Being Bodil

Cooking with Capsaicin: British Army Vindaloo

Posted on the 7th of February 2010 at 12:25 by Bodil

Here’s a recipe I’ve been meaning to share for years and years, but food blogging sort of died down when I got my Android phone, which, among other great hardware failings, has an absolutely crap camera–so bad it might actually make iPhone owners smirk. And food blogging without a decent photo of the dish just feels wrong. Today, therefore, having a batch of vindaloo left over from yesterday along with an unaccustomed feeling of industriousness, I dug out my old Nokia E90, which, while probably still blasphemy to any serious photographer, still has the best damned camera I’ve ever owned. Food photography settled; food blogging can now resume.

This dish started out with a recipe for chicken vindaloo I found online in the dark prehistory of the internets–the site, while indisputably precious even today with its sentiment of capsaicin assisted suicide, is so old I might well have found my way to it through Altavista. I’ve had more than ten years to refine the recipe (to make it properly vegetarian, especially), and here’s the result: my all time favourite dish, bar none.

As always, the usual caveat applies: consult the Scoville scale and maintain proper respect for habañeros at all times. Use less potent chilies if you’re not used to them; in fact, the curry paste might very well contain more than enough capsaicin for the inexperienced palate: dispense with the chilies altogether if so.

British Army Vindaloo

250-500 g tofu
1 large onion, chopped
1 can chick peas
1 can chopped tomatoes
10-15 cherry tomatoes
2-4 habañeros
1 bulb garlic
1 fair sized lump of ginger (about 2x the amount of garlic)
1 fair sized bunch of fresh coriander
1/2 glass Patak’s vindaloo paste or similar (Extra Hot is even better, depending on mood)
2 tbsp tomato purée
2 tbsp mango chutney
1-2 dl vinegar (approx, to taste)
1 tbsp whole cumin seeds
1 tbsp garam masala
1 tsp ground black pepper
1 tbsp vegetable ghee or cooking oil

Dice the tofu into 1-2cm³ pieces and deep fry at 170ºC for 1 minute or fry in a frying pan for 1-2 minutes on each side. The surface of the tofu should turn golden, but not brown. Set aside.

Blend the habañeros, garlic and ginger using a hand mixer or blender. Add one cherry tomato if you like to make it easier to blend. Set aside.

Heat the frying pan to medium heat and melt the ghee. When the pan is hot enough, sprinkle the cumin seeds into the ghee. They should sizzle, but not burn. After about 30 seconds, add the chopped onion and sauté until it softens slightly.

Add the chili/garlic/ginger paste, stir well while allowing it to fry for about a minute. Add the vindaloo paste and tomato purée. Stir it all together while frying for another minute or so.

Add the can of chopped tomatoes, liquid and all. Stir well until everything blends and it starts to look curry coloured. Stir in the mango chutney, black pepper and vinegar. The vinegar is what makes the vindaloo: blend and taste until you find the amount that suits you best.

Add the tofu and chick peas. Chop the coriander well and stir it in. Leave to boil gently for 10 to 45 minutes–more is better because the tofu will absorb more flavour, but not necessary if you’re feeling impatient. I’ll usually start boiling the rice at the same time I start preparing the curry, and leave it boiling until the rice is done, maybe 15-20 minutes, with fairly good results.

When you feel like it’s boiled long enough, stir in the garam masala and add the cherry tomatoes. Leave to cook for another 3-5 minutes before serving, allowing the tomatoes to heat through.

Serve with rice, maybe a splash of chutney on the side. Pappadums are near essential accessories, and a good raita is advised if you’re serving guests who aren’t used to the habañeros.

Many variations are available: as well as tofu and chick peas, the dish works splendidly with mushrooms, spring onions, potatoes, lentils and even aubergines. If you’re willing to pollute your body with animal flesh, chicken obviously works magnificently. Feel free to experiment: the only spectacular failure I’ve had with this recipe is when something (presumably the Devil) possessed me to try it with fried salmon.

