Raw Carrot Cake

I have achieved Raw Vegan Carrot Cake nirvana (if i do say so myself....tbh, i think i come across a lot more conceited on this blog than i really am. trust me, i really am not a huge fan of myself irl). As I've mentioned previously, nuts and I are not the best of friends. I don't have a real nut allergy. But if I eat too many, I get a really bad headache and just feel bleh. So, although raw vegan desserts may actually be my favourite desserts (i'm actually a little shocked myself, but it's true), I often find myself feeling not so hot after eating them (cause most of them are 245% cashews).

So, lucky for me (and you, if you have similar woes with nuts or are looking to cut calories (because nuts are chock-full of em)) I made this carrot cake with significantly less nuts than any other recipe I've found thus far! Hooray! Less nuts = more happy Sylvia = more nuts Sylvia....so less is more in this case, I suppose. ;)

Now, perhaps you're thinking. "If there are less nuts, will it be less delicious?" No, it will not. I guarantee. And since I come across like a conceited jerk on this blog, I'll provide you with evidence seeing as I am not a trustworthy source (I'm basically Wikipedia....but less reliable, 'cause Wikipedia is actually reliable and schools are stupid not to let students use it as a source and it's probably some kind of conspiracy). My 14-year-old, vegan food-skeptic, carrot cake-hating brother ate MORE of this cake than I did! He kept knocking on the door to my room, and going "Sylvia, can I have a piece of your cake?"

Oh, and P.S. He's also a big time nut-hater. So, if my finnicky little brother likes this cake: I'm considering it a giant win. Also, I laaaahhhhvvveeeddd it. My mom and dad loved it. So, if you aren't finnicky like my little broski, you'll probably like it too. You don't need to be finnicky to love this cake. It's inclusive, babies.

To achieve carrot cake nirvana, you'll need:
for the cake: 2 cups of carrots (apprx. 4 carrots)
1/2 cup walnuts
1 and 1/2 cups oats
1 cup shredded coconut
1 cup sultanas/raisins
12 medjool dates
4 teaspoons cinnamon
2 teaspoons nutmeg
1 teaspoons vanilla

First, let's pit the medjool dates so that we don't break our food processors (or our teeth. i had the worst experience with unknowingly chewing on a date pit at a raw vegan restaurant recently. NOT COOL, man). Now, let's slice up our carrots. And finally, we chuck all the ingredients into the food processor (in however many batches you need. my food processor is itty bitty so i had to do 4 batches) and whizz it up until it forms a dough. If you did it in batches, you may want to mix it all together to ensure there's equal amounts of everything in the different batches. Alright, got the dough/batter/raw stuff all ready? Awesome! Isn't raw vegan "cooking" easy? Now we'll separate the dough stuff in half, and we'll put half in the bottom of a springform tin (cheesecake tin). Okay, stick that in the freezer and let's make the icing.

for the icing: 1/2 cup cashews (preferably soaked for a few hours beforehand)
2 bananas
2 tablespoons lemon juice
1/4 cup coconut oil
1/4 cup water (or a teensy bit less, just go with the flow)
3 tablespoons agave

So, if you soaked the cashews for a bit and you have a decent blender, I recommend making the icing using the blender. In the past, I've had major cashew chunk woes, but this time I used my fab stick blender and I got creamy icing perfection. Otherwise, use a food processor, and just keep going at it until it's smooth, or you don't give an eff anymore. So, throw all the ingredients (sans water) into the food processor or blender (preferably), and add the water as necessary (I used 1/4 cup, but you may want a teensy bit less depending on how thick you want the icing).

Take the springform tin out of the freezer, and spoon about half of the icing on top. Put it back in the freezer for a few hours (until firm), and then layer the rest of the dough/batter stuff on top, and then finish off with another layer of icing. Leave in the fridge overnight/for 4-6 hours. And nom away.

Chili Cheese Cornbread Muffins

Honestly, everything I make on here is about as Southern and American as you can get. Clearly I haven't adapted to Australian cuisine that well (except bircher muesli. bircher muesli is the bomb). Cornbread is something my mom used to make all the time when I was little. We'd normally eat them warm with some butter and honey. Unfortunately, butter has dairy and honey isn't considered vegan. So, I got a little more creative with these muffins. I think they're jazzy enough that they really don't need any added spreads...plus, I'm having trouble thinking of anything that would really mesh that well with "cheese" and chili....but if you have the perfect thing up your sleeve: Do tell!

Chili and cheese are basically my favourite things. So, I'm head over heels with these muffins. Of course, they don't contain real cheese, 'cause DAIRY *runs away and hides under a table in fear*. But they do contain my new favourite thing: SOY CHEESE. Finally, I can have cheese that isn't made out of cashews. YUSSS. Also, imo it tastes waaaay more like cheese than cashew cheese. So, extra bonus. Of course, if you don't eat soy or can't find soy cheese or don't like cheese because you're completely nuts, then you can just omit it, but I might try adding a bit of oil.

For Chili Cheese Cornbread Muffins (makes 9) you'll need:

1/2 cup cornmeal (polenta)

1/2 buckwheat flour

3/4 cup corn kernels (about two small corn cobs worth)

1/3 cup grated soy cheese (optional, but you may want to add a bit of oil if you do choose to omit it)

1 teaspoon hot dried chili flakes

1 teaspoon baking powder

1/2 cup unsweetened almond milk

1 tablespoon flax

Preheat oven to 180 C and oil a muffin tin (or use muffin paper holder things (why can't i ever remember or bother to look up their name?)). Grate your soy cheese, and remove the corn kernels from the cob (by shaving them off with a knife). Combine all ingredients in a bowl. Fill up 9 muffin tins, nearly all the way full. Bake for 15-20 minutes, until a knife or toothpick comes out clean. And enjoy more vegan southern cooking.

