The battle of the bulge has been nearly a lifelong engagement for me. I can remember being what people would call thin only a couple of times in my life: as a child of about 7 years of age, and maybe again, as a teen until I was about 15. Other than those times, I would say I have fought the battle with varying degrees of intensity.
About 5 years back, I went at the exercise, calorie counting, Jenny Craig attending routine with a passion. I had a personal trainer, Nicki, a very challenging and steadfast exercise taskmaster. The process worked with some significant and noticeable success for after months of effort, Nicki said to me, “I see you now have a neck!” which actually boosted my ego and boosted my motivation. However, as I looked at my lifestyle, gym/exercise 6 days a week, 1.5 hours of sweat producing exercise each time, very restricted calorie intake, extreme limitation on kinds of food, and one scotch a week with no wine. I reviewed my life, my daily routine and I thought, this was not the kind of life I found satisfying or gratifying at all. Not to be morbid, but, life without the joys and pleasures of fine dining, fine quaffing is not very satisfying. At least, I didn’t like it.
Many will say, “Moderation is the key,” and I agree but I have been cursed with genes which hold on to fat cells like they were dedicated contractual partners. There is no parting of the ways, no separation.
My father, a retired professional chef, in his pensioned years, dropped noticeable weight as he was no longer in his kitchen working environment. But he was a man of dedication and willed himself to eat with care. Add to that, as he often said, “Because of his job, he was tired of food, any food, all food.” That’s what he saw every working day, food, lots of food, all day long. And it was what I label as good stuff, ‘lobster, crab, shrimp, roast beef, strip loin steaks, barbecued side ribs (indescribably delicious, done in my dad’s special way…you could eat 2 lbs in a flash and still want more because of the sweet, tomato taste and succulent tenderness from his way of baking the ribs). I was not a dessert eater in my younger days, and given the selection of great main courses, I avoided sides like potatoes and veggies.
My mother was not a picky eater, as they say. She just liked sweet things, cakes, pies, pastries and she could eat them almost any time of the day and they were her preferred foods. Yet, she too was not badly overweight, a bit pudgy but not so she would be called obese. Peasant Polish stock means genes which result in heavier set body types, I claim. My father, recognizing that my mother did not always eat properly, tried to regulate her diet so there were better, more nutritious foods in it.
In my case, I have struggled with this weight issue for so long, Nicki says, “My body cells have ‘memorized’ this fatter state and tenaciously hold on to the fat within themselves.” Hence, for me, it is a major struggle to lose any significant weight.
I eat salads. I eat fruit. I eat calorie reduced foods. But most often, all these are ingested as an accompaniment to more calorie laden foods such as pasta with my world famous tomato sauce, my chicken dishes braised in some quality wine, or my crushed pecan encrusted racks of lamb al la Chef Mario Folco. Of course, my meals are usually accompanied by good wine, often the Californian grape based home-made quaff which I make with the hands of my close Italian friend, Paolo.
My European bike tour has been another caloric campaign. Schnitzels in Switzerland and Germany, goulash in Austria and Slovenia, and pasta and pizza in Italy. Exercise? Does getting up out of bed count? Does vigorous showering count? Does mounting my motorbike count?
I fear stepping back on the scales when I return home in a month…after vacationing and taking cooking classes in Italy and then driving through southern France to my departure from Paris at the end of the month.
One last thought, many of the Europeans are amazingly slim given what they seem to eat and drink. I am very envious. Maybe they bike a lot more than I do. Mind you, it is pedal power, not gasoline combustion..
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