Artie Choked to Death

The reason my blog was nonfunctional was due to an IE upgrade necessary for me to take an online course in Italian cooking.  So far the course has been fabulous--delicious salads, great manicotti, fresh and filled pastas, you name it.  The only recipe that was a dismal failure so far was stuffed artichokes alla Romana.

The video was clear as a bell on the cleaning and stuffing of the artichokes.  Now, they have always seemed to me too much work for very little payback.  That little bit of meat at the end of the leaf and the heart seem fairly tasteless, frankly, only being redeemed by dipping the leaf in butter or mayonnaise.  But, hey, if the Italians like them, then there must be something to it.

Cut off the top fourth of the artichoke, our chef advises.  Good luck on that one.  My knives are literally sharp enough to cut paper, and my bandaged fingers are proof.  After a while I felt like I needed a chain saw to get that top fourth off.  The results were less than aesthetic, but even at that point I knew something was not right here.  My artichokes were a different color, a very lovely purple inside; the instructions said to strip the leaves until the artichoke was a pale green.  Then carefully pushing the leaves aside, you dig out the choke with a spoon and rinse to make sure you've gotten it all.  It is ever so inedible.

I kept pulling off leaves until I realized there was never going to be any pale green.  Then, I found that the choke was protected by a tightly closed, minute set of purple leaves that would have to be dug out first.  I thought I would never get rid of the blasted choke, but as it was, it really didn't matter.  I prepared the stuffing (delicious indeed) and tried to get it into my artichokes.  Artichokes, by the way, are members of the thistle family, and as far as I'm concerned, that says it all.

The instructions said to cut thick rings of onion, lay them in a pot, add some parsley and a little salt, place the artichoke stems in the onion rings so the artichokes would be held upright, add water, and steam.  Halfway through, you are supposed to turn the artichokes over, "being careful not to spill the filling". 

My onions had wilted in the process, releasing their liquid, and there was no way I could turn the beasts over without soaking the filling.  I turned them on their sides.

Just to give the chefs a laugh, I dutifully took a picture of these god-awful things and sent it on to the school.  The instructor came to the conclusion that I had some other breed of artichoke, and I used the filling for stuffed baked mushrooms that came out spectacularly.  For your delight and amazement, I include the culprits here.

Am I here yet?

Folks, I may be able to post now with Internet Explorer 9, in which case let me update you: my running has gone to pot, and I have now given up my hope of winning the Austin 5K in all age groups in a record time of 20 minutes.  Okay, maybe that is a bit of an exaggeration and I shouldn't have hoped for that anyway.  But so far I have been unable to recover from the summer low, and any trip sets me back by weeks, so now my trainer has put me on a run-6-minutes, walk-2-minutes schedule for 5K.  Even that is uphill.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch, Gitano is turning out to be a difficult ride, not because he is badly behaved, but because his trot is like driving a Beetle with no shock absorbers.  Every bone in your body gets loosened.  He's a handsome devil, however, and that often makes up for a lot, and he is sweet--perhaps too sweet since he follows me around trying to find out if I have carrots, making a pest of himself when I am outdoors at the quinta.

Well, in spite of every instinct I have, out I go to run.  If only you knew how loosely I am using the term "run"....

Back at last...

Our trip to Seattle was marvelous, just to see such huge trees and run in the misty mornings. In Los Angeles, the weather was all right but the smog was awful, and I didn't run there except for one day at the gym. It was very unpleasant, however: the treadmill arm supports were sticky and the treads themselves had some kind of spilled liquid on them which had dried, leaving streaks. I felt like going over the whole thing with a Lysol cleaning cloth, and it was so disgusting I didn't go back.

Here I have managed a run since our return on Saturday night, but I'm having the ever-famous fibromyalgia post-trip fall-out in which every spot on your body aches. The Austin 5K looms, and I see myself walking it now!

Rain, and more rain...

It's either feast or famine. The rain began yesterday, and from the news we see it was so bad in some parts of town that at least three people were drowned when they were swept away by flash floods--in the streets and underpasses! Apparently the amount of rain that fell in a short time qualified as a cloud burst. I've lived in Mexico for 43 years, and this town has never failed to have natural disasters associated with water each year. The incredible part is how dangerous the streets get.

However, when I went out to run in the rain this morning--just a misty rain, no big deal--the park was almost empty. Thank God for small favors. I expected to see the hard-core runners, but no, it was just us old folks trying to lighten old age by keeping moving somehow. It is supposed to rain on and off until Thursday when we leave for Seattle, so maybe there won't be the usual park traffic jams.

