Traveling with Paulie Pants

How did this blog come about you ask? Well…I’ll tell you. I looked in the mirror one day about 6 months ago and I realized there was nothing frivolous or feminine about me anymore. Oh I had bursts of being a lady now and then, but they didn’t last very long. I wore a daily attire of jeans and an oversized man’s flannel shirt. Weighing in at 297 pounds, dresses and I didn’t get along very well. With my broad shoulders and men’s haircut, I usually ended up looking more like Frankenstein in drag.

I tapped at my chin, both of them in fact and they seemed to be progressing nicely. I stripped and gave an even rarer glance at my 53-year-old reflection. A moment or two was about all I could handle. I was beginning to resemble Shamu the killer whale. In my late twenties, early thirties, I had a Marilyn Monroe shaped body. You know, the proverbial hourglass figure where the sand sifted through, measuring 60 minutes worth of time. Oh I still had the same shape, but now my hourglass measured time by the year.

I had, at what point I can not remember, come to realize that middle age is God’s way of showing a sense of humor. I did not particularly find it amusing to discover that middle was when everything started to wear out, fall out or spread out. I did not chuckle when I discovered my clothes no longer fit and I was the one who needed the alterations.

I knew when I retired I was going to travel, but I noticed one day that my body parts began to travel without me. My arms seem to have grown their own wings so no matter what part of the country I was in, I could do it without benefit of train, plane or automobile. My behind didn’t know which way it wanted to go, so it just went east and west.

My triple I breasts began heading South in my late thirties and by this time were at the equator heading for the South Pole. I shouted at my breasts almost on a daily basis “go North you idiots go North!” But alas! They, like most teenagers, never did listen. I gave a deep sigh and tried to remember a time when I had small lively little breasts, when my breasts were high, firm and there was cleavage! I canceled my walk down memory lane when I realized it was too much like exercise and I began getting a headache. “I think tomorrow I will just go out and buy one of those new, lift those bosoms like they're filled with helium bras,” I thought to myself.

It was then that I realized if I wore one of those new fangled things, I’d have a chin rest. A couple of years ago, my doctor had told me to get some exercise, but I told him then, ‘Look Doc, just pushing middle age, is exercise enough.’ I also told him that my idea of weight lifting was simply standing up. I had decided not to take up jogging the year before, when briskly walking caused my thighs to rub together and set my pantyhose on fire. I wasn’t fond of the black eyes either. The older you get, the tougher it is to lose weight because by then, your body and your fat are very good friends.

On March 20th of this year, I had a breast reduction with the hopes of easing chronic back pain due to an injury I had recieved one year ago today. My equator bound breasts were now sprightly little petite C cups. I do believe the last time I saw a C was on the top of a paper I had written in junior high! The problem was these perky newly improved chest protrusions looked a bit awkward on my deluxe edition sized body. I began cutting back a little on what I ate. I didn’t change what I ate but I did cut back. Miraculously I lost 33 pounds, only 10 of which was breast.

Being out of work for this past year did a lot of damage financially and unfortunately along with the weight, I lost almost everything else as well. My beloved Francis was the first to go. Although Francis and I had only been acquainted for a year she and I grew very fond of each other very quickly. She carried me everywhere my queen sized heart desired and I in turn lubricated her chasse, rotated her tires and changed her oil every 4 months like clock work.

When I lost my home in June, some very dear friends offered theirs to me as well as their hearts. There was no catch to this offer. None whatsoever. They loved me and wanted to do for me what they felt Jesus would have done. As my contribution to their household I appointed myself as their personal chef and it seems that they have enjoyed with exuberance whatever I have created to date.

This very dear friend whom I now have the pleasure of living with loves to sew. She sews everything from wine holders to doll clothes to one size fits almost everybody pants. I call them Paulie pants. They are the most comfortable looking, lounge around the house or dining in the best of restaurants pants; all in the most delightful colors and patterns that fit every personality, every character and every shape there is. Every shape but mine that is, for I did not fit into the 'almost everybody' category. I was mortified when my measurements were taken and my Paulie pants were made by taping two patterns together.

With this said...I had been thinking about doing a blog for sometime, but I thought no one would really want to listen to my thoughts on politics, religion or the shape of the world. Since I decided after being presented with my own pair of Paulie Pants, as shockingly wonderful as they are, I knew then and there that my love of food had to take a turn for the better or I would take a turn for the worse. I also know me well enough to know that if I just say it and don’t make a commitment to someone else then I won’t really do it. So here it is.

But why publicly? Well, I got to thinking that I may not be the only one whose thoughts generally focus on food. Nor am I the only one who needs to get healthy despite ourselves. If by my sharing my life, my world and my size publicly, help will be brought to even one person then I must do exactly that. So…no matter what your size, hopefully we will all learn together. I’d love to hear your thoughts, insights, complaints, fears and I hope recipes you care to share.

