The Perfect Pre-Run Snack

     Page Sixty-Eight.
     I used to run for exercise. I ran a fair amount from the mid-90's until the mid-2000's. I probably averaged twenty-thirty miles a week with my typical run being four or five miles in length. In December of 2002, I decided that I wanted to try to run twelve miles in one shot. I'd never run that distance, and I just wanted to see if I could.
     I spent all week psyching myself up for it with Saturday afternoon being the time of destiny. I had my route planned (the route, unfortunately, included some yucky hills, which are virtually impossible to avoid in my hometown of Cleveland Heights, Ohio, but too bad). I didn't run on Thursday or Friday to conserve my energy and I got lots of sleep on Friday night.
     What I hadn't planned on was the weather. I woke up to a mild, first winter snow on Saturday. Funny that I should have been surprised by snow in Cleveland in December but I was. I didn't let it stop me though; I decided to run anyhow.
     Now what does one eat just prior to attempting to run twelve miles? I had some leftover pepperoni pizza in the fridge, so I ate that along with drinking a cup of coffee. My roommate at the time was a very young vegan engineer student who found me and my spare bedroom on Case Western Reserve University's off campus housing bureau. (Case is a few blocks away from me.) He thought I was crazy for eating pepperoni pizza and coffee just prior to attempting a twelve mile run, but I didn't care. I ate it and off I started.
     My route was actually a very large circle around my neighborhood. The circle was four miles long and I simply did it three times, so I was really never too far from home. I had some good music on my Walkman and I just ran. Forrest Gump had nothing on me.
     The snow wasn't bad, actually, and in fact, was rather refreshing. I wasn't happy about the hills but they didn't deter me. The pizza stayed where it was supposed to and the caffeine in the coffee kept me going. All in all, it could've been much worse. By the time I completed the major hill for the third time, and was only two miles from finishing, I actually contemplated adding an extra couple of miles. I had that much energy reserved. But I opted not to and proceeded home.
     When I got home, I took my shower and was watching TV before my roommate emerged from his bedroom. He was very shocked that I'd completed my task while fortified with such trash as pepperoni pizza. But he admitted defeat. Vegans don't really know everything.
     That was the longest run I'd ever do. I eventually switched to long walks and I enjoy my four or five mile walks nowadays. Occasionally I still run though and I insist that they're best after a few slices of pepperoni pizza.

Gomorran Stew

     Page Sixty-Seven.
     Some time ago, I was traveling in the Middle-East. I'd stayed in Gomorrah for a couple of days and then I went on to Sodom. As those two cities were known for not being hospitable to strangers, I was a bit nervous about visiting them. But like so much gossip and hearsay, my experiences were nowhere near as bad as I was anticipating. In fact, I did actually make some friends with whom I stayed in contact for many years following.
     I was staying in hostels on my trip, just to save money, and one night in Sodom, my roommate was Florence Nightingale. We talked until all hours. Then, on another night, I had two roommates, Thomas Jefferson and Angela Davis, who were traveling companions. (I was really surprised by how much they argued, considering the fact that they chose to travel together.) While staying in Gomorrah one night I met Rudolph Valentino. He wasn't staying in my room but he was in another room on my floor and I met him downstairs in the lobby. (Everybody was fawning all over him but he didn't seem to mind.)
     The highlight of the trip though, was one evening when I was out dancing at a disco in Gomorrah. I happened to meet a young women named Pipsi who was in University to become a social worker. She'd just taken her finals earlier that day and was out blowing off steam. We got to talking and she mentioned that she wanted to work with disturbed youth. I told her of my experiences as a live-in nanny and we instantly had much in common. (Though none of the kids I've even nannied were certifiably "disturbed", working so closely with youth is a distinction, none-the-less.) After the disco closed we went to this little place around the corner. It was really a hole-in-the-wall, but it was the only place that was open, so in we went.
     Pipsi ordered some taco-style pizza and I got some stew. Well, I have to tell you this was some of the best stew I've ever had in my life. I simply inhaled the stuff. It was too good for words. I just couldn't figure out what it was about the stuff, so I asked the waiter. He told me that this stew was one of the house's signature dishes and it was really very well known. In fact, every time Genghis Khan came to town he ordered it for his entire army. The stew was served with hot, seeded rye bread and a very good side salad which was unusual in that it was topped with cold, cooked green beans, peas, asparagus and feta cheese.
     But, really, I couldn't get over how good the stew was. After much badgering, the waiter finally gave me the secret. (The waiter knew 'cause his father was the chef/owner of the joint.) Here it is:
     Fry up a few pieces of bacon. Then remove the bacon to a separate dish and add one whole sliced onion to the bacon fat and saute until glossy. (If there isn't enough bacon fat to comfortably saute, add a little butter to the pan.) While the onions are cooking, chop the bacon into small pieces. When the onion is done, add it along with the bacon to a typical stew recipe. Then to the stew add one can of beer, one tablespoon of brown sugar and a few shakes of caraway seeds. Cook this stew for a normal amount of time, until the beef is tender. (If your stew recipe calls for onions omit them, because of the cooked onions you've just added. Also, omit some of the cooking liquid from your recipe 'cause of the 12 ounces of beer in the Gomorran recipe.)
     That's it. I'm telling you, this combination of stuff is deadly good.
     I kept in touch with Pipsi for a while, but she eventually married and moved to Machu Picchu to work with Incan youth. Just recently we friended each other on Facebook and she wants me to come for a visit. Maybe one of these days...

