers, please share your experiences.

It is a yearly Saratoga phenomenon; when teems of local residents vacate their homes to rent to the summer crowds. Hundreds of seemingly emotionally and financially stable Saratogians sign contracts, clean and de-clutter their homes and ultimately move out and find new digs while someone takes over their home. While the financial rewards are considerable, home owners in many cases earn every penny as the preparations are intense and the homelessness inconvenient.

Our family enters our sixth season of renting this summer and five out of six have been for the full season. Preparations for the 2009 season start December of 2008, when our realtor contacts us to update our website information and confirm its accuracy. One year we had a rental by January, but this year there are no bites until March. First, we contact our 2007, 2008 gentlemen renters and they politely decline. So we move ahead with new unknown summer renters.

The time between March and April passes uneventfully as we sign leases, receive deposits and speak occasionally with the realtor. Conversations with my friends who rent are frequently peppered with “Do you have someone yet? Is it the same people as last year? How long are you renting for?” The rare bold question is “How much are they paying?” No one is panicked in the spring.

And then late June comes, the final payments are in, it occurs to one that you only have five weeks remaining in your home and you need to start sorting and cleaning. We start by categorizing and recycling our children’s school papers as well as our own. Trips are made to the Salvation Army with clothing and we have our annual stoop sale. The experience of annually ridding our home of unnecessary items is cathartic and welcome.

My husband and I in early July start eyeing our teenage son’s room, anticipating and dreading the emotional and physical energy it will require to put his room in shape. Up until fall of 2008, our two sons had shared a room and somehow the younger ones presence had kept the older one’s true self at bay. But now, my older son has had full reign in the room, unplugged, unedited, undone. Throughout the past nine months, we had issued daily warnings, comments and suggestions with unsatisfactory success. We start him packing boxes the first week of July and we feel hopeful.

On Monday July 20^th, we have a family meeting to plan the next ten days to our exit on Tuesday July 28^th at 3pm. I get out the chalkboard and we name our project “Operation Escape,” which goes at the top of the chalkboard. Underneath our inspirational heading I list every day and what we need to accomplish each day. In addition to packing ourselves up to live at my mom’s and de-cluttering our home, we include our to do list: return library books, banking, teaching, recycling and changing our mail. Finally, we boldly list two ambitious projects we hope to accomplish prior to our exit - wash the exterior of the house and finish the taxes. I am the eternal optimist.

On the evening of July 20^th my husband’s family arrives from New York to help my husband with his sailboat and they go sailing on Tuesday. Our “Operation Escape” chart is ignored and we reconfigure on Wednesday. They depart Wednesday afternoon and we go back to fulltime work on the house.

Thursday morning, I walk with my neighbor who is also a habitual renter. Although she does not have a chalkboard family list, she has her own personal to do list and cleaning the shower is one of three things on her list today. Her efforts to ready the house will be thwarted by a houseful of company over the weekend and into Tuesday. We check in over the next couple of days to commiserate and give the update.

By Friday, we see progress. We proudly get out our chart and are able to erase off the do list: playroom, my youngest son’s room, living room, and third floor. My teenage son’s room, although it has seen improvement, remains a source of stress and we are concerned that it could be our undoing. Friday afternoon I cajole my sons and one of their friends to wash the house siding by our back garden entrance. There is a fair amount of horsing around but they clean it well and we reward ourselves with root beer floats in the backyard. It is a great Saratoga summer afternoon. Life is good.

Apparently, we feel that we deserve a break and we go sailing for two full days on Saturday and Sunday July 25^th and 26^th. We manage to not think about what waits for us at home and what extreme effort lies ahead on Monday and Tuesday. Arriving home Sunday at 6pm, we unpack, accomplish a few more chores and hit the hay early to ready ourselves for the final 30 hours of “Operation Escape.”

Monday July 27^th, finds my six year old, husband and I washing the siding on the front of the house by 9am. My teenage son (the time management expert) refuses to help or work on his room as he says;” I have plenty of time.” At one point my husband has his head in his hands and declares my eldest son’s room akin to kryptonite; he is weakened every time he enters the room. I manage to get both my husband and son back on task. A good friend hosts my younger son for the rest of the day for a play date. We are grateful.

The rest of Monday passes in a blur as we continue to pack our clothes, clean out draws, closets, take down posters, box up toys, sort paper and earn a living teaching dance in between. My mom comes by for my youngest to gather him for dinner and an overnight. I take a short nap on my Saratoga porch, enjoying the breeze and mourning how much I will miss it. All my clothes are packed by 4:20 and I am feeling good about my day until I receive a phone call from the realtor that the renters would like a full size bed in one of the bedrooms not the two twins. What?? I had imagined the sheets and blankets I would use and how I would dress the beds. All for naught. My husband is teaching at the studio and I decide to deal with this when he comes home.

I break the news to my son and husband around 6pm. After considering our options, we decide to bring a futon mattress from the third floor down and put it on top of the antique twin beds pushed together. It looks ridiculous as the mattress is not as wide as the two beds. We had considered putting the two beds together but the mattresses are different heights. Suddenly, I remember another twin mattress on the third floor in the Jacuzzi room and yes after my son measures the height, it will work. I disappear downstairs as the guys heave mattresses up and down stairs. In the end it works and it is decided that I will go and purchase king size sheets at Target the next day in my “spare time.”

By evening we are in good shape, packed to travel, possessions are secured on the third floor and in the basement. The kitchen remains the final frontier for Tuesday. The cleaning people are scheduled to arrive at 9:30. Our final night of sleep is short and with great enthusiasm and no energy we look forward to the “Final Day.”

D-Day, Tuesday July 28^th has arrived and we are working by seven with a piece of fruit to sustain us until breakfast at 10:45. We manage to get my eldest son out of bed and working by 8:30 and his eyes are swollen from lack of sleep. This is the first year that he is really involved in the exit process. He resents the work, the change and what he sees as the intrusion. My husband and I are holding up well.

I have set a goal for us to be off the second floor (bedrooms) completely so that the cleaning staff can clean easily, thoroughly and quickly. The cleaning staff arrives at 10:00, starts on the third floor bath and we are off the second floor by 10:45 and take our breakfast break. Every time we eat in the last two days, it has been an exercise in cleaning out the fridge. This time is no different. My son is not thrilled with his breakfast.

Everything we are taking with us is piled in the dining room, adjacent to the kitchen and near the back door exit. We are literally making our way out the door. One of the renters shows up at noon, saying that she was told she could move in then. I politely remind her that the lease says 3pm and that we need all the time allotted. I escort her back to the front door, close the door and go back to work.

And now for the kitchen and the fridge. For how much room the fridge takes up in our home, it remains the most intense work area. We sort food to be tossed, food to go into the cooler to be transported to my mom’s fridge, food to be moved to the downstairs fridge and then we repeat the process with the freezer. I make decisions as to the foods’ destiny and my son and husband execute. Then my son and husband take out every shelf and drawer and clean it in soapy water, rinse, dry and replace it. My six year old calls from my mom’s missing us and asking if I could bring over his wallet, his money for the bank and his Buzz Light Year piggy bank. I have remembered the first two and promise to do my best on the third. We miss him too and will be reunited by 3:30.

At some point, I head over to Target and purchase the king size sheets. I make the trip in a succinct 35 minutes and they work great. The cleaning people are efficient, pleasant and flexible and the five of us work around and with each other for the last two hours to make our 3pm goal. We all are doing what it takes to get the job done. In the morning, my son had the occasional breakdown that I got him through but now with 90 minutes left, there is no sign of that. After every job is completed, he says, “What’s next?” If only.

At 2:53 the renter shows up again and I invite her to sit on the porch. We are wiping the last counter, vacuuming the kitchen floor and straightening the last pillow.

The house looks pristine; no signs of clutter, plenty of sparkle and ready for inspection.

My husband, son and I take everything out to the van and come back in to welcome the renters. By this time, the other two renters are gathering on the front porch and I welcome them in at 3:03pm.

I thank and pay the wonderful cleaning people and then take up my job as tour guide. The women seemed pleased as I show them around, explain appliances and go over security. My husband takes over the technology part of the tour and exchanges phone numbers. I give the garden tour as I will be watering while in town at my mom’s and they will be in charge while we travel.

We climb into the car and head over to my mom’s, a mere mile away, and look forward to showers and lunch. I know for a fact that I smell and look like I smell. The renters looked surprised when I said we were professional dancers. We arrive at my mom’s, gather our younger son in our arms and have sandwiches and showers. My husband heads out the door an hour later to teach at 5pm. I am in awe of his stamina and calm. I opt to go out to dinner with my mom and the kids.

A week has gone by since our dramatic exit and now we experience the aftermath of our move. Currently the checkbook, my younger son’s socks, my bathing suit bottoms and some cash are still at large. We manage to miss my son’s eye appointment twice, have yet to complete the taxes and make my mother cry within three days of our arrival. However, like a new mom who vows never to go through childbirth again, we have forgotten the pain and are readying ourselves for next year’s rental.

Diane L. Lachtrupp

GLUTEN-FREE UPDATES FOR SARATOGA RESTAURANTS AND WISH LIST

2011-07-05T20:09:00.000-07:00

In earlier blogs, I talked about where to shop for gluten and dairy free products as well as restaurants that I have frequented that offer gluten-free entrees. Here are a few updates to add to my previous listings.

Limoncello Restaurant at 1 Ballston Avenue in Saratoga Springs is now offering a variety of gluten – free pastas on their menu. I have been asking them for awhile and it paid off. Thanks!!

Mama Mia’s Pizza and Café at 185 Ballston Ave in Saratoga Springs has offered gluten – free pasta and pizza for some time now and has added gluten – free tiramisu to their menu. Dessert for everyone.

Chianti Restaurant at 18 Division St. in Saratoga now has gluten-free pasta. An opportunity to try all their great pasta toppings.

Beverly’s Restaurant at 47 Phila Street in Saratoga has added gluten –free baguette. How much fun is that? I had breakfast there last month and instead of just home fries, I was able to also have bread in the form of a gluten-free baguette.

Fifty South at 2128 Doubleday Avenue on Route 50 has been a maverick in the food allergy arena offering up gluten-free pastas and breads as well as being flexible in general. What I did not know is that have gluten-free pancakes. Excellent.