The Great Experiment

Posted on the 26th of July 2009 at 16:14 by Bodil

I’ve been toying with this idea lately: what if I entered the state program for treating transgender issues, the Gender Identity Disorder clinic, just to see if it’s as bad as I think?

Some background is necessary here. First of all, health care in Norway is provided by the state. Transgendered people who want hormone treatment and various surgeries, not to mention legal recognition of any kind, are referred to the GID clinic in Oslo, and, if diagnosed, are treated at the state’s expense. I’ve quite deliberately avoided doing this for a variety of reasons, which I will get into in some detail shortly, but to summarise, it’s because the clinic itself has a bad reputation among trans people in Norway, and because the guidelines set down by the state are, in my eyes, quite horrific. Basically, I’ve wanted no part in it because it offends me politically, and because I’ve expected they would refuse to diagnose me.

I know a handful of trans people who have been diagnosed and treated by the GID clinic, and who are mostly happy with the results. The process, as they report it, has been smooth and painless, if, perhaps, somewhat plagued by the bureaucratic inertia one would expect from a state institution. What these people have in common, of course, is that they all fall comfortably within the GID clinic’s definition of what constitutes transsexualism. They all experienced gender dysphoria, and subsequently went on to have genital surgery and legal recognition of their reassigned genders. You’ll hear them complain about certain people at the clinic–one name, which I won’t repeat, keeps being mentioned–but mostly they got what they wanted and are happy.

Then there are the horror stories. I won’t get into the details of these, but think suicides and self-inflicted genital mutilation, and you’re on the right track. You see, the GID clinic is apparently very strict about whom they diagnose.

First of all, you must be perfectly sane. Any mental issues, and you’re referred to regular psychiatric treatment until such time as you can be considered mentally stable. The problem here, of course, is that often those mental issues are direct results of gender dysphoria, and the best treatment would actually be what the GID clinic offers. Denying this treatment tends, as I’ve mentioned, to lead to rather spectacular cases of self-abuse.

Second, the definition of the kind of transsexualism they are prepared to diagnose is very strict. You must be prepared to undergo the full regimen of treatments, including genital reassignment surgery, to be considered a candidate. In other words, if your species of transgenderism doesn’t involve you wanting to become, in every physical detail, a member of the opposite sex, they’ll have nothing to do with you.

This rather horrific concept ties in with the legal situation: in Norway, social security numbers are gender specific. You can tell from whether the ninth digit is odd or even what legal gender a person is. This gender is assigned at birth, in the way you’d expect. In order to change it–both your legal gender and the very obvious giveaway of the social security number–you are required to undergo genital surgery. If you live and identify as a woman, but have a penis, you are, by legal definition, male. This means that as far as the Norwegian state and legal system are concerned, I am a man. It says so in my passport, and the only way I can change that is by having genital surgery.

Now, let’s stop for a moment and emphasize that I have no real idea whether any of this is true. That is, the legal issues I detailed in the last paragraph are real. However, nothing of what I’ve said about the GID clinic is anything but hearsay, and much of it may come from people who may be seriously mentally unbalanced. All of it comes from people with very specific agendas, whether aligned with or opposed to that of the GID clinic’s actual policies. The trend, though–and I tend to assume trends form out of some measure of actual truth–is that either you’re the model heteronormative transsexual, or you’ll come away disappointed. This is one of the reasons I’ve decided to go my own way, the other being an innate sense of independence: wanting, perhaps even needing, to solve my own problems on my own terms.

As far as I’m concerned, my process is complete, aside from the continuous need to ensure a steady supply of anti-androgens, which is not a big issue. In other words, I have, at present, nothing to lose by applying for treatment at the GID clinic. If they turn me down, I’m still where I want to be. If they accept me, on my own terms, then at least they’ll cover some of my expenses and provide better medical care than a general practitioner is normally able to. Most importantly, I’ll be able to see, firsthand, if the situation is really as bleak as the evidence suggests. Not to mention it’ll give me something to blog about again.

