Food.

When I got back to work this afternoon I just knew that I had jinxed myself by my lunch time blog entry. Here I am proclaiming that I was eating healthy and sticking to it in order to reach a “magic number” by Thanksgiving.

That “magic number” must be two. Because I just downed two honking big tacos from the local Taco Bell not five minutes ago. I chased them down with a big gulp sized Diet Pepsi because after all, I am counting calories.

Before dashing off to school I had some popcorn made with PAM and iced tea. Doesn’t that sound sexy? I wasn’t even in the classroom yet when I started thinking about food. Any kind of food. The teacher talked, I paid attention and went through all the exercises we were given but I couldn’t stop thinking about food. What did Wendy (to my left) have for supper tonight? Does Dan (to my right) like diner food like we do? He seems like the type. Then the instructor mentioned he was going grab a snack after class because he’s been running around like a maniac today. I wasn’t even running around and I was feeling like a maniac. I wanted Taco Bell. NOW. Damn the convenience store down the road from us for getting rid of their Taco Bell franchise license. DAMN THEM. So I drove over two towns and whipped through the drive thru window and got myself a combo number one.

The food was freakin’ awesome.

I find it rather comical that I can’t be talking on a cell phone here in New York State while I’m driving, but I can balance a Taco Supreme on one leg, drive with the other knee and shift between bites and slurps and not get a ticket for it.

So here I am admitting it. I eat tacos. I love them. And you don’t even have to call me Anastacia Beaverhausen.*

*See your local Will & Grace fanatic if you don’t get the reference.

When I arrived at work this morning, I was pleasantly surprised to see two apple pies sitting on the community table in our work area. My friend (and co-worker) Shirley had made apple pie for everyone on her day off yesterday and was kind enough to share with our little group at work.

Strike one on eating healthy today.

Around 10 a.m., the director of our group announced that he was buying everyone lunch today and to decide what we wanted. We all agreed on the tried and true in our group – pizza and wings.

Strike two on eating healthy today.

So I had a piece of pizza, well, four small squares of pizza, for lunch at 11:30 a.m., while I continued to work at my desk. I’m trying really hard not to eat something now while I’m at home doing my usual hour routine.

I don’t know what it is about Fridays and pizza. In elementary and high school, we either had pizza/green beans/peanuts/apple crisp or fishburgers(?)/french fries/cole slaw/peaches for lunch on Friday. The peanuts were due to the fact that Jimmy Carter was president at the time, they were replaced by something else during the Reagan administration. I don’t know where we came up with the term “fishburgers” but it sounds a little odd now that I think about it all these years later.

I’m not a huge fan of pizza. I never have been. I suppose it’s alright to enjoy from time to time, but I’d rather dive into something else like Chinese food or something if I’m going to waste some calories away. The one form of pizza that I really do enjoy is “tomato pie”, which is tomato sauce on a doughish crust with cheese sprinkled on top. It’s usually enjoyed cold. I think it’s only found in this area, but I could be wrong on that.

Earl thinks I’m nuts (which I usually am), but there are two varieties of pizza that I do enjoy – Hawaiian Pizza (pineapple, cheese, ham) and BLT pizza (bacon, lettuce, tomato, cheese and mayo). Now those are tasty.

Let’s see if I can at least eat healthy tonight!

Happy Friday!

I love popcorn. I love the smell of it. I love the taste of it. I love making it. There’s nothing about popcorn I don’t like. In fact, since Earl is out of town tonight, I’m eating my second bowl of it right now as a snack before bedtime. Nothing like a little bit of Orville Reddenbacher to get one interested in bed, that’s what I always say.

As a kid I was fed popcorn on a regular basis. Thank the Universe for the invention of the Radarange, because my mother used it to pop some corn for just about ever meal of the week. Soup? Side of popcorn. Sandwiches? Side of popcorn. Prime Rib? Side of popcorn. It was the only vegetable I ate. When we went to my grandparents on Sunday for “Family Day”, there was a bowl of popcorn on the table. The bowl was bigger than the bathtub and the popcorn was leftover from Friday night, but who cares, Grams made it with some wickedly delicious lard thing, real butter and lots of salt.

These are the things that harden arteries the right way!