If you’ve liked what you’ve read, I invite you to become one of my followers and maybe even share it with someone whose jollies could use a good chuckle or two now and again.

The Wild Brewed Yonder

Coffee. Is there anything more decadent than that first pot of coffee in the morning? The rich aroma of those darkly roasted kernels of instant energy being deluged for our aphrodisiacal enslavement?

It is certainly my drug of choice. It’s not that I can’t start my day without that first sip, but more that I choose not to. There is something comforting about holding that freshly brewed cup of battery acid in my hands, letting the aroma open my baby blues before that black pungent yet tantalizing liquid passes these withered middle aged lips.

I was raised on coffee milk in the 50’s and 60’s thinking it quite the treat to have a cup ‘o’ Joe with my folks. It of course was more like the new McCafé version of coffee with an exuberance of sugar and milk, but it was a grown up drink therefore I was cool, hip, with it.

My tastes haven’t really changed all that much, in as much as I do enjoy cream and sugar in my coffee. I also enjoy the flavored coffees. Coconut, hazelnut, butternut and every other nut flavor there is. Then we move on to the fruitier blends of chocolate raspberry, cherry cordial and even a blueberry cream.

And how do you know which type of ‘roast’ to buy? I mean this decision isn’t like choosing a cut of meat. With meat you basically have, rib roast, ribeye roast or tenderloin roast, round tip or eye round. Five choices from melt in your mouth tender to a bit tougher but if done right can be superb.

With coffee however you have a dizzying array of types available. Different roasts come with wildly different tastes and nuances. There is light roast, medium roast and dark roast. Then we have American roast, French roast, Vienna roast, European roast, Turkish Roast, Italian roast; and the list goes on to assure you that you have a world of coffee in every cup. Next decision is do you want these caf, decaf or extra caf.

STOP! I just want a cup of coffee. I do have to say however as I start my second pot in 90 minutes, nobody’s…not even the jolly green giant’s can compare to an authentic Italian cappuccino, in which milk is brought to a dense-textured, soupy froth and then poured into a single serving of espresso. Aaahhh.

I am an avid participant in the Coffee Fest held in Seattle each autumn. There in the confines of the Seattle Convention Center you will find not just a handful but more than 100 of the country’s top coffee roasters. I have learned by experience that when I go (last year was the first year I have missed in 6 years) bring a rolling suitcase with you.

The powers that be hand you this little grocery sized bag as you walk through the door and your first thought is “Oh goodie. I get to go home with a lot of useless information.” NOT! You not only don’t go home with a lot of useless information but you do go home with pounds of free coffee. Yes that’s right, I said pounds! From Caffe D'Arte to Zoka Coffee Roaster & Tea Co., you will go home with a suitcase of free half pound to full pound samplers.

Now…although this may have sounded like a plug for Coffee Fest, it’s truly a plug for a coffee addicts blissful long weekend coffee spot. I mean what could be better than to spend 72 glorious hours drinking that marvelous legally addictive stimulant. This is where I discovered that divine Italian Cappuccino.

Now that we have tasted (even if only by osmosis) from all of those fabulous around the world roasters, and decided which coffee will gratify our morning fix, we must then decide do we want cream, sugar, or one of those delightfully flavored cream substitutes that contain no God made ingredients except sugar.

I mean have you read the labels of any of these enticing concoctions? Water; sugar; partially hydrogenated soybean and/or cottonseed oil and less than 2% of sodium caseinate.

Then of course we can not forget about those delightful ingredients that make you glow in the dark; dipotassium phosphate; disodium phosphate; mono and diglyceride, cellulose gel and cellulose gum (as if I haven’t got enough of those wrinkly little unwanted dimples in my thighs already), color added, natural and artifical flavors and last but definitely not least carrageenan.

Okay, think I will take Hal's advice and switch to something natural like milk.

OREGON FILBERT CAKE

2 1/3 cups flour
2 teaspoons baking powder
1 teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon cinnamon
1 1/2 cups sugar
2/3 cup butter
3 large egg yolks
2 teaspoons vanilla extract
1 cup strongly brewed coffee
1/2 cup filberts (hazelnuts)

In a large mixing bowl, sift together the first 4 ingredients. Set aside.

In a separate medium sized bowl, cream together, sugar, butter, and vanilla, until thoroughly combined. Beat in egg yolks and blend until light and fluffy or for about 2-3 minutes more. Pour into lightly buttered & sugared 9 X 13” rectangular pan.

Bake at 350° for 30—35 minutes or until toothpick inserted comes out clean. Let cool for at least 15 minutes before serving. Top with freshly whipped cinnamon laced cream