Wish – list!! Now I know I have two arms and two legs, good hearing, 20/20 with my contacts, can still outrun my children (8 and 15) and have a lot to be grateful for physically, BUT if someone could invent some dairy – free brie, blue cheese, parmesan or mozzarella (remember, I am also allergic to soy) - I would be eternally grateful and probably five pounds heavier. That is the only upside to being allergic to gluten, dairy and soy – it keeps your weight down about 8 pounds.

If I had a choice of my allergies – I would have soy first, gluten second and dairy third. Unfortunately, I am the least allergic to soy and my allergies to dairy and gluten are very strong. Although I do enjoy tofu and miso soup, I am not building one of my dinner parties around it. As to gluten, I feel that there have been quite a few solid substitutes - corn, brown rice and quinoa pasta, brown rice and millet/flax bread, brown rice quesadillas, corn cereals and many wonderful flours to cook with. AND NOW – with baguette – I am over the moon. French, crusty, soft on the inside and fun to say.

Clearly – I need something to go with my baguette and brie is the first thing that comes to mind along with a strong Bordeaux. So far, the cheese substitutes that do not include soy are limited.

To expand on my cheese desires, it would be fantastic if restaurants would keep a block of rice cheese on hand. It comes in cheddar and mozzarella. It is not interesting by itself, but melted you now have expanded the number of dishes that you could sell to a dairy –free customer. Now you can make a panini, a pasta dish with melted cheese or a chicken parmesan. The rice cheese can be frozen and either grated or sliced to suit your dish.

Now many people are not allergic to soy like me, so keeping a little soy cheese on hand is a good idea as well. Stop by Four Seasons at lunch time and take a look at some of the wonderful things they do with soy cheese in their plentiful lunch buffet.

Know any updates for restaurants offering gluten and dairy –free food or stores that are offering gluten and dairy – free products. Please – let me know.

Diane Lachtrupp Martinez

THE ALLURE OF THE FAMILY SOCK FIGHT

2011-06-03T13:00:00.000-07:00

No parent can resist the allure of a sock fight. They are indeed good, clean, rousting family fun. First of all, everyone is encouraged to throw something regardless of age or experience, secondly what you are throwing is soft and less likely to injure another family member or your home; and now for the allure part. I’m torn as to which is more satisfying – pummeling my spouse with a sock or pummeling my children. It’s a toss-up and something I’m willing to work through – with time.

HISTORY Sock fights were a part of my upbringing. On Thursday nights, when my mother was at choir rehearsal and my dad was in charge, my brother and I would go at it. Our upstairs hallway was ideal. He set up his fort in front of his bedroom door and I set up mine in front of the opposing attic door. Socks were then gathered and hurled at each other for at least a good hour. An hour later, we had exercised, gotten out any frustrations and screamed in terror before my father figured out what was going on and my mother arrived home.

I introduced sock fights to my crew about two years ago. Everyone enjoys them, but they are a particular favorite of my eight year old and myself. Might I add that we have the preferred long hallway that lends itself to the perfect battlefield. The long corridor defines the parameters of the battle and decreases home destruction.

My younger son and I are usually on the same team; we start by setting up our fort comprised of a laundry basket filled with summer towels as our base. Next, we add several layers of pillows and put blankets on top to secure the linens underneath. Its width is a foot less than the hallway’s width to allow for quick entrances and exits. My husband and older son are left to build their fort out of whatever’s left and their lack of attention to fort building detail shows- their fort is the first to fall.

weapon of choice - pre-rolled

Next we gather socks and make sure that they are rolled up. We prefer natural fibers like cotton and wool. Leave the nylon socks in the drawer. They may have great patterns and panache but we prefer the bulky winter wool socks and adult athletic cotton socks. Then when everyone’s fort and ammo are readied, someone yells go and the battle commences. At first, people keep behind their own fort alternating throwing and ducking. As ammunition runs low my younger son is usually the first one to rush out and reload. He runs down the hall, gathering thrown socks and runs back leaping over the fort (hurdle style) immediately ready for the next throw.

While my younger son and I are all business, (aiming, ducking, throwing, jumping, running) my older son and husband bring theatricality to the sock fight. They respond in a cartoonish fashion to each and every sock that hits its mark with grunts and groans and dramatic “Oofs,” “Aahs” and “Dang its.” Their outbursts greatly add to the thrill of the battle. Admittedly, my younger son and I are very competitive which could account for our lack of vocalization and our attention to the task at hand which clearly is –Hit the opposing team ( Daddy and Joey)with as many punishing socks as possible.

Ambushes are allowed but not encouraged. My husband’s and my bedroom has two doors (fifteen feet apart -which the opposing forts are built near) and affords teams opportunities to run behind enemy lines and throw socks at our backs. For the most part, we try to keep our battleground between us.

AFTERMATH I cannot deny that an aftermath exists but steps can be taken to lessen it. Missing socks is perhaps your biggest downfall. Socks have a tendency to come undone during flight and impact and stopping the battle to repair all ammo is well – boring. Chaos and intensity must prevail not neuroticism. We do occasionally call a brief time-out to retrieve and repair but not to a fault. So – it is likely that for the next week, you will be wondering where your favorite argyles have gone or most likely your athletic socks will have been rewrapped with your children’s.

As to destruction of property; we have yet to experience that. We do take a few precautions and remove any art on the walls or any vases behind us that might see action. Naturally each team is responsible for dissembling their own fort and attempting to gather up all socks.

BENEFIT REVIEW

Health - After a good sock fight, everyone is most likely sweating and smiling. You have increased the accuracy of your throwing arm, raised your heart rate, used your legs for all the up and down, and certainly had some good belly laughs. Without a doubt, something outrageous will occur during the fight (socks ending up in unusual places, two socks colliding midflight – whatever) and everyone’s happiness meter will be up. Although I am no psychologist, I can’t help but think that a little soft violence within a family unit can be healthy. Remember, I am still working through which is more satisfying – a sock thrown by me that hits my husband or my sons. I did a quick survey amongst friends as to their satisfaction level in pummeling spouses versus children and the results were embarrassingly overwhelmingly leaning towards the spouses. Perhaps I should be the embarrassed one as I am still considering my children as satisfying targets.

Environment - Sock fights are green: no electricity, no technology and no cost. In short, they are a cheap evening or rainy day afternoon activity.

Parenting – Your “cool” factor as a parent goes way up in your child’s eyes. Mom and Dad throwing things in the house – excellent. And I believe that your own “cool” factor goes way up in your own mind. In the days following your sock fight, when you are finding socks in unexpected places around your home, it triggers memories of what a great time you all had together as a family and that you, disciplinarian, caregiver and guider of young life, were in there battling with the best of them. With the warm weather upon us, I’m sensing that “Sock Fights Alfresco” are soon at hand.

I’m hoping to hear from people regarding their own sock fight experiences and hope to inspire first timers to this family activity.

Diane Lachtrupp Martinez

MOTHER'S DAY CONFINEMENT

2011-05-16T13:04:00.000-07:00

I awoke on Mother’s day 2011 at 7:30 and ready to face the day. My husband and younger son were in NYC, scheduled to meet up with us later and my older son was asleep next to me in my husband’s and my bed. We had gotten in late last night after a long day at a chorale competition in Massachusetts and I wanted my son to get some sleep. Normally on Mother’s Day, I am greeted around 8am in my room by my two sons, my husband and a tray full of breakfast. But today, with the main orchestrators out of town and a teenager in charge I had decided to stay flexible .

After reading until 8:15, I quietly got up, got dressed, stuffed a few dollars in my pocket and headed out into my Saratoga mother’s day sunshine to walk and enjoy the views. Maybe I’ll run into some friends as I stroll around the neighborhood. As luck would have it, after a mere half mile into my walk, my friend Monica is sitting on her porch with her sister –in –law. I join them for a ten minute chat and then head on my way. My walk turns into a bit of a jog and I stop off at the Five Points corner store for some decaf. I try to buy the Times to accompany my decaf, but hadn’t counted on it costing $6 and don’t have enough. I half expect the guy next to me to pick up the difference – (After all it is Mother’s Day) but that doesn’t happen. No matter. It’s Mother’s Day and my mood shall not be compromised.

As I head down Clark st. towards home, another neighbor, Jeff, addresses me from his porch and I stroll over and take a seat with my decaf. Soon his wife Margo joins me and I find myself involved in another ten minute chat. At 9:10, I excuse myself and head home to White Street.

I enter the back door cautiously not wanting to appear to anxious or to disturb my older son in the kitchen preparing my breakfast in bed. No sign of him cooking, just Sponge Bob on the tele. I walk into the living room casually and address him using my most relaxed tone

“Good morning Joey.”

“Hey mom,” Long pause.

“Well, I’ll be upstairs,”

“Huh?”

I’ll be upstairs” I say with an underlying tone meaning- “I’m now available for whatever you have planned.”

“Okay.” No eye contact. Boy he’s good.

On my way back through the kitchen to the stairs I spot a half of grapefruit on the counter. Aha. I have caught him. I know that I didn’t leave it there and there is no way that he cut a grapefruit for himself. I head upstairs at 9:20 with a knowing smirk on my face.

By 9:55, I am desperately bored; I’ve picked up my clothes, I’ve filed away some papers, I lifted my five pound weights, I snuck downstairs twice – once for a gluten free muffin and once for a sharpie to aid my filing tasks. I’m tempted to call my husband but don’t want to appear like I care whether there are plans or not. I sneak down one set of stairs one more time and peak into the kitchen to see if there is any action. I feel like a kid on Christmas Eve trying to catch Santa. I commit to waiting until 10 am when there is a break in the Sponge Bob action.

I decide to water the plants and as I am watering a plant near the front stairs, I hear my son go out for the paper. What!! Now he is reading the comics. My lack of need for a plan has turned into me questioning my motherhood. I quickly review the last few days that Joey and I have spent alone together while Johnny and younger son whoop it up in NYC.

Let’s see – Friday night we had dinner at an Italian restaurant and we played Spit and Go Fish at the table. He seemed to be enjoying a high level of contentment. Upon arriving home, I let him pick the movies and we watched “Taken” with Liam Neeson in bed. Good – Good.

