Vegas

So, yesterday I took the plunge and registered for the Rock N' Roll Marathon in Las Vegas on December 2. It will, hands down, be the biggest race I've ever run. Thousands of people, the Vegas strip at night, bands playing at every miles marker. Can't wait! Now, all I have to do is....train. I'm in decent running shape. I could knock out a half if I really had to, but I'm not in marathon shape. Ahead of me now lie: weekday speed workouts after work when all I really want to do is sit on the couch with a beer, alarm clocks going off at 5:00 AM on weekends so I can do long runs, and countless days of aching hamstrings, sore feet and tight calves. I can't wait.

Rationalizing

I run on a regular basis. I watch what I eat, keeping a careful eye on fat content. I try to include a healthy portion of vegetables in my diet and eat fish often because--you know--fish is good for you. I also happen to really like fish, but that's not the point. What I'm getting at is that I'm generally a healthy person. With one exception. I'm a smoker. Crazy, huh? People have asked me, "How can you run AND smoke?" I usually respond with, "Easy, I don't do them at the same time." Or, "I only smoke a little, but I run a LOT." This is me putting a glib face on something I'm embarrassed about. The truth is, I hate everything about smoking except the actual smoking part. I hate the smell on my clothes. I hate the ashes that accumulate in the back seat of my car even though I'm careful to flick them out the window. I really hate buying them. I hate carrying them with me. I hate all of that. But, I really love the smoking part. Curse you, cruel world!

Anyway, a month ago, I took the plunge and quit. Again. I'm actually pretty good at quitting. I've done it several times, once for over a year. I've quit cold turkey, with gum, with a patch, and with pharmaceuticals. This time is with pharmaceuticals again. They actually work better than anything else I've ever tried. The meds aren't the problem, they do their job just fine. It's me. I'm the problem. I don't hold up my end of the bargain. You see, I've found--more while quitting smoking than any other times--that my brain has an enormous capacity for rationalization. Left alone with just my thoughts and a sudden craving for a cigarette, my brain starts whispering all kinds of sneaky things to me. You're a runner, that probably makes up for most of your smoking. (Clearly false by the way, but it sounds good, right?) You can just have one here and there, there's no harm in that. You can be that guy that just smokes a cigarette every once in while. (I'm not that guy. I've tried to be him, but I'm not. I think once you've been a full time smoker for as long as I have, you can never be a part time smoker.) This is dumb. Nobody successfully quits until they don't like smoking anymore, and you still do. (This one is harder for me to argue against, but still not a valid point.)

So, when it comes to quitting, I'm my own worst enemy. But, for now, I'm doing well one month down the line. Much like an alcoholic, I'm sure I'll always be a recovering smoker, never a true non-smoker. But, I'm okay with that. For now. But, you know, if you can never really be a non-smoker again........

Happy to Forget

I've always been a forgiving person, I think. I'm not the type to hold a grudge. I have a pretty good memory--particularly when it comes to remembering useless facts that no one else cares about--but I seem to excel at forgetting things people have done wrong to me. I like this about myself because I spend little to no time dwelling on things. Sadly, this worked against me during my marriage to a woman who--I'm now sure--remembered everything anyone, anywhere had ever done to her that she took objection to or was able to find offense in. I was defenseless against this. Often, the best I could muster was to remember vaguely that I had been angry with her a couple of weeks ago, though the why of it always seemed to elude me. Needless to say, I lost a lot of arguments. But, the further I move through life, the happier I am to be like me rather than to be like her. When I lay my head on the pillow at night, I do not find myself stewing over old slights or offenses. I've forgiven--the easy part--and forgotten--often, the hard part. So, I'll gladly trade being able to dredge up a list of wrongs and offenses in an argument for being able to go through life without stoking a perpetual fire of resentment. I'm happy to forget.


http://www.slate.com/articles/health_and_science/future_tense/2012/02/memory_enhancement_technology_and_a_future_without_forgetting_.single.html

Nothing Like a Cheesburger

I love food. I spend most of my time fiddling with fussy french sauces, pan searing delicate fish, making vinaigrettes, stuff like that. I love eating, but cooking is at least half the fun for me. But, sometimes, I don't feel like it. Sometimes, when I don't feel like it I also want something simple, delicious, and unhealthy. At times like these, nothing fits the bill for me better than that quintessential icon of American culinary excellence: the cheeseburger.