The political situation for transgendered people in Norway is horrid. I’m not being abused by the government for being trans, or anything like that. I’m not likely to be thrown in jail for having a penis. They are, however, denying trans people the basic human right of being able to identify with their own gender, even if their genitals happen to fail to meet the normal expectations of that gender. This is a real issue, one that affects me directly and robs me of a fair amout of dignity. It’s real, and most importantly, it’s a known factor. I expect politicians are too busy relocating immigrants to foreign labour camps and selling the legal system off to the copyright mafia to care about just another legally abused minority, but at least we know what needs to be done and can start fighting for it right now.

What goes on at the GID clinic–the only institution in Norway that is allowed to treat transgendered people–is not really a known quantity. There is an official story, of course, but there are too many conflicting stories floating around in back channels–and too many startling and horrific incidents appearing in the press, like this one about a young trans woman castrating herself after being denied treatment–that I can feel entirely sure what’s really going on there. My impression is that it used to be really bad, but has gotten better in recent years, though the situation is still far from ideal.

So here’s what I can offer: I’m a perfectly sane, smart, educated and well adjusted trans woman who has been living full-time for more than a year. I’m basically their perfect candidate–down to the proven and undeniable track record–except for the one crucial issue of having no genital dysphoria; no need to remove my penis. What will happen if I apply? Will they happily take me, with my one little flaw, or will they turn me away for not meeting their backwards definition of what a trans woman should be?

Obviously, there’s only one way to find out, which is why I’ve decided to start the process of becoming a government authorised tranny, just to see what the situation really is like. Maybe I’ll pick up some political ammunition on the way; maybe I’ll find everything in admirable order. We’ll see: whatever happens, I’ll obviously keep you posted.

How To Talk To Trans People

Posted on the 24th of May 2009 at 21:46 by Bodil

This is one of those topics that keep surprising me with their need to be addressed. It’s not just those crazy conservative religious people who struggle with it–that wouldn’t surprise me much. I meet people every day who just don’t know how to deal with the issue.

So today I’m going to teach you how to behave towards transgendered people. In particular, I’m going to teach you how to relate to me. There are more ways of being trans than there are ways of being bigoted against them, so I’m not even going to try to speak for all of us. If you can deal with me without pissing me off, though, you’re probably off to a reasonable start.

Lesson One: The Pronoun

Most people have a concept of gender. Usually it’s the simple binary notion of male and female. Usually you won’t have to deal with more than that.

I’m OK with that.

Realise, though, that gender is not defined by genitalia. This is where most people start to struggle a bit. Surely, if somebody has a penis, he  is a man, yes? Well, I happen to have a penis, and if you want to be a complete asshat, please do go ahead and call me a man. Many people who knew me before transition still do, even though mostly by mistake, an unintended “he” when referring to me. Sometimes it’s deliberate. Sometimes it’s malicious. No matter what,  even if it’s an innocent mistake, it’s not something you do.

You see, what it tells me, and what it should tell you, is that while I look, feel and behave like a woman, while I most definitely identify as a woman, you still think of me as a man.

Obviously, this will hurt me. I’ll start wondering what I’m doing wrong; maybe my profile is too masculine, maybe my voice is too deep, etc. I’ll feel really inadequate. I’ll feel stupid for thinking I could ever believe I could be the person I want to be on the outside as well as the inside. Only for a little while, though–I’m really thick skinned, and will get over it. (Mind you, most trans people most definitely won’t, and with good reason.)

What I won’t get over, though, is the fact that you just revealed your true self to me, and it turns out it’s pretty bigoted, whether you’re able to admit it to yourself or not. Rest assured, my level of respect for you will suffer. You may not have intended to act like an asshat, but the fact that you did, even if by mistake, tells me that deep in your heart you really are an asshat.