As an adult I used popcorn as one of the two* major criteria for evaluating men. Wannabe suitors could take me to the finest restaurants in Boston, shower me with the most lavish gifts from Lechmere and Jordan Marsh and take me for rides in the sheets to places that would make a porn star blush, but if they didn’t like popcorn, they were gone. Quickly. No questions asked.

“I don’t think we were meant to be together. You don’t like popcorn.”

I’ve gone to the movie theatre, bribed my way past the ticket taker for access to the lobby and have purchased a large popcorn then left, large corn in hand and a big smile on my face. Why watch a movie when you can eat popcorn? Back in the early 1990s we used to go to the local speedway to watch the races on Saturday night. The fumes from the fuel used in the cars would make everyone’s eyes water, dust and dirt would be flying all over the place, but there I was sitting next to my cousin Becky, large popcorn in hand when she would yell to me “Corn?” That meant she wanted to share. The noise in the speedway was so loud your ears would ring for days afterward, but I heard that magic word.

So now I’m contemplating making another batch of popcorn for a snack and to share with the birds. I might as well spread the love.

*For those that are curious, you’ll have to e-mail me for the details on the second criteria. I can’t give away all my trade secrets.

So last night I talked about how I felt that pasta was inherently evil because while it’s quite delicious, it does pack pounds on if you don’t exercise enough to work off those extra carbs. So what did I have for lunch today? Leftover pasta.

The spot on the end of my nose is sauce from actually licking the bowl clean. And you think I’m kidding.

Earl and I have been sort of lax with the healthy eating over the past month or so. We haven’t gone crazy eating tons and tons of food, well, I guess we kind of have, but we’ve been able to keep the weight under control and the gain number divisible by 2. I don’t know if it’s important or not, but at least it keeps the audience guessing.

In addition to my current waltz with pasta, in the past year or so I’ve developed a huge fondness for beer. I’ve been sticking to the “lite” stuff – Michelob Ultra being the swill of choice, but I think any type of beer is going to make one gain a beer gut. It just takes a little more to do so when you’re chugging Michelob Ultra. I have a couple of theories about this, at least where my metabolism is concerned. First of all, we all know whatever is in beer adds more calories to your diet versus drinking a glass of water or iced tea. But here’s the kicker. Because I’m such a lightweight when it comes to beer, I usually eat a boatload of loaded fries or cheeze whiz nachos (with a sour cream chaser) and drink lots of beer (maybe two) before the main entree arrives. Then I drink more beer (maybe one) while I’m eating which promptly causes me to get silly and pass out immediately after eating (if you’re counting, after three beers). On the more fortunate nights I pass out after we’ve left the restaurant so that I’m not left lying on the table with my forehead in my apple pie a la mode. Earl then gets me situated in bed while I tell him how much I love him and then I don’t move for hours clocking in the double digits. This inactivity, added to the extra calories from the beer and the cheese whiz and other artery friendly delights results in extra poundage.

I’ve found the answer to all this. First of all, pasta is relegated to lunchtime and the portion is divided by two. (I really have a theory about this “divisible by two” routine, but I don’t know what it is.) That’s my serious approach to the issue.

I’m also considering drinking beer only while I ride my bike so that I can work off the extra calories. I’m just afraid I may end up face down in some random woman’s marigolds or something.

I don’t know how the Italians do it. I’m referring to their fine tradition of fine pasta. For some reason I’ve been on a pasta kick for the past week or so, indulging in some ziti and some linguini, all with Earl’s homemade sauce.

While quite tasty, it hasn’t been the healthiest approach to eating by any stretch of the imagination. And I’ve got the higher numbers on the scale to prove it. If the scale still worked. I may have drop kicked it one time too many this morning after ringing up a number I didn’t like.

I’ve only gained four pounds in the past week. But to me that’s a lot. Earl assures me it’s within the margin of error as far as the scale is concerned, but I don’t buy it. The scale is evil and therefore pasta is evil too.

When did pasta become evil? Growing up we had spaghetti at least once a week. And that’s not counting the cans of spaghetti-os I had as a kid. In the summertime we had limited choices for lunch: spaghetti-os, peanut butter and jelly or peanut butter and mayonnaise. I occasionally opted for the latter, thrived on the pb and j from time to time and would eat spaghetti-os when it was raining.