The next day I chaperoned a trip to a competition and Six Flags from 7am until 10:15 pm. As a chaperone, I asked only for one ride – the bumper cars- and let the four boys I was in charge of choose the rest of the day. I was not a pushover, as I instituted a few checks and balances to make sure each boy’s choices were acknowledged. There was that time I jumped over the stanchion by the picture taking booth with Scooby Doo and some other animal and the employee said “Ma’am – could you please not jump over the ropes” Okay that was mildly embarrassing. Let’s see – we all had ice cream, I purchased some fries for us to share while they waited in line for the ride Pandemonium. Thoughtful!! I let them all get air brush tattoos (nothing unseemly) and I got one too on my lower back and bent over to show everyone – Hmmm- May be that was the defining moment and the reason there was no breakfast before me.

The phone rings and brings me out of my review session. My husband and younger son in unison shout –“Happy Mother’s Day.” We talk for a moment before I urgently whisper to my husband.

“What’s the plan? It’s 10:10 and breakfast is nowhere in sight. I’m fine without it but we need to leave about 11:30 and I need to know what is going on.” My nonchalant tone is now gone.

My husband says that there is a plan and he will call my older son on his cell. At 10:20, I have exhausted myself and decide to take a nap and see what happens. I dose briefly and wake up at 11:40 noting that my situation has not improved. I call my husband who says that my son is not answering his phone. We decide that I should just move on and start the day. Still on the phone, I head down the stairs to the unchanged kitchen and as my gaze shifts left, I see a plate in the dining table containing a half a grapefruit, a handful of gluten free cereal and glass of water. Surrounding the food are three family photos. Wow – not the repast I had imagined but I was thought of, I was considered, I am someone’s mother.

I say a quick goodbye to Johnny, and go into the living room and say casually but directly.

“So Joey, is that food for me in the dining room.”

“Yeah mom, I’ve been waiting for you to notice.” Deep breath on my part.

“I was waiting upstairs, so let’s eat.”

Joey follows me into the dining room and waits as I scarf down my breakfast. He hands me a bag with three great gifts; two books on King Arthur and Sir Lancelot ( I love all that is Avalon and Arthur) and the DVD of “Romancing the Stone.” I am pleased, my blood sugar is stabilizing and Joey seems happy but incredulous that I had not appeared sooner.

My bedroom level confinement ended, Joey and I prepare for the rest of Mother’s day. I manage to get twelve minutes of gardening out of him and he succeeds in hiding my gifts from me as we travel south in the car to meet my husband, younger son and in-laws for Mother’s Day. A cool customer, he gets the job done and I had a great Mother’s Day.

Diane Lachtrupp Martinez

KIDS AT CHIANTIS - A NATURAL FIT

2011-05-06T12:20:00.000-07:00

Upon finding ourselves on our own one Friday evening last May, my seven year old son Lucas and I decided to go out for dinner. I posed two different restaurants to him and after a brief consideration Lucas announced Chianti as his choice. As he is an occasional fan of the cooking channel and a fine cook with a discerning palate, I did not question his decision. ;; It was a fine spring evening and we headed off on foot from our White Street home; an easy 15 minute walk with a few minutes budgeted in for a young man’s wanderings.

When we arrived at Chianti we were treated as always with smiles of warmth and recognition. I said it would be dinner for two and presented my young companion. Debora Zecchini, the general manager/ hostess, warned that it would be forty-five minutes to an hour for a table, but upon seeing my young dinner guest, suggested that we could be seated immediately at the Chef’s Counter in front of us. Lucas and I nodded in agreement and Debora showed us to our seats. The counter has three seats adjacent to the kitchen that affords its diners a perfect view of the busy kitchen.

Presently, our server Michele appeared with smiles and words of welcome. As we have been there on a number of occasions, being remembered by the staff is always fun for my kids. Lucas made his drink selection of cranberry and orange juice combined and I ordered water and a glass of 2008 Salviano Turlo. It is a Super Tuscan and is all at once complex and deeply satisfying after a mom’s long week. After looking over the menu, my son was inspired by the cooks before us and announced that he was going to start cooking. Upon his bread plate he combined olive oil with balsamic vinegar and added a dash of salt. After which he dipped his bread, with great satisfaction into his creation and relished his good life: dipped bread, alone time with mom and pasta on the horizon.

Being seated near the kitchen prompted another inspiration for my son, and he spotted the dish that he would order. Upon Michele’s return with our drinks, Lucas was ready and ordered pasta with prosciutto in a pink sauce, Mezzanine all Vodka. Michele treated him with respect and took his order seriously. He felt validated as a real diner. I ordered a Insalate Semplice and Pollo Al Limone Candito.

Normally while waiting for our food in a restaurant, we engage in a napkin folding contest, but tonight with the kitchen before us we had plenty of activities to fill our time. From our handy position, we identified the salad station, the pasta area and determined who the head chef was. In the deeper recesses of the kitchen we witnessed the burst of flames as a steak entered the grill. Waiters and waitresses dodged incoming customers and hurried to pick up food from the counter. We were at the epicenter of Chiantis and loving it.

My salad arrives and Lucas and I share the delicious plate of greens. The Insalate Semplice is an organic field of greens with grape tomatoes, grana padano and Chianti’s special dressing. Normally a ranch dressing fan, Lucas clearly enjoys the balsamic and olive oil based dressing. While eating our salads, we were treated to the birthday song, sung loudly and with gusto at a nearby table by the wait staff and most notably the owner David Zecchini. The song is being sung in Italian and we join in singing. My son has taken to singing it at home loudly, passionately and with operatic styling.

After the song, David spots us and comes over to say hello. He converses with both of us asking Lucas how school is going and how our dance company is doing. Our food arrives and David excuses himself to visit with other customers. He appears to speak to everyone whether they are first timers or regulars like us.

Lucas digs into his plate of pink sauced creamy pasta with a touch of fresh tarragon, I into my Pollo Al Limone Candito. My delicious dish is a chicken breast pan roasted with lemon juice, shallots and candied lemon zest. It’s light savory flavor compliments the spring weather and Lucas sneaks a bite. For a full ten minutes my son is completely committed to the plate in front of him and does not speak or move. Most meals at home are spent reminding him to stay seated and continue to eat. But here and now, he maintains his seated position and is a well mannered and appreciative customer. We enjoy our meal together.

After awhile, Lucas slows his pace and Michele comes over to check on us. We assure her that everything is great but we might need to take some home. He says he can eat a little more and she comes back for our plates in a few minutes. And now, the requisite trip to the rest room. As we pass tables on our way people regard us with a mix of surprise and smiles. Children are not common here but certainly welcome.

When we return, Michele greets us with a complimentary dish of ice cream. In the past, waiters have brought desserts to the kids saying that it was a reward for their good behavior. We took it at face value, but also felt that it meant “Come back again with the kids.” Lucas who moments before, had told us he was full, looks at me with a shrug and well - goes at his ice cream with the same attention he gave his pasta. As he is truly enjoying his dessert, I manage to only negotiate a taste or two from his bowl. I sit back, finish my wine and wonder at my terrific evening with my young date.

Finally, he looks at me and announces he can eat no more as he has consumed beverage, bread, salad, pasta and dessert. I think we’re done here and we ask Michele for the check. Lucas helps me look over and pay the check and we head out with a final farewell from Michele and Debora. Back out on Division St., we start our stroll home sated, happy and relaxed.

Epilogue: The secret to our successful evening at a nice restaurant with children is a combination of the restaurant and family practices. Our children are not the shy retiring sort and give us a run for our money at home but manage to put on their public face when we are out. In addition they have gone out to restaurants since they were very young and know what’s expected. Couple that with a fun welcoming atmosphere at Chiantis and the kids are happy to rise to the occasion. They feel a warm welcome at Chiantis and are treated with respect as valued customers and not just as appendages of us. The message comes across as “This is a nice restaurant and we know you will behave , but go ahead be yourself, make a little noise, enjoy.” Although it is certainly fun to dine out only with adults, we are also grateful that we can enjoy an elegant evening out with the kids.

Don’t know where to start in transitioning your children out of a “Friendly’s” evening? Try Chiantis – believe me your children will know the difference and the boisterous atmosphere will make them feel at home. No kids menu but plenty of delicious kid friendly food that will prepare them to not always expect a kids menu but that everything on the menu is for them.

Diane Lachtrupp Martinez

ON SNORKELING - ON BONDING - ON BEAUTY

2011-04-29T12:43:00.000-07:00

Spotted eagle ray viewed by author and family

Parrot fish, tile fish, spotted eagle rays, southern sting rays, fan coral and brain coral are just a few of the wondrous splendors that we witnessed this past week when snorkeling off the coast of Culebra. Culebra is a small remote island off the coast of Puerto Rico with pristine beaches and a protected coral reef. What makes the snorkeling here even more precious is that no hiring of a boat was necessary; we simply walked to the beach by our rustic villa, donned our masks and flippers and entered the water. With the warm water only at our knees, we were able to crouch down, enter the water and immediately we were privy to an exquisite underwater scene.

I have snorkeled before, but had never seen such a fully developed reef system that was home to so many different types of marine animal and plant life. We snorkeled three times; the first was right off the beach where we lounged around having lunch and playing card games. The water was very shallow in this area and hosted an array of small colorful fish, brilliant yellows, transparent fish and my favorite the cobalt blue and canary yellow angel fish. Not sure which type of angel but the fin structure fit the picture in our snorkeling guide.

Our next adventure involved a five minute walk along the rocky beach to reach a section that was deeper into the reef. Well worth the effort. Love the idea of putting my belongings on a shore with no other sole in sight and entering this underwater universe. This adventure was beyond my hopes as we swam through, around and over the complex reef system teeming with animal and plant life.

With the help of our fins and the buoying effect of the salt, we hardly had to swim but instead can move along at a relaxing pace, that is non-threatening to the sea life and allows us to observe the wonders before us. Johnny and I swim side by side, shoulder to shoulder, frequently pointing out a plant or fish we find remarkable. In fact, everything seems remarkable. It is private, it is only us and it is bonding.