The correct gender to address trans people as is the gender they identify with. Accept that this is their real gender, even if it’s not their sex. Sex is biological; gender is social. Gender is what counts in any social situation. If you’re not sure which gender somebody identifies with, assume it’s the gender they’re presenting as. If you’re not sure about that, then asking is better than getting it wrong. Just don’t be an asshat, whatever you do.

Lesson Two: The Name

The name is something it should be impossible for you to make a mistake about. You know what a trans person is called, if you have been introduced. Use that name. Never, ever use their old name. I may have really thick skin and all that, but if you call me by my old name, you are my enemy. I don’t care if you do it by mistake. Don’t.

Sure, if the mistake is understandable–say, you knew me before transition and decide to write me a mail to catch up–that’s OK. But if you call me by my old name to my face, there’s really no excuse: you’re an asshat.

I won’t even try to reason this one out for you; just accept that it’s unbelievably rude, under any circumstance.

Asking what my old name was is also rude, but not a hanging offense. Just don’t do it. Referring to it as my “real name” is a hanging offense. My real name is Bodil, and if you have a problem accepting that, you’re a bigot and an asshat.

Lesson Three: The Technical Term

You can call me transgendered. I’m OK with that, as long as you’re OK with transgendered people. You can call me a trans woman. That’s perfectly acceptable to me; I’m not trying to hide the fact that I’m trans, and the term recognises the fact that I’m a woman. I am not a trans man, as in “oh, she’s a man trying to be a woman, so she must be a trans man.” That’s stupid, and rude, and you will be treated as such.

Derogatory terms, such as “shemale” or “ladyboy,” are obviously not OK. They’re derogatory terms. Do the math.

In my particular case, I don’t consider myself a transsexual. This term implies, to me, a desire to alter genitalia. I have no such desire, hence I am not transsexual. I won’t be offended if you call me transsexual, though. I realise these terms are confusing enough to those of us to whom they broadly apply, and I don’t expect everyone to be experts in the field. I may correct you, if I care to, but in no way would I be offended.

Oh yeah, and “transvestite?” That is, very implicitly, a person who identifies clearly as one gender while on occasion dressing up as the other gender. They’re trans people, sure, but there’s an enormous difference between a man letting his feminine side out on occasion and actually being stuck in the wrong gender. I respect transvestites enormously–I think everyone should be a transvestite on occasion, in fact, just to loosen up their concept of gender a bit and let go of those stupid gender role hang-ups–but calling me a transvestite is, pretty much, saying I’m a man. By now, you should know that’s not very nice.

Realise that while I, personally, am fine with being labelled a trans person in the clinical sense, it is never all right to out someone against their will. Most trans people will be deeply hurt and offended if you reveal their secrets to anyone they haven’t chosen to place their trust in themselves. Wouldn’t you? Even I would be a little hurt by being introduced with “this is Bodil, she’s a tranny” for no reason.

Also, be aware that most trans people have their own labels and definitions with which they asssociate themselves. If you really must use a label, and you don’t know what the person you’re labelling is comfortable with, be as generic as possible and just use the term “trans.” Some trans people will be offended even by that, but in my mind that is, frankly, unreasonable.

Lesson Four: Asking Questions

Ask away. Just respect Lesson One: don’t ask things like “why do you want to be a woman when you’re a man?” I try to be as open as possible, and if I can help tear down your preconceptions, or just make you feel more at ease around me, by being informative, then I’m happy to do so.

In fact, I’m going to answer the most commonly asked question right now. The question, of course, is “why?” My answer is obvious. If you’re a man, do you want to be a woman? If you’re a woman, do you want to be a man? Yeah, neither do I.

Conclusion

Generally, when dealing with trans people you’ll be fine as long as you accept them for what they are. There’s no need to be nervous around them. You don’t have to watch what you say, as long as you have fully accepted the basic premise that they are who they are. I, for instance, am a woman. I am not a man. If you’ve accepted that, then you aren’t likely to make any mistakes, now, are you?

