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This evening while walking past one of the worst Asian take out restaurants I have ever had the disappointment from which to order, I saw two young boys around 10 years old and their father about to partake in a meal served in styrofoam.
“Dim sums. I wonder what they taste like,” said one boy to the other.
I held my breath while passing them and around the corner said to myself, “sadly, you’ll never know.”
I imagine he will either love them due to their artificial taste, to which he may now be very accustomed, or he will hate them and never want to try them again.
This leads to memories of my own food predilections* when growing up. Despite my mother’s assertions that I ate broccoli as a child (little trees!), my only memory is a strong dislike of the vegetable which became Supreme Commander of all Green Foodstuffs approximately 20 years ago. My junior year at university I was eating out with friends at an Asian dive similar to the one I mentioned. Having ordered my favorite ‘moo goo gai pan,’ my friend Emily B chastised me for eating only the chicken and pushing all the broccoli aside. On a dare I ate the broccoli, had a massive epiphany that this stuff was so good even in its most degraded form, and lo, the angels rolled their eyes into their heads and said, “finally.” I love broccoli so much I have been known to eat if for dessert.
Mmm, dessert. I have had a massive sweet tooth my entire life (which only really saw satisfaction once I hit Switzerland, but that’s another story.) Chocolate cake for breakfast? Well, shucks, that’s what my daddy taught me was best thing day after your birthday. I had the sweets down pat, but broccoli was my gateway vegetable, hell, it was the destruction of every belief of what I liked and didn’t like. Had I ever in my life eaten tuna? I damned it because it was fish and said never, but when I lived at a commune and my teacher said, “if I told you tuna would make you enlightened, would you eat it?” I answered, “hell no.”** Ashamed, I went and got a plate and downed it in front of her realizing to my dismay, it wasn’t that bad. What else had I been missing!?! Oh dear universe, I like tuna, what’s next!?!
Next came a host of other greens and reds and more greens. To this day, however, I hold out on fennel. Anything that tastes like licorice/aniseed is of the devil, sambuca also be damned. Sorry, Elsa. I’m also sorry for not feeding you properly for the brief period of time when you lived with me in Austin. I think our basic diet consisted of apples, frozen crumbed-chicken patties, and probably spaghetti. I have many regrets of not being more adventurous sooner. However I’m not sorry that I was teased for avoiding sour cream onion potato chips and root beer in high school, and that I never tried pepperoni pizza until my 20s. Also, I am staunchly proud of the fact that the only time I ever ate WHITE chocolate, I threw up. As it should be.
*One of my father’s favorite words. He also uses “proclivity” quite fondly. Searching the thesaurus I see quite a few wonderful synonyms for appetite.
**Another long story for another time.
Um, hi. Remember me, Elli? What’s it been, a year? Well, it feels like it. Yes, I will admit to procrastinating a fair bit here and in other areas which can lead to a violent overcompensation. Be ye forewarned.
I just got back from my first real vacation in three years. It was cheaper and quicker to fly to Bali than the other side of Australia, thus making our decision quite easy. Neither JM or I had ever been there, nor are we likely to go again, however we did have a pleasant enough time. The area surrounding our village reminded me somewhat of New York — the smells, the many taxis, the honking, the street hawkers who don’t shout, but rather fall in step along side and try to sweep you into their stores every few hundred feet. I felt most comfortable tucked away in our villa where I spent the majority of the time either swimming in the private pool or in a comfy chair reading a book. I could pretty much do that at home though (especially if I had a pool.) We also attended a cooking class, but most of the work was done by an efficient team of Balinese women, which can take the fun and the harm right out of it. So my only injury was a slight sunburn on the back of my neck from the harsh equatorial sun on day one when we went out exploring on foot and I almost got run over by one or two of the millions of scooterists. No really, I had fun.
Now we’re back and I’m faced with the usual onslaught of thoughts including should I or shouldn’t I finally have that parathyroidectomy? When you read the words “end stage organ failure” in a doctor’s report it really makes you think. Sure, he’s merely referring to the fact that I have osteoporosis of the wrist, but it’s dramatic enough to make me think, hey, this isn’t getting any better is it? And worrying about the potential falls I could have had on the myriad of stairs in Bali really made me muse some more. So there’s a phone call I’ll be making tomorrow to my surgeon for an appointment.
Ah, now I need another day to recover from all this vacationing which is just what the procrastinator ordered…
At the endocrinologist’s office while he studies a bone density report on me:
Dr F: Do you have any shooting pains down your legs?
Me: No.
Dr F: Maybe down the back. They would be strong, shooting pains.
Me: Um, no.
Dr F: Well, if you ever do, give this to your GP and he’ll know why.
Me: Great.
Dr F: But it’s completely unrelated to your condition.
Me: Ah.
I admit it, I love exercising. You wouldn’t be able to tell this by looking at me, but… Wait, actually I don’t like exercising at all and often want to quit while I’m doing it, but I feel so good afterwards that it makes the exertion worthwhile. About 12 years ago I started running in a group and loved it. We ran a long, hilly loop and the faster runners would encourage the slower (me) as they passed time and time again. And when I actually passed someone else, wow, what a feeling. So here I am about to embark on a solo campaign. Over the last 25 years I’ve attempted to start running on multiple occasions and failed miserably. Now I have an iPhone, so I’m totally certain I’ll succeed. The only problem I foresee is wanting to stop to take photos.
Last year JM bought one of those Nike+ sensors that goes into a running shoe to track runs. He had started a program only to be waylaid by injury. Too much, too soon. Earlier this week I decided to do the Couch Potato to 5k and even downloaded a handy application for the iPhone which gives me voice prompts when to walk and when to run. The first day went great. Yes, I was tired and ready to be done after 30, no, 15 minutes, but I stuck it out the entire time. Then I went home and uploaded my run to the Nike site with the ease of my iTunes account. It even showed me a little graph of how tired I got at minute 15 and how my workout declined thereafter. Joy.