Bonding because of the wonders we are seeing alone together but I suspect the potential danger plays a role as well. Despite being overwhelmed visually, we are always aware of our surroundings. We check Johnny’s watch before entering the water to monitor our progress in relation to the current. Although we are not near any boats, we do pop our heads up when we hear a motor running to check its proximity. Everything kept its distance but we stay aware. We have checked with local people ahead of time to see if there are any marine life that could be dangerous to us and told there are no dangerous fish but beware of stepping on one of the abundant sea urchins. Other snorkelers have told us of rays they have seen and we hope to see one despite our nervousness at encountering on. Soon, Johnny points out a ray floating above us to the right and later another one resting on the sea bottom. Either a ballyhoo or hound fish swims near us and gives us a start as it strongly resembles a barracuda, but we have heard rumors of the barracuda look- alikes that swim there and we relax.

It is later in the day than we expected to go, the current is kicking up and we have to exit the water over rocks, so we head back in after a half hour. We are not disappointed by the shortness of our trip as it is so jam-packed with more marine life than we could have hoped for. Upon exiting, we vow to bring the children and grandmothers back tomorrow.

Despite our passionate descriptions of what we have just experienced, we are only able to persuade one out of two children and one out of two grandmothers to join us on another snorkeling expedition the next day . Around 3:30pm on Friday, we leave our villa to head down to the beach and then walk along the shore to our spot. After securing everyone’s equipment, we awkwardly enter the water over the rocks with our fins on, but happily we are soon graceful, again as we immerse ourselves in the warm water. Again, I am in awe of how quickly life changes. We are not viewing an empty sandy ocean bottom but one that is filled with purple fan coral and schools of brilliant fish as soon as we submerge our heads. Close to shore we catch sight of a twenty inch pastel parrot fish with yellow lips.

Parrot fish spotted near shore

The day before, Johnny and I had more or less headed into new territory soon after entering the water, but we see that our eight year old and Johnny’s mom are quite satisfied to explore the immediate area. We follow suit and enjoy my son’s frequent pointing and excitement. Already we have experienced the same water in a new way – through their eyes. Johnny’s mom is not as relaxed or enamored as our son and decides to exit the water but says it was great. We ask our son, if he would like to go out further and he agrees. The three of us move side by side, connected like mer people. More joy surges through my body.

Like yesterday, we are cognizant of our surroundings and have to frequently go above to adjust masks, blow out water and check for motor boats. It is a little overcast, less clear and it looks like a ray may not appear until I suddenly see one fifteen feet below us partially buried in the sand. We give it some space and decide to head back. As I am debating which two reefs to go between to exit the water, Johnny suddenly taps me on the shoulder and points to a glorious spotted eagle ray to our right. It is a periwinkle blue with white spots features a six foot wing span and has a five foot tail. We give it a wide berth and observe its underwater flight. It makes me a little nervous and I start heading for the exit. This sighting made my week. Not that coffee on the ocean view deck, or naps with a Caribbean breeze, or fresh fish for dinner, or pristine white beaches have been a cross to bear but this, this …… creature was a privilege to behold. I am humbled.

Diane Lachtrupp Martinez

PS - Although all pictures I have seen of spotted eagle rays show them as dark brown, the one we saw had a bluish/purplish cast.

Spotted Eagle Ray and Parrot Fish photos from this web site

www.flmnh.ufl.edu/fish/gallery/descript/seray/seray.html

DINING OUT WITH YOUR FOOD ALLERGIES IN TOW

2011-04-08T07:36:00.000-07:00

       You’ve just been diagnosed with food allergies. Whether it is gluten, dairy, soy or all three like me, you are convinced that you are now chained to your kitchen and shall never venture forth again. In your kitchen, you can control what you purchase and how you prepare it and there is no embarrassment over having a long and detailed conversation with the wait staff, manager or god forbid "le chef."
       I was cautious at first as to how to approach the restaurants I frequented or those in my furure but decided to just go for it. Being a foodie, a solid cook and one who enjoys dining out, I have tried not to let my culinary dining habits alter. I have been going through this for 4 1/2 years, so please benefit from my successful and failed experiences.
       When I was first diagnosed in 2006, I had by chance recently heard that Wheatfields Restaurant (downtown Saratoga Springs in upstate New York) had gluten-free pasta and headed on over to partake and support their offerings.   All I had to do was ask about their gluten free pasta, they told me what type of pasta was available and I was able to choose my topping from the menu. Naturally, due to my dairy allergy, I was limited to certain toppings, but I found them accommodating to substitute a garlic sauce for a cream sauce.   Due to the fact that restaurants need to have a separate pot of boiling water for the gluten-free pasta, they usually offer only one type of pasta per day. That was easy – a little too easy leading me to think that dining out with my allergies would be worry free.
           Feeling emboldened, I visited other restaurants in downtown Saratoga and at that time (2006), no one else had gluten-free pasta, but with a little ingenuity and a few questions, I could pick other menu items that worked for me. Generally, I could eat any meats, poultry, fish or pork but had to find one without breading or a cream sauce. I can eat all vegetables, fruits, potatoes, rice and all herbs. So - it is frequently possible to find something and work it out.
           Here's how I order at a sit down restaurant. When the server first greets us, I ask politely if they have gluten-free pasta. If they do, great, now I know my options have opened up. I peruse the menu, find a couple of things that are either perfect for me or could be with a little tweaking. When the server returns and it is my turn to order I ask the server to come a little closer to discuss my food allergies. For some reason, some people are uncomfortable to overhear the discussion and don't really believe I have them, so I keep it discreet but not a secret. I tell them my allergies to gluten, dairy and soy and if I am not ordering a pasta, I will ask for a certain dish and ask if there is any of those ingredients. If not- good - our order is finished. If the dish includes dairy, I either move onto a second choice or ask if they can alter the dish a bit and still keep the essence of the dish. Many times they will say, let me check with the kitchen and then they come back with an answer. Sometimes there is a little back and forth before we settle on a meal.
           Do I order something, I am not in the mood for just because it is allergy free for me? For the most part NO! If I am polite and gently assertive, I can usually get a great meal. You have to get a sense of the restaurants knowledge of food allergies and their level of accommodation. Some of them just want to give you a chicken breast over salad and call it a day but I persevere unless.......I am up against overwhelming odds and lack of knowledge.
            Generally, a more expensive restaurant really has a grip on their ingredients, may have less additives and filler in ingredients they purchase and show more flexibility.   However, a year ago we were having dinner at a wonderful Italian restaurant deep in the heart of Brooklyn and I met some challenges. I truly enjoy going to really authentic restaurants and this special place had been in the same elegant building for seventy years. Upon entering, you could feel the history.
              When I asked the waiter if they had gluten-free pasta, he looked at me blankly and then repeated the word incorrectly back to me. I tried again with no success. Gluten free was not in his vocabulary, not on the restaurants radar and frankly he didn't seem to care. I mean wasn't I there to eat his fabulous food as it was.
               It soon became clear that this was a no go; no one knew what I was talking about and no one wanted to find out. I have to say that I was at first miffed and put out and looked across the table at my normally supportive husband who was now smirking. So - we all had to laugh at the man's apparent lack of interest in anything remotely gluten. I buckled and ordered chicken cacciatore which worked out just fine, but wasn't what I really wanted.
                Recently though at another restaurant, I did push them closer to the edge because I sensed an in. Again we were at a very established Italian restaurant in my hometown of Saratoga and at first glance, the menu offered me very little choice. They did not have gluten-free pasta, so I moved on to the meat, poultry, pork and fish dishes. Most of them were breaded or had a cream sauce and then of course there is my mood. What do I feel like having? I found a broiled halibut with a fun sauce that suited my mood and diet and came with vegetables and potatoes. The waiter and I settled on the fish but they only choice for starch that evening was mashed potatoes with milk. There was no rice, fries or baked potato. I asked the waiter what my options are and he disappeared into the kitchen. He emerges with a double vegetable offering instead of a starch and asked if that would be okay. I respond as charmingly as I can, "That's nice but I'll be unhappy with no potato. You see, I can't eat the bread either." A look of realization appeared on his face. I suggest, "Couldn't they boil a potato with herbs and olive oil." He said sincerely, that he would check and disappeared again into the kitchen. He returned with an exciting solution, yes they could do the potatoes. I thanked him profusely and there is a palpable sense of relief over the entire table.
            What do I do on the way out; after all, I am a food allergy ambassador. I thank the waiter again and as I head out the door ask to see the manager. I am directed to the man behind the bar who also manages and I thank him for accommodating my food allergies.  I mention that it was a little difficult to arrive at a solution, but that I really appreciated their efforts.   He smiled, said it was his pleasure and I felt I had made somewhat of an impression.
             Did they boil that potato just to shut me up or were they delighted to please me. I believe that it was a combination of achieving silence on table 9 and a willingness to learn more about customers with food allergies. That was initially a tough one, but in the end a gratifying meal and experience. I shall press on.
             In a couple of entries, I shall address eating out at more casual establishments. Gluten Gal does McDonalds.
A LIST OF RESTAURANTS THAT OFFER GLUTEN-FREE CHOICES
(please note, this is not meant as a definitive list; simply the establishments that I frequent in Saratoga Springs)
Wheatfields Restaurant -440 Broadway, Saratoga Springs,NY http://www.wheatfields.com/
Ironically with a name like Wheatfield’s, this restaurant has been on the cutting edge of offering gluten-free pastas for at least 5 years. 6 months ago they added gluten-free pizzas.
Fifty South –2128 Doubleday Avenue, Route 50, Ballston Spa – www.fiftysouth.com
Featuring gluten-free pasta, bread, hamburger rolls, pancakes and desserts. They live and breathe organic food for all tastes and can make a gluten gal feel normal.
Mamma Mia’s Pizza/Cafe -185 Ballston Avenue, Saratoga, NY– www.mamamiaspizzaandcafe.com
In addition to great Italian food, this restaurant offers gluten-free pastas and gluten-free pizzas.
Sperry’s -30 ½ Caroline St., Saratoga Springs, NY – www.sperrysrestaurant.com
Normally, I cannot partake of the pre-dinner bread, but Sperry’s offers gluten-free popovers. A fun surprise.