Body Image

I've talked before about Diabulimia (an eating disorder specific to diabetics in which they limit the amount of insulin they take/stop taking insulin in order to lose weight). What I didn't mention is that, statistically, girls with type 1 diabetes are 2.4 times as likely to develop an eating disorder, as girls without.

That's pretty freaky stuff. I, personally, do not have an eating disorder. In the past, I've suffered from undiagnosed binge eating disorder, but never bulimia, anorexia, or diabulimia. I'm not at all trying to discount having an eating disorder. It's extremely extremely serious, causes permanent damage to your health, and is overall incredibly dangerous. I'm really grateful that I don't have one.

But what I do want to say is that having type 1 diabetes caused me to have an intense over-awareness of my body and a resulting discomfort/shame of my body. Everything revolves around your body once you're diagnosed with type 1 diabetes. Your body is broken. It doesn't work right. You're constantly aware of it. Of every sensation. You constantly search for physical sensations to determine: Is my blood sugar high? Is it low? You worry and worry and worry about it, about your future body. Will I go blind? Will I lose my feet? You can't see your body is broken from the outside. You can cover up the scars, the injection sites. You can hide your insulin pump, or take shots and keep them in your bag. Some people don't even tell their friends they're a diabetic, and it's a pretty easy thing to hide.

I once had a friend refer to me as a model house. "Perfect on the outside, but inside nothing works. There's no running water. No heating." That really stuck with me. It didn't offend me or upset me, but it really meant something to me on a deeper level. I still strongly relate to it today.

In a way, I've found that being a "model house" makes it harder sometimes. You're broken. But no one can see it. People don't think there's really anything wrong with you. They won't know unless you tell them, and when you do they say things like "But you don't look sick." You don't really get free passes. People don't go easier on you. You look normal. You aren't at the hospital every day. Therefore, you're fine. You're perfectly fine.

I applied for special provisions for my HSC exams (the big, fat exams at the end of year 12 that determine your future) so that I could take lollies into the exam and my insulin pump and glucometer. I also got a little bit of extra time in case I had a low blood sugar or needed to leave the room. And oh boy, did the other kids at my school not approve. No one actually said it to my face. But I had multiple close friends come up to me and tell me that other kids I didn't know as well were asking them "Why does SHE get special provisions?!?" Because I looked normal. I was doing pretty well in school. Why on earth should I get special provisions?

But the weird thing about diabetes is that it does cause imperfections on the exterior, but you can hide them. For as long as I can remember, I've been ashamed of the little marks at injection sites, from shots, from insulin pump insertions, from finger pricks. I put my insulin pump in my bum rather than my stomach. The primary reason I keep doing it is that I have more nerve endings in my stomach and it hurts more to put it there. But I started doing it to hide the marks. If I wanted to wear a bikini, or if my shirt lifted up when I stretched, I didn't want people to see the set or see the blemishes it left behind. I used to worry so much about becoming an adult and having these markings all over my body. No one could see them because I was young and covered up, but the thoughts would linger in the deepest corner of my mine. Will anyone want to have an adult relationship with me, to marry me, to see me naked? Will they cringe in disgust?

Later I developed chronic cholecystitis (inflammation of the gallbladder) and acute appendicitis as a side effect of type 1 diabetes. I had to have both organs removed. I have three tiny scars now. One on my right side in between my hip and rib cage. One on my belly button. And one between my ribs. At the time the surgeon actually gave me the option to refuse the gallbladder surgery, and to wait and see if it flared up again. I had been vomiting for 18 hours because I had gone into diabetic ketoacidosis from the gallbladder infection spiking my blood sugar. Not for one second did I consider not having my gallbladder removed right then and there. But I mentally crossed off a few more things I couldn't do in my head. "Can't be a model. Can't wear anything that exposes my stomach." Of course I had never actually entertained the thought of being a model, but just having to cross off another thing I could never do, at such a young age, was excruciatingly painful for me.

Now the scars are little. They're even littler than a birthmark I have on my stomach, and I no longer feel inhibited by them. But I just remember that moment so vividly. I had so much rage. Not only did I have to suffer internally from my illness, but I was now branded by it too.

I've also talked about how diabetes can make you gain weight (because insulin converts energy to fat and excess insulin = excess fat). And boy did I gain weight. And boy is it difficult for me to lose that weight. And I needed to lose it. Not just for me to be happy or to feel pretty or to fit in with what the media or society values or whatever, but I needed to for my health. And yet, my body has resisted me every step of the way.

I don't have a healthy relationship with my body. I don't think I ever will. So many people say "Love your body. It's the only one you've got. It works hard to keep you alive every day. Treat it right." Well, my body isn't keeping my alive. My body is a suicidal, little cuss. It has tried to kill me on numerous occasions. It isn't keeping me alive. I'm keeping me alive. Doctors, and surgeons, and nurses, and phlebotomists, and medical researchers, and Banting & Best are keeping me alive.

So, what do you do then? What do you do with a body that doesn't love you or support you? I think perhaps that's the deepest reason why people with type 1 diabetes are more likely to develop an eating disorder. There are days I just want to slam my body against a wall until it's black and blue to punish it for everything it has done to me. But what is that really going to do? Nothing much. I guess, as a type 1 diabetic or anyone suffering from illness who struggles with body image, you just need to find something else to latch onto. Your family or friends or even yourself. And to treat your jerk of a body right for those reasons. Not for it. Because it is a total ass.