And of course, it will rain in Seattle too! Well, I'm off to pack and to get my closet in some kind of order. That is an easy task--most of my clothes need to be thrown away. This tendency of mine to cling fiercely to a pair of silver hotpants left over from the 70s has just got to stop. Even if I could get into them, and even if summertime here is ideal for them, and even if my legs still look good, the rest of me has gone to pot with a vengeance.

So I'm going to Seattle with two pairs of jeans and tops, a sweatshirt, running gear, pajamas, and that's it. I have GOT to buy new clothes--this is what happens when you keep thinking, "I'll wait until I get back to my real weight...", as if I were EVER going to get back into the clothes I've saved. Merciless, that's what I'll be while I toss clothes...

How Holmes Really Ended Up

"Quick, Watson, the game's afoot!" cried Holmes, bursting into Watson's sitting room one morning.

Watson, seated in an easy chair by the window, slowly lowered his newspaper. He took a swig of tea from a cup resting on the side table. He replaced the cup on its saucer; the chink of crockery could be heard.

"No, Holmes, the game is not afoot. They are having a 5K and 10K event along the road by the park today. Everyone and his uncle are participating, including ladies with racing strollers, old men with dogs, and experienced runners. Everthing except the game is afoot."

"Oh...well...nevertheless, remember the old gal wearing those rocking chair shoes that are supposed to lift your buttocks, tighten your abs, and make you look ten years younger? She was out again today, and alone this time, no one to hold her up! She was wearing gloves, too, Watson. Do you get the deeper meaning of that? What hideous crime is she up to?"

"Oh, good Lord, Holmes, she's wearing gloves to protect her hands when she falls down in those ungodly shoes. For years now, Holmes, I've played straight man to your narcissistic arrogance, affectation of eccentricity, and cold personality. Oh, I admit it, I'm a sentimental, warm-hearted man, with just enough interest in crime to put up with your foolishness. Maybe I'm masochistic, but I've coddled your need to have someone pretending to be dumber than shredded paper so you could bounce your ideas off me and look like a genious. Holmes, let's face it, I have a cactus in a pot with more deductive reasoning than you've got. Can I serve you a cup of tea, by the way?"

Holmes stood stunned.

"If that's the way you feel, Watson, then there is nothing more to say. I take my leave of you, and let me wish you a good day."

Holmes moved toward the door, head held high, with an expression of cold disapproval.

"By the way, take that assinine hat you wear, Holmes, with its silly ear flaps, and just toss it onto that cactus plant by the window there. Any criminal with two neurons still firing can spot you a mile off with that monstrosity on your head."

Holmes slammed the door, and Watson went back to his paper.


Three K today, as yesterday and the day before; my plan is that one of these days, it will suddenly be easy to pass the 3K mark and keep on going. It was even easier today, in fact, but it helps to have a lot to think about so you don't pay a lot of attention to distance. My shoes are beginning to need replacement, too, so in Seattle next week shopping is in order.

Running can be highly productive; I came up with a whole plan for our mayor in order to get the cops in our area in some kind of physical shape. I'm gonna write it up and take it to him. Keep your fingers crossed.

Instant Panic

No sooner did I sign up for the Austin 5K than I began to panic: I'm only doing a maple-syrup-in-wintertime 3K right now; I have barely begun to make up for everything I lost during the summer; what if I actually come in last behind the 100-year-olds who walk and the wheelchair competitors?

The actual possibility that anyone on the face of the earth will even see me are infinitesimal. Hundreds and hundreds of people enter the 5K, which is an event that supports the finances of the Paramount theater. People are still strolling through the finish line as the marathoners dash by, and all the excitement is with the marathon and half marathon. You are completely authorized to make as ass of yourself in the 5K, the crowd will roar its support of you no matter how slow you are or how foolishly dressed. People have been known to run in fancy dress costumes or running gear so old there are more holes than material. They run with dogs. They run in teams, they run in pairs. That's the thing about these events: you've got more support than you could ever imagine, and Austin being weird as it is, you too can be weird--you'll get applause.

The Food Revolution

And speaking of food, check out Jamie Oliver's website and sign the petition to make school lunches something edible instead of the horror usually inflicted upon students. There is something wrong happening when first-grade kids in Southern Italy (the poorest area of the country) in a public school get organic products in school lunches, and they can identify red peppers, eggplant, asparagus, and other good stuff--when in the U.S. you could be talking about nuclear physics if you mention an eggplant to kids that age. Join the campaign.

Three K today at a continuous trot; it is the weather--so much cooler. Hope springs eternal. Two of my kids are going to the Austin events in February, so I guess I'll sign up for the 5K. Heck, even if it's at a crawl...