Enjoy and let me know your favorite local places that offer gluten-free menus.
Gluten Gal (Diane Lachtrupp Martinez)

MY HUSBAND WAS RIGHT; THE CROTCH CONCESSION

2011-03-28T19:18:00.000-07:00

It’s rare, but it happens on occasion, when you can sincerely say, “Honey, you were right.” These words were spoken in March of 20011 but our story commences in October 2010.

My husband and I are the co-directors of Tango Fusion Dance Company in Saratoga Springs, New York; a company that was once stationed in New York City, invited to perform in Argentina and now that we live in Saratoga and are parents, it’s recent incarnation has performed around the Northeast. Tango is the backbone of the company, but we also dance and choreograph a fair amount of salsa and swing as well as incorporating ballet and jazz. The majority of the time, the 4 to 5 couples dance with the same person, but we also enjoy shaking it up and having different company members dance with each other.

Such was the case last Fall(2010) when we were preparing a new Salsa number for our Fall show at the Charles Wood Theatre in Glens Falls and my husband and company member Deb Otto- Jones were slated to partner in the new four person piece: Shaky –Shaky. Deb is a well trained ballet dancer; my husband is also strongly trained in ballet so I expected the piece to contain some fun lifts. Johnny is happy to lift and Deb is delighted to be airborne. I was not prepared.

Whenever Johnny works a piece with a company member, I generally come in after the majority of the choreography is finished to watch and perhaps offer some suggestions. The piece did indeed offer up some exciting lifts including the one that starts with the woman jumping and being simultaneously lifted on the man’s shoulders with her legs apart; not in back of his head but right in front. The crotch in the face moment gives one pause. After a quick re-gripping of the hands and wrists, the lift continues with the woman flipping down to the floor and the fun didn’t stop there. Deb then proceeded to do progressive splits forward with my husband’s help. I believe I stayed fairly cool and said something like, “that’s some prep.” And left it at that.

A week later, they were rehearsing the lift in front of Deb’s husband and myself and I said to Richard, “Have you seen the crotch lift yet?”

To which he naively and nonchalantly responded, “No.”

“Just wait.” I said.

He turned to me after the crotch lift with raised eyebrows and said, “I see.”

I said to Richard, “It gives one pause doesn’t it?” He agreed and we immaturely decided that we needed to work a crotch lift equivalent into any time that we danced together in our show.

Well, a crotch lift equivalent never came to pass and after gently teasing Johnny and Deb about the lift, they both said that it took much concentration to get the correct hand grip in that position. I believe that my husband’s exact words were,”Honey – the position is not titillating. At the time I am concentrating on keeping Deb safe as she flips to the floor.” Deb concurred.

Nonetheless, even though both couples have been in the dance business a long time, danced with others and many Tango Fusion Dance Company steps and positions would not fly in the non-dance world, that face to crotch position caught my eye until…

Last Saturday, I was rehearsing some of the cast of RENT (I am choreographing the show to be performed at the EGG in April) for the number “Contact.” Overall, the show does not hold back on sexual content and the musical number “Contact” takes the cake. One of the main characters, Angel, has died and the piece depicts his release from this world through sexual movement. So-----I had the cast rolling around on the floor attached to each other, thrusting each other against the wall, mounting each other in various facings and pulling hair.

We were rehearsing at our studio in our home and I invited my husband upstairs to help us with some lifts. To give him an idea of what we were doing, we did a run –through and since one cast member was missing, I stepped in to fill her shoes. Naturally, I’m thinking that this will be my husband‘s comeuppance and he now can witness me thrusting, straddling, and performing intimate acts not meant for public consumption.

However, that’s not what happened. Instead I had an epiphany when I realized how much I had to concentrate counting the music to make my next move on time and make sure that it looked good and keeping my partner safe. The athleticism it required to maintain our positions, hold our partners and pick up our partners overpowered any sexual experience. Actually, we ended up laughing a great deal of the time and getting a terrific work-out.

So – I guess the crotch lift is not just a crotch lift. Although my husband waited a full 5 months for my realization to come to pass, he took my concession well and did not hold it over my head. Now, how about that butt lift?

(Check out the video and pay special attention at 2:50 to witness the crotch lift)

Diane Lachtrupp Martinez

I WAS WAY OFF

2011-03-17T16:39:00.000-07:00

New Yorker dressed for warm weather in March

I am currently in New York City for a quick 4 and ½ hour turn around. Arriving at 10:15, I could not help notice the stark contrast between my apparel and the resident New Yorkers. New Yorkers were wearing light jackets, no jackets, Capri pants, no hats and high heels with no stockings revealing bare skin between the bottom of their pants and the tops of their shoes. Crossing Madison Park (between Madison and 5^th and 26^th and 23^rd) I saw grass and the first crocuses pushing their way up. And now for the final slap in the face – a line that lead to Mr. Softie. Not possible.

Upon driving out of my snow and ice filled driveway in Saratoga Springs that morning (with not an inch to spare between snow piles) in a down pour at 6am, I chose to don hiking boots, a long faux –fur lined vintage army storm coat, gloves and a winter knit hat. My upper half of my body featured five layers: my bra, my unnecessary camisole, my thankfully light blouse, wool blazer and ridiculous winter coat. I was prepared and I was way off.

Normally, I do not pay much attention to weather forecasts. If tornados, hurricanes or earthquakes are promised my ears prick up, but other than that I take the weather as it comes. What can I do. If it’s raining or snowing then I deal with it at the time.

However, I think now I will consider the weather when travelling even if it is a mere three hours away. I don’t need to be subjected to Capri pants, spring jackets and the annoyance of sweaty boot feet and carrying around my weighty jacket with no warning. I think that if I had witnessed alfresco dining and daffodils, that would have put me over the edge.

Next time, a preemptive phone call to my mother –in- law in Brooklyn, would have done the trick.

Diane Lachtrupp Martinez as
Gluten Gal and Tango Mom

ENTREPENEURS AND ENABLERS

2011-03-04T07:16:00.000-08:00

The winter of 2009 saw our front parlour filled with my younger son’s snowflake store. Make no mistake, it dominated the entire room; snowflakes displayed across the entire red velvet couch and today’s special coddled in the red velvet chair. Signs informed the customers of the prices and deals; 15 cents each or two for 25 cents. My son eyed every guest to our home as a potential customer and contributor to his stash of cash. The store opened in January and lasted through May after much urging to close up shop earlier.

I held my breath in the winter of 2010 to see if the store would re-open. It did not. So you can see how I was blind- sided last Wednesday when my younger son announced in the car that tomorrow was the grand re-opening of his snowflake store. What? I thought I was in the clear. I did not see that coming.

First, we negotiated the real estate. I knew in my mind, that the front parlour was not going to be inhabited by the snow flake store again; especially when the store had reached its height of inventory in 2009 and featured 379 unique snowflakes. He assumed the parlour was still available. It was not and I suggested the play room. He countered with the reading room landing (located between the first floor kitchen and 2^nd floor bedrooms) and I said, “Deal.” It is an intimate room and would hopefully prevent spreadage. Although, every time I climb the stairs(about 20 times a day) I am reminded that our dance students also pass this way en route to their lessons and wonder at the wisdom of my counter offer.

Thursday morning arrived and the little salesman arrived home after spending the night at his grandma’s. As I welcomed him at the door, he gives me a cursory hug and rushed by me saying, “There is no time to spare. My store opens in an hour.”

I thought he had plenty of inventory, but he informed me that he has next to none and so I set him up in the living room with paper and scissors to get to work. I had already decided to embrace his idea and dedicated the next two hours to his grand opening. Seeing his dearth of product, I rushed into the cellar to find the snowflakes that I had saved two winters ago. Success, I find them and bring them up. He seemed pleased with my find and felt less stress on producing mass amounts of snowflakes.

While my son created, I hung chili pepper lights around the entrance to his store and found a bulletin board to hang and display his items for sale. After 45 minutes of arduous work, he rushed up to his new store to set up shop. He categorized his snowflakes as small, medium and large and amazing. I helped him price them accordingly. His prizes were at first a little high, and I warned him that his prices need to fit the pockets of his shoppers.

And who are his shoppers? Well, they are his grandmothers, brother (reluctant), playmates, dance students and any guest who enters our home.

How do the playmates know to bring money? They don’t. I am both the land lord and the bank supplying nickels, dimes and quarters to his friends. The money circulates back to us; I give the playmates a budget of a dollar, they spend it in my son’s store, he generally banks it. A fun savings plan.

Do his parents shop in the store? Yes they do, but not always appearing as his parents. When there were slow days in his shop in 2009 and he longed for business, I would dress up as different characters and ring the front door bell to visit his shop. He answered the door as a composed proprietor welcoming a new customer but with a knowing twinkle in the eye that acknowledged the secret that we shared as to my true identity. I am no stranger to our dress-up box and Nanny McPhee has made several guest appearances at the store. I can only wonder what the neighbors thought as I walked out my back door in full late 19^th century attire, walked the 125 feet along the sidewalk and then re-entered my home by way of the front door and rang my own bell. Whatever.

My husband ( no slouch in the dress-up department), grabbed a sombrero-esque hat from the dress-up box area and pulled a south western looking blanket off the couch, slung it over his shoulder and made his entrance to the snowflake store doing the Mexican Hat Dance. My son was delighted but managed to keep a straight face nonetheless. It’s no wonder that my son wants to re-open the store – his parents apparently want to dress-up all the time. We are enablers.

(young proprieter displays his wares)

BACK TO THE OPENING -10:30am arrives and the store is open; the open sign is displayed, merchandise is arranged, the change box is ready and the chili peppers lights are plugged in. My younger son had a play date with a neighbor and I had prearranged for the father and daughter to come to the opening before the play date. My mother was coming back to the house for the opening and I would be there. Customers were expected.

The opening went off without a hitch. Customers purchased at least 25 snowflakes as well as some art work and I provided a toast to his success. (He nixed the graham cracker hors d’oeuvres that I had suggested.) All in all a fun two hours of play time.

How is the snowflake store faring? Since the grand re-opening the store has had sporadic hours and lowered inventory. BUT- my son did add a new a game feature of throwing a ball into a purple and green top hat that sits on top of the dress-up box in his store. The customer receives three tries and you win a piece of art work if it goes in. I love creative marketing.