Gruesome Kitchen Injuries

     Page Sixty-Six.
     What's the worst injury you've ever sustained while cooking?
     It was 1979 and I was working at the Subconscious Sandwich Shop where we made really good submarine sandwiches. (One of our secrets was the fact that we sprinkled oregano on all our sandwiches.) So it was 8 or 9PM on a Saturday night and I was scheduled to work until 2AM. It was a little slow, so in preparation for the late evening rush, I started slicing onions. Our machine was a large, industrial slicer. It was the type with the round, dinner plate-sized blade and you put the onion (or what ever needed to be sliced)  against the metal, then put the protective handle down over the onion and then just zipped it back and forth along the track and the blade did all the work. Well, I was careless and didn't use the protective handle properly and as I was zipping the onion back and forth, I noticed that the sliced onions were turning red. I hadn't felt a single thing.
     My boss just happened to be in the shop at the time and I went out front to show her the many liters of blood that I was quickly loosing. She had a couple of friends with her: two doctors. One of them was concerned, the other wasn't. The one who wasn't concerned put what was left of my finger under water for a moment and the bleeding did appear to slow down. (Probably, I'd simply run out of blood and my body was busy trying to make more.) But the doctor who was concerned told me to call my boss occasionally at home to let her know the status of my life. They would all be at her home eating a glorious homemade French dinner together.
     Two or three phone calls and three gallons of blood later my boss and the concerned doctor were driving me to the local emergency room where I needed six stitches to sew my finger back on to my being. I'm sure the physician spent more time putting me together than Doctor Frankenstein did on his creation.
     The upside to this story is that I ended up with a doctor's note excusing me from gym class for a week. Seems that too much exercise could've caused me to start bleeding again. I did in fact continue to bleed even after the stitches were put in. I also entertained the resident (the young physician in training who was taking care of me) and that was fun. He'd probably been up for a couple of days and was absolutely slap happy. So I told him some funny stories of my life while he was putting me back together. At one point he was laughing so hard he had to stop sewing so he wouldn't screw up my stitches. (Ten-fifteen days later while the Boss-Doc was taking out my stitches he was extremely complementary to the resident. They were concerned that I'd need a skin graft. But the resident was so good at reattaching my own skin, a graft was unnecessary.)
     I still have the scar and that finger nail is also permanently disfigured (though mildly). Hopefully that will be the worst kitchen injury I'll ever sustain. 

A Really Bad Salad

     Page Sixty-Five.
     Yesterday, I went to dinner with my sister at one of Cleveland oldest and most well known delicatessens. I wasn't real hungry so I just ordered some French Fries and a side salad. I was quite disappointed in the salad. It was a small bowl filled with a handful of light green iceberg lettuce, one small slice of soft tomato, two thin slices of peeled cucumber and a very light sprinkling of shredded carrot. It was $3.50. In who's dreams is that a good value and who even serves a boring, non-nutritious salad like that anymore?
     I don't know about anywhere else, but in the restaurants where I typically eat, here in Cleveland, Ohio, that type of salad hasn't been served in at least a decade and a half. Perhaps the fault is mine in that I naturally gravitate toward places that serve more interesting salads. But really, comparable delis in Cleveland don't even serve that type of plate anymore. My sister noticed it too and she eats out a lot.
     I almost could give them the benefit of the doubt and say it was a cost cutting thing. But romaine lettuce is no more money than iceberg anymore, two teaspoons of shredded carrots can't cost too much more than one teaspoon, a couple of grape tomatoes might increase the cost a touch but not a lot, a couple of slices of onion would've been nice, unpeeled cucumber has much needed fiber and doesn't increase cost at all and a very light sprinkling of nuts or dried berries might increase cost by $.25.
     While eating the salad, I said, "I would've loved this salad when I was ten years old. Perhaps that's specifically what they're trying to do: create a salad for a very unsophisticated palate. Who knows? And, again, this is a very well known deli here. They do a BIG business. Perhaps that's it. Maybe they figure, "why mess with success?" All I can tell you is, I'm never getting their salads ever again. (I should really write them a letter and let them know my concerns. But, who knows if I will?)  