Come to think of it, I had a pasta pot for a gut when I was a kid. Maybe I should have learned my lesson back then.

Earl is out for a business dinner tonight and then tomorrow night he’s out of town so he’ll have a full menu to choose from (undoubtedly complete with a server named ‘Dirk’.) Me? I get leftover ziti or a bowl of popcorn, unless I hit a take-out menu. My server is named Amana.

I think I’ll be popping my supper tomorrow night. So healthy.

The world wide web is an amazing thing. With a simple click of a mouse, you can find yourself with all sorts of information on any given topic. And since its a web, it can keep up with my scatterbrained way of thinking, the pages can follow right along as I jump from topic to topic.

I was doing some research at work this morning on a Sonicwall firewall. I had mistakenly typed “sonic wall” into Google, instead of putting the name of the manufacturer as one word. While the search results did lead me to my desired location, it also led me to Sonic: America’s Drive In, one of the coveted “My Favorite Places To Eat” in the country. Since I am trying to eat healthy this week for the 999,987th time (I think my odometer is getting to roll over), naturally my eyes were glazed over with the thoughts of hamburgers, fries and Frito Pie. So I took a small detour on the web and visited the Sonic site. That in turn reminded me of our trip out west this past May, which led me to think about where else we had enjoyed wonderful meals. As a result, I did a little more googling, the Sonicwall firewall long forgotten and ended up on wikipedia, where I promptly found the recipe for Cincinnati Chili.

So, in an effort to try to enjoy my healthy barley soup for lunch, I’m going to post the recipe for Cincinnati Chili to be used at a later date. Now that I think about it, I don’t recall really enjoying the Cincinnati Chili all that much, but when you’re hungry, you’re game for anything.