EPILOGUE: This morning my son put his entrepreneurial skills to work and held a fund raiser in the living room. Children in his school, were asked to bring loose change from home to support a charity called “Pennies for Patients.” He did send in loose change as well, but isn’t it more fun to have a fund raiser in the living room that features games to raise the loose change. My entry fee was four quarters and then I was invited to play a variety of games such as rubber horse shoes, foosball and toss the ball in the purple and green hat. He proudly headed off to school carrying the money from his fund raiser for the charity. Perhaps my son is the future organizer of a Saratoga High Dance Marathon that will raise over $200,000.00 like those great kids at South Glens Falls High School.

Diane Lachtrupp Martinez

P.S. For reasons unknown to me, I am back in the dog house. If you don't know what I am talking about, go back about three blogs.

2011-02-24T10:51:00.000-08:00

SHOPPING FOR DAIRY SUBSTITUTES WHEN YOU ARE ALLERGIC TO SOY

Shopping for my dairy substitutes when I am also allergic to soy continues to be an adventure. While, I feel that there are a number of good replacements for gluten( my other major allergy), dairy has a ways to go. But my advice is the same as the advice in my gluten shopping blog, start at the health for stores first, to receive knowledgeable assistance and to try a variety of brands. After, you have determined your favorite brands you could also try the supermarkets, discount stores, food co-ops, etc. to try and purchase at a lower price. Keep visiting the health food store, as they may be the first ones to find new brands that you can check out. Let’s take a look at some of our dairy categories that need addressing.

MILK – Soy, Rice, Almond and Coconut are some of the different types available. I cannot eat soy so I use rice milk in my cereal, to scramble my eggs, to make mashed potatoes, to bake with and to make quiche. Is rice or almond milk going to whip up into a fluffy froth for your latte. No, it’s not. I now drink black decaf coffee, but fortunately, that was never a huge thing for me. I have yet to use almond milk and hear that it is very good and would like to use it for baking. Coconut milk is wonderful if you would like to create a creamy curry dish and is good for digestion. Coconut milk has a thickness and viscousity that the other three don’t and can be used to create a creamy consistency in your cooking and can work nicely with soups. Will you feel like chugging any of this down with a piece of chocolate cake; probably not right away, but it is worth trying.

CHEESE –Let’s get this out on the table now. There is no substitute for Brie. There is not. That is something that I have to face every day. There is no replacing blue cheese. Another hard to face fact. So how do I handle this major void in my life. Well, perhaps not medically sound, I do what I call save up. I am good, I mean good, I eat a gluten, dairy and soy free diet 99% if the time, so when I am at a party or at my wine dinner event and a ripe brie comes my way or a stinky blue is beckoning I have a bite or two. But – you cannot do it the next day: accumulation is what can bring on an attack. This is what my holistic doctor has told me.

In the past, I have had a little cheat three days in a row and seem fine at first and then the asthma or gastro intestinal attack comes on. A cheat should be isolated. Of course, check with your doctor first. Basically, I’m here to help you find subs not advise cheating.

Back to cheese. Rice cheese has been my savior. In and of itself, not too thrilling, but if you melt it, it can prove tasty. I make many panini sandwiches with it as well as quesadillas, enchiladas and omelette’s. I also add it to my gluten free pizza, and tear it up to add to any baked pasta. I have yet to try it but there is a product called Rawmesan that contains no gluten, dairy or soy and has a parmesan flavor. Four Seasons in Saratoga has it and I am looking forward to trying it.

YOGURT – This has been a tough one. There are many soy yogurts and goat & sheep yogurts for those who are so lucky but no rice milk yogurts. Then last spring I found a coconut milk yogurt at my health food store and it was on sale. It comes in vanilla, raspberry and blueberry. I am in heaven and able to mix my cereal and fruit in it for breakfast. The name of the yogurt is SO Delicious. Remember, some of you may be able to eat yogurt made from goat or sheep cheese. Check with your doctors.

ICE CREAM – In college I was called Dairy Child, due to my frequent visit to the dairy bar and conspicuous consumption of ice cream. Even before my dairy allergy diagnosis, I had outgrown that phase of my life but believe me I miss it. So – what’s a dairy child to do? There are of course soy ice cream subs but that doesn’t work with my soy allergy. I rely on sorbet and rice dream ice cream for my fix. Whole Fruit makes a nice sorbet and of course sorbet is consumed by the “rest of the world” and is not just a substitute. As luck would have it, the rest of my family loves ice cream and I must endure a number of visits a year to our local ice cream shops that do not offer sorbet. As the ambassador of those with food allergies, I pose the question each time to my local shops, if they are considering sorbet. Am I perfectly disciplined around the dairy consumers I hang out with. Well, admittedly during the summer, if I have been very good, I may have two soft twists between Memorial Day and Labor Day. If I cheat, I make sure it is worth it.

WHAT I HAVEN’T FOUND YET - WHIP CREAM, SOUR CREAM, CREAM CHEESE – Although this is really not a large category unto itself, it is an important self-indulgent category. I bring it up because last week I was at Peter Luger’s steak house in Brooklyn, NY and they served a large bowl of whip cream with the various desserts my table companions were having. Well – I took one cheat tablespoon and it was amazing. The best whip cream ever – thick, rich, buttery, slightly airy and perhaps the original whip cream. So – because of this experience, I am on a mission to find a substitute for whip cream. Cool whip contains dairy and sometimes gluten. At this time, my well stocked health food store does not have a non soy sour cream or cream cheese. Still looking.

WHERE I SHOP IN SARATOGA SPRINGS, NY FOR MY NON-SOY DAIRY SUBSTITUTES

I purchase my rice cheese, Rice Dream and coconut milk yogurt at Four Seasons Health Food Store on Phila St. I am able to purchase my rice cheese by the case and sometimes they have sales on the coconut yogurt. www.fourseasonsnaturalfoods.com

Price Chopper has rice milk, as well as lots of sorbet.

I am not familiar with Hannaford’s rice milk products, but will check it out.

Dancing Ewe Farm in North Granville has some great sheep cheese that agreed with me. www.dancingewe.com

CREAMY POTATO SOUP WITHOUT DAIRY OR SOY Here is a recipe inspired by one I saw in Real Simple and I made some alterations

6 medium sized Yukon potatoes peeled & cubed 2 medium size leeks sliced

1 large fennel bulb sliced 6 cups chicken stock

2 Tbls. of olive oil 2/3 cup of white wine

2 cloves of garlic

Heat the leeks(save 1/3 cup on the side) and fennel in the oil until they begin to soften (6 minutes),stirring in salt and pepper to taste as they cook. Add white wine and cook for 3 minutes stirring frequently. Add potatoes, and chicken stock. Bring to a boil and cook until potatoes are tender( 12 minutes) Meanwhile in a small pan sauté remaining leeks and garlic in a little olive oil until soft and carmellized. Save for garnish. I also like to use crumbled bacon for garnish or fresh parsley. Take half of the now tender potato soup and puree half of it in your food processor or blender. Pour back into the remaining soup, stir, serve and garnish with topping of your choice. Now you can enjoy a creamy soup and my family relished it as well.

TANGO FIRE AT THE EGG AND TANGO FUSION'S PRE-SHOW

2011-02-16T11:48:00.000-08:00

(If the picture isn't showing, please click on black. Video starts 6 seconds in)


     On Friday February 4th, Tango Fusion (my dance company with my husband Johnny Martinez) participated in an exciting Tango event at The Egg in Albany. The show Tango Fire was being presented that evening and my husband Johnny and I had been invited to do the pre-show talk at 7:15 to educate the audience about Tango to further enhance their evening. When we started the talk, each of the the 100 chairs was occupied and as the remainder of the audience arrived for the show, the crowd gradually expanded to 250.
      I started the presentation by enumerating the history of Tango beginning with the different cultural influences that shaped its origins in the 1880's. Giving the historical highlights, I recounted Tango's early days in Buenos Aires, its trip to Europe and back to the Americas all before 1915. Some of the Tango's more provocative steps like the ganchos and its close proximity of the partners, led an early 19th century pope to declare the Tango as "The downfall of western civilization." Those audience members who had danced Tango before nodded approvingly while newcomers to the dance form were impressed by its political and religious impact.
      I spoke of the Golden Age of the Tango,the 1920's through the early 1950's, when many bands were formed, composers were prolific and tango dancing was the national pastime. Then in the 1950's the political climate changed and public assembly was not allowed which greatly affected the dances. Popular Tango performers and teachers at the time had to put their passion aside and take up different jobs such as mailmen and clerks.
      By 1985, the dance had started to make a comeback and a dynamic show came out of Argentina and made its way to New York via Paris: Tango Argentino. I had  just started partner dancing in NYC and witnessed its arrival in New York. I tried to impart to the crowd how momentous this occasion was and how Tango Argentino took New York by storm and eventually the world. The influence of the show could be seen in the ballroom world, fashion world, commercials, theater and dance world at large. The choreographer of Tango Argentino, Juan Carlos Copes, took an interest in my dancing and trained me gratis.(that's another story)
      After elaborating on the significance of that show and its impact on the dance world, I brought the crowd up to date on where Tango is now 25 years later. It is in fact everywhere. Every city and most smaller cities in the US have a Tango community. Albany has one, Hudson has one and we have one here in Saratoga Springs, NY.
      My husband Johnny Martinez then presented another side to Tango: the music and the different styles. He explained the difference between Milonga, Tango Vals and Tango. He played snippets of music and we demonstrated on the rug. A historically relevant demo, as Cafe Tango was frequently danced on carpets in Paris. I prefer an uncarpeted floor. The demos were improvisational and gave the audience the flavor for the dance as well as illustrating the lead - follow aspect of the dance. Tango is the consummate lead -follow dance as their is no specific rhythm. It is great training for all dances.