In fact, if you’re nervous about slipping up with a trans person, maybe you ought to have a little more faith in us? Sure, being trans isn’t easy, but that doesn’t mean we’re all so emotionally fragile as a result that we’ll slit our wrists if you happen to mention “trans fats” or “drag racing” within earshot of us. Trans people are no more crazy than anyone else. Which, to be honest, isn’t saying much.

Alive

Posted on the 15th of April 2009 at 16:28 by Bodil

Just to let you know, I survived the breast enlargement surgery, which, according to the doctor, went very well. But oh God, it hurts! I very much plan to be stoned out of my mind on painkillers for the next week.

And so far, the implants look pretty sweet. Looking forward to when they stop hurting enough that I’ll be able to risk taking the support bra off for a closer look. Which won’t be in a while. Ugh.

See you next week.

On Cup Size and Happiness

Posted on the 12th of April 2009 at 12:26 by Bodil

Last year, I outlined my two remaining steps to complete transition. These were getting rid of the fake hair, which I did, and breast enlargement.

So, obviously, this is to inform you that I’m about to have breast enlargement surgery. In only a few days’ time. And I’m terrified about the procedure, no small thanks to having watched too much Nip/Tuck, and am putting my affairs in order in case I don’t survive, but that’s not really relevant. Besides, I’ll get over it.

What matters is that this marks the end point of the process of transition. Aside from minor matters of convenience, like further permanent hair removal in places where I shave and epilate quite adequately today, there’s nothing more to be done. Nothing, at least, that I want done–I’m still not having any genital mutilation performed; if you can’t deal with the idea of a woman with a penis, that isn’t my problem.

And now that the end is in sight–actually quite imminent–how do I feel about it? Aside from that tiny niggling doubt I’ve taken care to cultivate just so I can be sure I’m not deluding myself into transgenderedness for all the wrong reasons, which, rest assured, is entirely overshadowed by the sheer unnatural horror of imagining going back to being male, I feel nothing out of the ordinary. It’s going to be a massive relief to be able to throw away the prosthetics, and not to have to worry about them slipping out anymore, but that’s a practical concern. I’m a little excited because I believe, shallowly, that breast enlargement will make me more attractive, and I do want to be more attractive. Well, obviously.

Aside from that, there’s nothing. I realise there’s no sense of fulfillment, because in my mind this isn’t really the point where I become a complete woman. That happened a long time ago, even before the name change. I’ve long since settled into that role.

Re-reading my blog posts from 2007, all excited with this process of going out and being a woman on a part-time basis, I hardly even remember what that was like. I’ve been all Bodil for a whole year now, and it almost feels like this is how it’s always been. Startling, really: in my memories of past events, my mind has substituted my old identity with the new one. I can almost understand why some transgendered people I’ve known flatly refuse to admit to being transgendered after completing their transitions, claiming such things as “I was never really transgendered, because I’ve really been the same gender all along.” I still maintain that’s a dangerous fallacy, but I do see why they’d think so. That guy I used to be, I’m not really able to believe he even existed anymore.

So, here we are. I’ll be posting a review of the surgeon after I’m completely recovered from the procedure, obviously, and I’m going to do a big summary post on what I’ve learned in order to help others transition more painlessly, because that was the purpose of this blog in the first place, and I feel I owe it to you. After that, though, I very much doubt I’ll be doing any more blogging on transgender issues. That is, about my personal transgender issues, because there’s really not any more to say. I do reserve the right to the occasional rant against transphobia and the likes, obviously.

Just so you know. Mission complete, no more transition talk here.

Thank you, you’ve been a lovely audience, goodbye for now, and pray for me during surgery, becase a million to one odds of something going horribly bad aren’t odds you could ever be comfortable with…