Today was my second excursion and, hello, suddenly it’s summer in Perth and I was miserable. I rallied around the 15 minute mark again and then it all went downhill, figuratively mind you. I would like to add blame to the music because who can run to the Dave Matthews Band? Certainly not I. Or me. Whatever.
I came home all aflutter to upload my workout again and see the graph showing my steady decline, but lo and behold, the whole Nike+ site had changed (but, yes, the graph was there as well). Now they offered me their own 12 week ‘walk to run’ training program which really pleased the couch potato in me. I’m ditching the 9 week Couch to 5k program for Nike’s even though I don’t have voice prompts. Hmm, I may reconsider this in the morning. That’s the one drawback to Nike’s program–they haven’t updated the iPhone software to include these new coaching programs which means I’ll have to keep pulling the iPhone out of my bra to look at what time it is. This may not work for me at all, however at the moment I am undeterred. Check back in another week…
I got my copy of Snow Leopard* this afternoon and installed it immediately. I haven’t noticed a huge difference except one that makes it all worthwhile and if you’re a photo bug, you might like as well: when in icon view in the finder you can now resize your thumbnails up to 512 x 512 which is wonderful beyond belief. Of course it helps having a 30-inch monitor.
* It’s the new operating system for Mac just in case you haven’t heard… There might be two of you and now you know. My good deed for the day is done.
To explain to you the depths of cold inside my house, my house without heating (Australia, WTF?), if I want an ice-cold can of Coke Zero all I have to do is go to the kitchen and grab one from the box sitting next to the refrigerator. Not inside, but right next to it.
“It’s gonna be cold, it’s gonna be gray, and it’s gonna last you the rest of your life.” That’s where I’m at.
I woke up at 5 this morning without an alarm which is a grand feat for me owing to the fact that I usually get up around 8 when JM is away and I need a chorus of beeps in order to do so. Getting in bed by 8 last night though might have had something to do with it.
I didn’t immediately get up at 5. Being slow to wake, I like to linger in the warm sheets especially during winter which we are in the throes of here down under. Sometimes I’ll start meditating as I have on and off for the past twelve years. This morning though, a particular thought introduced itself and struck a chord: I wouldn’t be meditating if I didn’t want to. Hmm, the act of meditation is also a product of desire. Want, want, want. I don’t know where I’m going with this except that maybe I really woke up so early this morning because I’m hoping my copy of Apple’s Snow Leopard will be delivered today.
I feel the need to start this with a disclaimer that I am in no way a good cook. If you want advice on anything edible, listen to Elsa. Pay no attention to the instructions from the aproned chick who had to look up the word crudités last year. That said, I know how NOT to cook which brings me to tonight’s dinner currently in the oven: four boneless chicken breasts basted in a light vinaigrette with basil and thyme, okay, and a dash of chilli and cumin because I’m Texan and can’t help myself. It’ll be my usual bland fare (not all four pieces, mind you, but at least one, while the others will get recycled for lunches or put in a soup.) I heartily approve of this method, but what I don’t condone is something a college roommate introduced me to, or rather tried to poison me with.
Some backstory: my diet consisted mainly of Eggo waffles, apple sauce, ramen noodle soup, free tacos from Taco Bell thanks to the offer on the back of theater ticket stubs*, and any booze or chocolate I could get my hands on. I did not cook, I merely boiled water or reheated. My roommate for all intents and purposes was the same.
We were poor, innocent students on a budget and decided to splurge on some meat. Mmm, meat. We bought four smallish chicken breasts, similar to this evening’s meal which is what brought on this recollection. My roommate, I’ll call her Sparky for no reason at all, took those dear fillets and placed them in a baking dish and then proceeded to drown them in Kraft dressing, emptying the entire bottle’s contents. I was curious and horrified at the same time, this swift burial in the Seven Seas. Ugh, the wreck that was pulled from the oven when it was over! I gagged on the first bite, which, get this, tasted like a solid block of Italian dressing from a bottle; meanwhile Sparky happily forked it in. Knowing what I had paid, that this was a “special” meal, I choked it down vowing to never eat another thing she cooked ever again. Once we graduated and got jobs, boy, was she great at ordering pizza.
*I was a drama major and we would scrounge around the aisles after a show looking for discarded stubs. Cheap date!
After three spring-like days all in a row my spirits are substantially lifted. And to boot, I found a new sweater and top which I plan to wear for my 40th birthday coming up in three weeks. I’ve got the what-to-wear, now to figure out the what and where. I don’t think we’ll be able to top the 30th when JM took me to the Matterhorn, but I’m sure something will occur to me.
I’m also getting in some great walks around my neighborhood and enjoying all the old houses and tall trees. Perth, I think I love you. There are so many little parks, two within a stone’s throw from my house. I could get used to this if only we had central heating during winter…
Happy Swiss Day! To celebrate I made nachos because, hey, melted cheese, and I bought some Lindt chocolates. Mmm. Isch fein gsii. I really should have bought bread and fleischkäse as well, but I’m too tired after all this walking to hoof it to the speciality store to get it. En guete y’all.
The whole house feels warmer thanks to our new Swiss chimney sweep who came by this evening. After he cleaned out the chimney and started a roaring blaze, we enjoyed an evening of conversation that bounced back and forth between English and Swiss-German. In one fell swoop we’ve found an excellent new acquaintance and brought warmth and luck into our new home. I couldn’t be happier.
Elli
Elsa