    ONTO THE SHOW - At the conclusion of our talk, we entertained a few questions and then moved into the theater to enjoy Tango Fire. It was a packed audience and the company did not disappoint. They worked their butts off. There was more dancing than anything and let's face it, the music is sublime and the singing is inspired, but most of us come to see the spectacular dancing.
     The first act had a historical sensibility with dancers wearing classic costumes and dancing to more traditional and older Tango composers. Hair(both men and women) was slicked or in an updo.
      The second act featured more contemporary music by composers such as Astor Piazzolla. Costumes and hair had taken on a racier feeling with see through lace costumes for the women, tight shirts for the men and hair down and flying. One audience member commented that they felt that " the dancers got through the first act just so they could do the second." They did seem to love the more contemporary music but personally I felt most of them had a passion for the traditional tango music and dancing of the first act as well.
       The company's energy, technique and performance levels were all top notch. However, had I officially reviewed the show, I would have made the following comments. Overall, I enjoyed the choreography but some of it was repetitive. For instance, there were far too many battements(high leg kicks) and they eventually lost their luster because we had seen it already. Some of the second act solo numbers took on a Hustle feeling, where the lifts were so disco-like we lost any sense of Tango. Finally, I longed for at least one slow sensuous number. The pacing, although exciting, was almost always the same and they hit everything hard. A little ebb and flow if you please.
       Although I feel these issues I mentioned are valid, they did in no way take away from the fact that Tango Fire's show was first rate. Happily, they had veered away from the all too frequent structure of many touring Tango shows where: someone sings, someone dances, someone plays an instrument, someone sings, someone dances, someone plays an instrument and so forth and so on. Tango Fire did not hold back on the dancing one bit. They showered us with plenty of dance and peppered the show with singing and instrumental solos. The musicians Quatrotango were magnificent in both acts demonstrating an ease with both the traditional milongas of the first act and the jazz inspired Piazzolla tangos of the second.
     My husband and I left the theater satisfied with both our participation in the evening and the great show we had just watched.

If anyone is interested in learning this intriguing dance form, contact me in the comment area and I can guide you to classes all over the United States and in the Albany capital district area in New York.

Diane Lachtrupp Martinez
http://www.tangofusiondance.com/

TANGO MOM IS BLISSFUL

2011-02-09T09:53:00.000-08:00

Author and dance partner/husband

       I have yet to speak as my Tango Mom persona who lives in my head with Gluten Gal. Tango Mom is not all about tango, but rather a symbol of any dancing, teaching or choreographing I do. Tango Mom is constantly discovering ways to combine dancing and choreographing and theater with her two sons.
        For instance, nothing could be better than to be in my dining room, choreographing while my sons are playing in the snow. I can see them, they can see me and I can also choreograph at the same time. Sometimes I am choreographing Tango and sometimes other dances. Granted it is distracting, but if I am happy than I am flowing. Conveniently, the number that I am working on for the show "RENT" at the Egg in April requires a table and my dining room just happens to have one. So there I am standing on the chairs and tables trying things out as the boys play outside.
      Last night I asked my husband for assistance and we were trying out a number of dance moves on the table. Our dining room has windows on three sides and sidewalk pedestrians were left to wonder. But, that's the advantage of getting older. Can't worry about that.
       Earlier, I was out helping the boys dig tunnels into the snow. We dug from either side towards each other until we touched shovels. Younger son tried the tunnel first and then mom did. Wasn't sure I was going to fit, but I made it through the tunnel onto our side walk.
       Prior to the snow fort building, we shoveled and had a snow ball fight parents against the kids (their choice). The snow was perfect for packing and many snow balls hit their mark. At one point, eldest son was down and we told him that if he stayed still and let us pelt him twenty times, we would take a few days off his grounding. He had driven us to grounding him on Friday and somehow, I thought this would make us feel better. My husband did not count the throws unless we made contact with our son. With no comment, he took the snowballs very well and lessened his sentence. Questionable parenting, but a win-win nonetheless and a good laugh for all.
     Ahh - the doorbell rings. The troops are storming the castle and ready for lunch.

Diane Lachtrupp Martinez

BACK IN THE DOG HOUSE

2011-02-01T14:37:00.000-08:00

        In any marriage, there seems to be one person who is in the dog house more than the other. In our marriage, I am the frequent occupant of the dog house. It goes in waves. Some weeks I make it through without a scratch and others, well ......it is almost a daily occurrence. Last week, my offense was so severe, that I headed out to the dog house twice.

        I had been invited to play tennis with a group of women last Wednesday morning January 19th, from 8am to 9:30 at the Wilton YMCA. My husband also had to leave the house early to work ( directing a show) not for recreational purposes. I had arranged for our younger son to go to the neighbors at 8:15 am to play before school. Normally, my husband would take the car that was outside and I would take the garaged car that required no de-icing. Feeling mature, I opted to take the outside car (named Rosa - 2003 Honda Odyssey) and left the inside car Bob ( 1992 Honda Odyssey) for my husband.

       Feeling confident in my generosity, I drove off to my tennis match. My tennis match was going along swimmingly, until my husband strode across the court with purpose at 8:55 am. It doesn't look good and I go over to him with trepidation. He asked quietly if ," I have the keys to Bob." Apparently, he had no keys for our car Bob and was wondering if I did. Immediately, it struck me that not only did I have my set of keys for Bob, but his set as well.
         I was not picking up my cell phone and the YMCA was not giving messages, so driving over was his only option to secure the keys to our car Bob. How did he get there? My neighbor (where my younger son was supposed to go) offered her car.  So my husband and son walked to the neighbor's home, de-iced their car and set off for the tennis courts at the gym.
         And so there he was striding away after taking both sets away from me. No kiss, no good bye, nothing. I felt like an officer being stripped of her rank. It brought me back to a time last summer, when I apparently had both sets of keys for the car and I was at the baseball field at East Side Rec. My phone again unreachable, my husband had no choice but to ride his bike to the baseball field to retrieve the keys. It was the first but not the last time, that my husband strode across an athletic field with purpose to search my pockets and back pack.
         After leaving the tennis court, I called my neighbor several times to gage my husband's mood while he was at her house borrowing the car. What did I have to look forward to when my husband came home? There was no answer after two phone calls and I was left to wonder about his mood upon his return.
           After residing in the dog house for two days, I found myself on Friday on the very same court that my husband had strode across on Wednesday. AND - I was there playing tennis with my husband, the helpful neighbor and another friend was the fourth partner. At the end of our game, it seemed like the perfect opportunity to bring up Wednesday's antics with several of the key players present. My husband winced as I started to tell the story and started to make his way off the court. I couldn't help but notice that helpful neighbor seemed non-plussed by our story: and here's why.
          Helpful neighbor's family key stories way surpassed ours. Apparently, her husband had on several occasions taken keys to Albany. Not Wilton - Albany. Well - my sin paled beside that one. A second story outshone the first. Friendly neighbor and husband had flown into Stewart airport (exit 17 south of us) on an evening flight. Her husband had somehow misplaced the car keys forcing them to get a hotel room overnight and contact a locksmith in the morning. Wow! My star was rising but unfortunately my husband was unable to witness it and hear these stories first hand. Our fourth tennis partner and I were in awe of the strength of the helpful neighbor's marriage. Could our marriages have survived such key mishaps?

          On the drive home from the tennis court, I relayed helpful neighbor's stories to my husband. He seemed mildly impressed and rightly so. The next day when he went to take our car Rosa to his director job, she wouldn't start. My younger son had left the light on in the car the day before and worn done the battery. Who was the parent in charge? You guessed it. Back in the dog house.

Feel free to comment with family/key stories of your own.

Diane Lachtrupp Martinez

Shopping Gluten-Free & Your New Staple -Quesadillas

2011-01-24T13:16:00.000-08:00

Diane displays some of her gluten-free staples that she purchases.

Food shopping with food allergies is a skill that you develop. You have several choices: hit the health food store, (easier & expensive), go to your local market (overwhelming and limited) find a co-op (bulk purchasing) or do more of you own cooking.
When I first found out about my trio of allergies – gluten, dairy and soy, I headed straight for the health food store and received a lot of welcome help. The smaller size of the store and the fact that 30% of it is directed to foods without dairy, soy or gluten makes it easy. In many supermarkets, gluten-free food is “segregated,” while in the health food store, shopping for gluten, dairy and soy free food is the norm. Emotionally, it is a more supportive place to shop where half the people are purchasing the same foods as you are regardless of their food allergies. When you shop at the supermarket, the food is labeled, as health foods, it is limited and the employees are not as knowledgeable or helpful. But it is less expensive and certainly the supermarket chains are becoming more aware of the available products. I recommend to start shopping at the health food store for help and variety and then once you have established some products you like and have experimented a bit, head over to the supermarket or join a co-op to purchase your items at a reduced price. It takes some time to find the substitutes for your gluten filled life style, that you once enjoyed, but they are out there.

BREAD - Let’s start with bread, probably your largest wheat carrying food. My first couple of months, I ate brown rice bread and I will tell you, that was no substitute. The brown rice bread was like a brick and only palatable when toasted. For a time, I thought I had only a wheat allergy and not gluten, so I switched to spelt bread. (be clear with your doctor.) Then, I found Sami’s Bakery. Now I can enjoy a cold sandwich on their millet/flax bread or I can toast or make a panini on their cinnamon raisin bread. AND – they now make hot dog rolls and hamburger rolls. For awhile, I ate everything on the bread, hamburgers, hot dogs, etc. Remember, I will not be ignored. If you read my previous blogs, I am a foodie and determined to still enjoy culinary experiences. Chances are, there are some local bakeries as well that may offer some gluten-free products. As a substitute for bread, I also purchase brown rice tortillas from “Food for Life.” (recipe below)

PASTAS – These run the gamut from brown rice to corn and there are some good ones. I enjoy, a variety and see what’s on sale. Tinyada makes a good brown rice product and comes in a variety of shapes. There are also corn and quinoa pastas. Check the cooking instructions, as they all require a different amount of time. You could always consider the fact that Pad Thai noodles were designed to be gluten-free and have been perfected for years. I use them in my chicken noodle soup and no one is the wiser.

CEREAL – At first I ate things with oats in them, not realizing that some oats contain gluten, so that had to change. The loose cereal in the bins is very expensive and so I sought another option. I wanted an affordable gluten-free granola type cereal and was not interested in the rice puffs or corn flake type cereals. Finally, my husband spotted something at our super market; the brand is “Enjoy Life” and is a solid granola. I enjoy cinnamon crunch and they offer other flavors as well. Although not inexpensive, it is more reasonable and I will seek it out in the co-op I just joined.