Bon Appetit!
~~~~~

Cincinnati chili
3 3 onions, chopped
6 6 garlic cloves, minced
3 tablespoons 45 mL cooking oil
4 pounds 1.8 kg ground beef (chuck works well)
1/3 cup 80 mL chili powder
2 tablespoons 30 mL sweet paprika
2 teaspoons 10 mL powdered cumin
1 teaspoon 5 mL ground coriander
1 teaspoon 5 mL ground allspice
1 teaspoon 5 mL dried oregano
1/2 teaspoon 3 mL cayenne pepper
1/2 teaspoon 3 mL ground cloves
1/4 teaspoon 1 mL ground mace
1 1 bay leaf
3 cups 720 mL water
1 can (16 oz) 450 g tomato sauce
2 tablespoons 30 mL wine vinegar
2 tablespoons 30 mL molasses
salt to taste
freshly ground black pepper
In a large pot, sauté onions and garlic in oil over medium heat, stirring frequently, until onions are soft. Add beef and stir until lightly browned. Add spices (except the bay leaf) and continue to cook for another minute or two, still stirring. Add bay leaf, water, tomato sauce, vinegar, and molasses.
Simmer, uncovered, for two hours, stirring occasionally. Add more water if necessary, keeping the meat barely covered; chili should be thickened but still soupy enough to be ladled. Discard bay leaf and season with salt and pepper.

With this past weekend’s festivities a fond memory, I’m finding myself very energized since getting back home. I’ve gone on a couple of brisk paced walks and I’m thinking of actually cleaning out the basement this week, with hopes of getting it all done by Saturday.

After all, it’s cooler in the basement.

Earl, being the dear heart that he is, made me a beautiful tuna salad for lunch today. It was strategically placed in the refrigerator with a small little container of dressing on the side. I have this thing about mixing food together, for example, with this tuna salad I ate the tuna first, then the cucumbers, then the lettuce. So that I was able to savor each flavor, I carefully dipped the various ingredients in the little container of dressing. I believe it was a low fat 1000 Islands dressing. Whatever it was, it was out of this world delicious with a capital DE-LISH.

Since I was dipping the tuna, cucumber and lettuce in the dressing, I had quite a bit left over after I finished the salad. Not wanting to waste it, I did the reasonable thing. No, I did not put the leftovers in the refrigerator.

I did the proper thing and downed it like a shot of tequila.

I think I even yelled tequila.

I’m drunk on 1000 Islands Dressing now. I hope there’s no drug testing at work this afternoon.

Wendy’s announced this week that they are getting rid of the “Biggie” and “Great Biggie” nomenclature on their value meals. From what I can gather, the American public is no longer smart enough to grasp the idea of “Biggie” or “Great Biggie” as a size designation, so they are going with the old standards, “Small”, “Medium” and “Large”.

Here’s the kicker, and I have to admit that I really get a kick out of this. Well, not really a kick I suppose because I’m not doing the teaberry shuffle or anything like that, but rather, a kick in that it gives me a little bit of a chuckle.

Anyways, the “Biggie” is now … drum roll please… a “Medium” (and I’m not referring to Patricia Arquette, though she is a lovely woman).

That’s right ladies and gentlemen, what used to be huge is now not so huge anymore, in fact it’s just average.

I can’t help but wonder how this is going to affect the already growing waist sizes of the American public should this type of sizing develops into some sort of trend. We are constantly bombarded by news reports about the fattening of America and our obsession with fast food. In fact, I’m sitting in a fake fast food restaurant right now (Panera) while I’m blogging today. My large iced tea is bigger than freezer in my grandparent’s first refrigerator after it was defrosted.

One of the things that I enjoyed about our dinner date last night at Pinhead Susan’s in Schenectady is that the portions were reasonably sized. In the past, Earl and I have ordered some random appetizer that just about required a dump truck to haul it to our table. Naturally we ate the entire thing and depending on alcohol consumption at the moment, we may have licked the serving plate and surrounding table top afterwards, but we really didn’t need to eat such mammoth portions.

So next time you go to Wendy’s, you may get more by asking to “Go Medium”. If you decide to step it up to a large soda, think of the fun you can have by wading in it.

Grilling delights.

Originally uploaded by macwarriorny.

Summertime means grilling time, especially when it’s cold, cloudy and rainy here in lovely Upstate New York. The weather really has nothing to do with it, since you can grill just as easily in a blizzard, but there’s something about the rumor of some extra sunlight that stirs the urge in men all across the area.

That urge, of course, is to stand in front of a grill and cook something using lots of flame and stuff to baste with.

So Earl and I (mostly Earl) came up with these skewered seafood delights. There’s shrimp and scampi and bacon and pineapple in there, along with my favorite, grilled eggplant with various seasonings and asparagus.

Yummy!

We had my Mom, sister and friend Debbie over for dinner today and everyone seemed to enjoy our latest grilling offering. I’m thinking of concoting a BBQ marinade with beer and other assorted fun for the next time.

One of Earl’s recent favorite stories about me is our dining experience in Martinsburg, West Virginia back in March. Long story short, we went for a long ride and ended up in Martinsburg. We set up shop in a Hampton Inn with the promise that we would go out exploring after supper, even if that meant driving the two hours to D.C. to hit a real bear bar or something.

We ended up going to the neighboring Texas Roadhouse, where there was an hour wait. An hour later, I was pretty sloshed on three beers and eating BBQ ribs, complete with BBQ ribs sauce in my beard and up my sleeves to my elbows. At least I didn’t pinch anyone’s ass while I was there. I do have some shred of decency.

Needless to say, Earl deposited me on the hotel bed at 9:30 where I basically passed out and he surfed the internet on the hotel wireless connection. Viva la Martinsburg.

The reason I mention this story is because I am having a hankerin’ for some real BBQ food. Having had a couple of wonderful BBQ experiences while on vacation earlier this month, I’ve been obsessing about slugging a few beers and eating at a roadhouse where you can throw your peanut shells on the floor and country music is blaring from the speakers. I’m thinking of something safe but a little seedy. A cowboy or two as an accessory would be most welcomed.

There’s no such place here. Bummer. I had my hopes up over the weekend when we went to a new local place, the “Route 69 Steakhouse and Saloon” (now _that_ sounded seedy to me but it’s really on Route 69) but while the food was quite good, it was way too tame and the menu had an overly Italian slant for my tastes. I couldn’t throw peanut shells on the floor because, well, there were no peanuts to be found and more importantly it would have messed up the carpeting.

I think this weekend’s “one frivilous meal” is going to be at type of place I’m looking for. Even if I have to drive to Martinsburg, W. Va. to find it.