Just a Typical Day In The Life Of A Male Nanny

     Page Sixty-Four.
     I'm writing this blog while sitting with Grandma as she's folding shirts.
     I'm at work with the family I nanny for and have stuck the chicken in the oven but I have a while before the boys get home. I arrived a little early today actually. I wanted to get the chicken started so it would be ready in time for three ravenous preteen males and now I have nothing to do but work on my blog.
     Grandma came over in 1957 from Germany and she often tells me stories of the old country. Even though she's German Protestant by lineage, she was still technically a holocaust survivor; she was in a prison camp though not one of the Jewish ones. It's a long story, but her ancestors emigrated some generations earlier to a German colony in Romania, therefore, she was "the enemy" during WWII as Romania was a Russian ally. 
     Grandma is eighty-five and lost her husband about twenty years ago. They came to America together and became a success story. They were very blue collar upon their arrival, in fact Grandma did housecleaning and cooking to help pay the bills. But they had one daughter and sent her to medical school. "Doc" would become mom to the three boys in question (and one daughter who's away at college). So nowadays, Grandma lives here and still helps tremendously with the daily life of the home. In fact, when I was brand new on this job, in February of 2011, she told me that Doc and Son-In-Law initially hired me to help her with the children. (But as I have a history of being rather assertive, rewriting my job description and doing my own thing,  it really wasn't too long before we were coexisting on parallel planes and divvying up the work load.)
     At the moment though, the big drama in this house is Billy-Bob-Joe's birthday which is tomorrow. He'll be eleven and he's the pickiest eater in the house. So cooking special for him is always a challenge. But, he wants the same thing as last year: a fondue dinner. I mean he wants fondue everything. We actually did that last year, I have the three fondue pots to prove it. But this year, I convinced him to mix it up a little. Instead of the cheese fondue we'll start dinner with a cheese platter of his favorites: Camembert and St.Andre (both of which I introduced him too) plus Havarti, which he's never had. And also on the platter will be a little caviar that he loves (I introduced him to that also). Then, we'll have a spinach salad followed by the actual fondue of beef chunks in one pot and onion rings in another. (I know that onion rings are hardly a typical fondue fare, but really, the kid is eleven. So screw tradition.) They adore my onion rings in this house too: they're always a big sell. Then for dessert: an ice cream cake. I think he'll be very happy.
     (Incidentally, to make the best onion ring batter, thoroughly mix 1 & 1/2 cups beer with an equal amount of flour. Then let it sit out on the counter for two hours. Dip the rings in that then fry up. It's great.)

My Cooking Resume

     Page Sixty-Three.
     You know, considering the fact that I successfully(?) pass myself off as a private chef, I really have very little professional experience. And, I really don't try to ever deceive anyone into thinking that my cooking resume is fat. It just isn't.
     I've had three food service positions in my life. 1) In the eleventh and twelfth grade, 1978-1979, I made submarine sandwiches at a sandwich shop on Taylor Road, here in Cleveland Heights. 2) In the summer between eleventh and twelfth, 1979, I temporarily quit the sub shop and spent the summer working in a family-style restaurant where I apprenticed as their ice cream sundae-maker (this restaurant was known city-wide for their over-the-top ice cream sundaes). 3) From 1999 until 2002 I was a barista at a local coffee bar. That's is. Now, of course, I also have years of experience working as a nanny and elder-care provider and those positions bring with them much food prep. And with most of my positions I did actual cooking, not Kraft mac 'n cheese or "quick 'n easy" recipes.
     I also took cooking classes for a while. Cleveland has it's share of reputable cooking schools and in the spring of  2008, I took the entire recreational track at one of those schools. Meaning: Level I was every Tuesday morning in February; Level II was each Tuesday morning in March and III was in April. We were taught many kitchen basics and those classes really did fill some gaps.
     But primarily, I'm self-taught. I began cooking for myself when I was four, I read cookbooks for pleasure and experiment a lot in the kitchen, what with my job nannying for a large family. So I tell people I'm a private chef. And, they buy it. Thus, it pays my bills (mostly).   

Luke Skywalker's Cheese Sauce

     Page Sixty-Two
     Some time ago, I was eating dinner with Henry VIII. It was at his home and he decided to have a low-key potluck. He felt like having some friends over but didn't want the royal staff to get into a tizzy feeding everybody. So he told all the guests to bring their favorite things. (Though, he was married to Ann Boleyn at the time and she made a mean Chicken Chop Suey which ended up being one of our main courses.) Among the guests were Greta Garbo who brought a crock pot filled with mini meatballs in a sweet/sour sauce; Samson and Delilah (pigs in a blanket); Plato (spinach salad with strawberries and walnuts and raspberry vinaigrette); Adonis (cole slaw) and Mary Todd Lincoln (chocolate cheesecake). There were many other guests also; these are just a few who stick in my memory. I brought some heat 'n serve rolls.
     The thing I remember best about the evening though, is the broccoli with cheese sauce that Luke Sywalker presented. It was probably the best cheese sauce I've ever eaten and Luke was gracious enough to share the secret with anybody who asked. Essentially, it comes down to three special ingredients: paprika, mustard and Worcestershire. That's it! A few shakes of paprika, a quick squeeze of mustard and a few dashes of Worcestershire will liven up the most drab cheese sauce recipe. But you have to add all three, you can't mix and match. The three together create a very specific taste which is what sets this sauce apart.
     Ever since that fateful evening at Henry's I've always added those three things to my cheese sauce, whether it be for mac 'n cheese or the aforementioned broccoli. It always works. Enjoy.