Dessert - Until recently, a tough category. Gluten free cookies were available at first but tended to be dry. Now I have found moist brownies at the super market, and mixes for cakes and breads at both the health food store, co-op and super market. Gluten free flour has been available for a long time and you can readily find both rice flour and almond flour. I use these flours to whip together pancakes or muffins without a recipe. Following a recipe drives me nuts. I look at it once and then I do what I want. Namaste makes a good rice flour, Bob’s Red Mill has many products and Betty Crocker has even jumped on the band wagon with some gluten-free mixes. Again you have to see what you like. I made a gluten-free chocolate cake for a party and my son could not stay away from it. Normally, he avoids my gluten-free products but he was unaware of its origins and went to town on my cake.

READING LABELS - Shopping takes longer as you should be constantly looking at the ingredients. I try to do a lot of cooking myself so my use of packaged food is limited, but I still have to read ingredients on some of the products I purchase. Things to be aware of; in addition to looking out for wheat and gluten on a label , modified food starch is gluten and should be avoided. Watch what chicken stock you purchase, many have wheat as do some sausages and soups. Wheat is a cheap filler and that is part of the problem, why many of us now have food allergies. Yes, genetics are involved but putting cheap fillers such as soy, wheat and dry milk where it doesn’t really belong can create overexposure and produce an allergy.
Good luck with your shopping. Products are out there and console yourself by knowing that you are eating healthier than a diet filled with wheat and gluten. Next time, I will cover shopping with a dairy allergy.

GLUTEN - FREE SHOPPING IN SARATOGA SPRINGS, NEW YORK
1) Four Seasons on Phila Street in Saratoga has good quality, good selection and good help.
2) Price Chopper on route 50 is increasing their stock and has pastas, crackers, cereals, flour, and cookies. Employees don't really know the products but the manager is willing to listen.
3) Hannaford I understand has a very good selection but is less convenient for me.
4) Odd job lot has good prices on a variety of flours, mixes and pastas.

RECIPE FOR QUESADILLAS

One of my favorite gluten-free products are the brown rice tortillas that I cook with from the company “Food for Life.” I am able to quickly and easily cook them up and serve them as a quick lunch or dinner or a great appetizer for company. Mine are also dairy free as I use rice cheese to still create that cheesy goodness that we expect from a quesadilla. Quesadillas are also flexible because you can use just about anything you have in the fridge to fill them. When I think I have nothing to serve, I turn to them.

1 tbls. olive oil 2 brown rice tortillas 4 slices of rice cheese

2 full slices of onion 4 slices of tomatoes 1/3 cup spinach

Have all your ingredients ready by the stove, as quick assembly is necessary to have the quesidilla come together without burning. Heat stove to medium under your round frying pan and add oil. Add 1 tortilla and 2 slices of rice cheese, torn to cover the bottom leaving a half inch from the sides. Next, add your filling of tomatoes, onions and spinach. Add the remaining 2 slices of cheese and cover with the other tortilla. Press down with either a sandwich press(invaluable) or a flat pan with a filled tea pot on top to create weight. When the cheese has started to melt and adhered both sides – flip over to complete the grilling. The quesadilla is complete when both sides are golden brown and the cheese is melted. Serve alone for lunch or a great dinner with rice and beans and a salad. Experiment with different fillings but always have your choice of cheese on the outside of the ingredients to seal the tortillas. Now you can eat like everyone else. Enjoy!!

Diane Lachtrupp Martinez

SNOW DAY: A top ten simple pleasure!

2011-01-20T12:29:00.000-08:00

(author and son enjoying their snow day)

When reflecting upon the top ten simple pleasures in life, “snow day” comes to mind. Nothing says fun like an unexpected day off from your job, work or everyday schedule. In fact, as a child, the only time I recall my older brother hugging me was when school was cancelled due to snow. We were in the kitchen listening to WRGB list the snow closings and when Galway was among the listed; my brother grabbed me and jumped up and down with me in his embrace. It stands out as a memory. Now hugs and kisses are a natural part of our hellos and goodbyes.

Everyone loves a snow day, including my younger son’s principal. He came home from school on Tuesday, January 11^th, with the precise formula to ensure a snow day; 1) toss ice cubes in the toilet and flush, 2) place a spoon under pillow before bed and 3)wear your pajamas backwards. Easy enough. When I asked him the source of his information, he replied “Our principal, Dr. Messier.” What fun! I guess she was up for a day off too.

Sure enough the formula worked. Wednesday morning before 7am, my younger son crawled into bed with me with his pajamas on backwards and at the same time my husband walked in announcing that school was indeed closed. My younger son’s eyes grew wide as he exclaimed, “It worked.” Flush with success from his snow day recipe, my younger son snuggled in for some additional sleep, my husband got up and my teenage son slept away oblivious to the good news. At 7:30am my husband received the news that his day had also been altered. He is directing a show for Schenectady children’s theater and his 9 am rehearsal was off.

A couple of hours later, as we had all eventually gotten up and enjoyed some pancakes, the only down side of a snow day reared its chilly head. SHOVELLING. After some grumbling by the 8 and 14 year old, we all donned our snow pants, boots, coats, gloves, hats and wool socks. Clearing our walkways and driveways is no easy feat, as we have 200 feet of sidewalk, plus interior paths and our driveway. Couple this with the fact that we opted not to purchase a snow blower but have 5 shovels instead. Our reasoning is exercise and the environment. I have many times since, regretted the absence of a snow blower, but I’m stubborn, and have yet to cave in.

When we first moved here in February of 2005 from New York City, my mother-in-law gave us a generous gift certificate to the store All Seasons in Glenville. I wasn’t interested in a snow blower and asked the man if he had anything that was easy on the environment but would get the job done. He replied nonchalantly, “That would be a shovel.” Hmmmm . Well, since we had a fat gift certificate, we ended up buying an electric shovel and came back a year later for a generator, after the ice storm of 2006.

So – we shovel and manage to get the job done by 2pm and decide to head on over to Congress Park for sledding. Hubbie and the kids are on foot and I cross country ski over. At this point, our evening teaching gig in Cohoes is still on and as we are heading down the first hill, we receive a call from the organizer asking if we plan on teaching swing that night and more or less suggesting that we don’t. We feel that we would like to continue to take the day off and decide not to teach. What a day.

Friends meet up with us in the park and we slide, sleigh and saucer our way down three different slopes. I ski around a bit as well and my husband enjoys his newish snow shoes. My eldest son has brought a shovel to the park to try and ride that down a hill but it doesn’t pan out. Instead we use the shovel to create a padded landing for the bottom of the hill.

After two hours of sledding, we are ready for the final reward of a snow day; hot chocolate and food. We all head back to our home on White St. and indulge in hot chocolate, pizza, wings and a little wine and beer for the adults. It seems not everyone had a day off and we are grateful that Spring Street deli accommodates us with a delivery. All sledders are famished and the wings in particular go quickly. No one it seems really had lunch.

How does a gal who is allergic to wheat dairy and soy handle that menu? I adjust. Hot chocolate is out as it has milk in the mix. Pizza is out for the wheat crust and dairy filled cheese but I am able to have a couple of wings. I inquired upon ordering and was told there was no wheat, dairy or soy in the wing marinade. I whip up some pasta with garlic and broccoli and pick a couple of mushrooms and sausage off my husband’s pizza. Beer is out, cause of the wheat, but I am happy with a little crisp Sauvignon Blanc.

The Saratoga snow day ends with a feeling of pure satisfaction. We shoveled, we sled, and we shook up our schedules. My youngest goes to bed wearing his pajamas backwards again, hopeful of another day such as this one.

Epilogue: Less than a week later on Tuesday January 18^th, at 6:50 am, my teenage son walks quietly into my bedroom, where my eight year old and I are sleeping and whispers, “Schools closed.” My youngest hugs me in celebration and then reaches his arms out to his brother and they share an embrace.

Enjoy your snow days!

Diane Lachtrupp

An Introduction

2011-01-18T10:28:00.000-08:00

        Hi – My name is Diane Lachtrupp Martinez. I am a professional dancer, mother of two sons, wife of my dance partner and gourmet food enthusiast. Four years ago I discovered that I was allergic to gluten, dairy and soy. Life as I knew it certainly changed; some of it for the better and some became more challenging.
      Prior to that discovery, my identity was that of a dancer, mom, wife and dinner party hostess extraordinaire. Now there was a new co-star on the horizon; that of a person with strong food allergies. Not only was I allergic to gluten but also dairy and soy. I could deal without soy, but what is life without a crusty baguette or a creamy brie. I’ll tell you; it is frustrating, bewildering and sometimes isolating.
          Being allergic to gluten permeates your entire food life: food planning, food shopping, cooking for yourself and the family, dining out and traveling. In addition to the diet issues, your health is greatly affected and as a result your sleep, emotional and physical health suffers. You take it day by day.
       However, I have not and will not let this illness deter me from my culinary desires. Over the past four years, I have learned how to navigate these allergies and have found ways to still dine out with pleasure, travel with confidence and entertain with panache.
         One of my goals for this blog are the following: to share information with you regarding shopping, cooking, menu planning and some recipes. I will go to the next level and share my experiences in dining out at any restaurant, traveling anywhere and entertaining with menus that please you and your guests. Food allergies, while taken seriously, are but merely a bump in the road.
      Another goal for this blog is to write about my career and family. Since both my husband and I are professional dancers as well as theater performers, our careers definitely spill into our family life. We enjoy a certain theatricality that comes out at the holidays and during our many parties. Currently, I am choreographing the show “RENT” for a local group. That will definitely be on the docket as well as anything else I experience.
        AND Finally– let’s vent. I want to hear from you. Although I want this blog to be life affirming and positive, let’s face it, we all have cooked two different types of pasta too many times, dealt with an unsympathetic restaurant or endured the blank stare of an uninformed store clerk. I will share many of my stories and frustrations with you and hope to hear your experiences in your comments.
         No parties or entertaining on the horizon this week, but lots of dancing and choreographing.
Until then,
Diane Lachtrupp Martinez