Now, everyone has their favorite burger place. Some are as humble as Burger King or (shudder) McDonald's. My dad loves Griff's. I don't know why. For me, this is a tough call. Keeping it local, I find myself able to narrow things down to three choices. Beyond that, my indecision gets the better of me. For my money, it's: Ferrier's Rollin in the Dough, Papa and Company, and Cheeburger Cheeburger.

Yes, I know, Cheeburger is a chain and on some snobbish level it offends my Foody sensibilities to put that one on the list. But, I like it. So, there. The culinary options available to the discerning burger connoisseur are simply mind-boggling. I mean you can get a burger with horseradish sauce and peanut butter on it. I have no idea why you would want to, but you can. Options. I like that.

Papa and Company is kind of a weird one as it's only open for lunch. But, what a lunch. I was introduced to this little place on E Washington by my ex-wife. Okay, so maybe she was right about a few things. Maybe. The burgers in this place are so big you can order a whole or half burger. But, it's not some kind of monstrosity you can barely fit your mouth around. Thin and delicious. Love it.

Then there's Rollin in the Dough. Employees there wear shirts that say, "It's all about the bun", or something like that. They're so right. Fresh baked, the hamburger bun here has to be tried to be believed. Light, tender, delicious. It's fantastic. And the burger itself inside the bun is no slouch either. Nor are the cajun waffle fries that come along with it. And if you need something sweet to finish things off, they have a Casino Cake there that I'm pretty sure is illegal in some countries. Its a small chocolate cake with a lump of white icing on top with all of it covered in chocolate frosting. Rich, delicate, decadent. It's fantastic.

I feel like I gained five pounds just writing this. I need to go for a run...

Unstitiched

So, yesterday, I got the last of my stitches out. Words can't express how happy this made me. After snipping the last stitch, the doctor said, "Okay! You're all done with me." I said, "Great. So, I know I ask you this all the time..." He interrupted with, "You want to know when you can run." Statement, not question. I nodded. "You can do whatever you want," he said. I may have detected a little relief on his part to be done with me, which of course, couldn't come close to matching my relief to be fully mobile again. Anyway, my leg is still aching a little so I'm going to do the responsible, grown-up thing, and wait through the weekend before I hit the road again.

But, getting my stitches out wasn't the highlight of my friday. Last night my girlfriend and I went to Wine Country on Line Ave. for dinner. I've grabbed lunch in there - which was good - but never had dinner. One word: awesome. We started with a baked mozzarella with tomatoes and basil, spread on crostinis. This was very good, but not the best part of the meal. For an entree, I had pan seared cedar spring lamb on herb polenta. I haven't eaten a lot of lamb in my time, but this was hands down the best. It was cooked perfectly to medium rare and seasoned just right. The polenta was creamy and delicious. The lamb was one of those dishes where I found myself carving away at the bone, desperately looking for one more shred of meat. It was that good. My sweetheart had the special, which was pan seared flounder on wild rice with grilled asparagus on the side. She loved hers, said it was the best fish she's ever had. We finished with a creme brûlée and, lets face it, even a poorly made creme brûlée is like a little ramekin of heaven, but this was made perfectly and served with sliced strawberries on top.

So, as for friday, to quote Ice Cube and possibly show my age: I gotta say it was a good day.

Panko Crusted Salmon

I eat a lot of fish. Specifically, I eat a lot of salmon. I know many people are proponents of consuming smaller, more sustainable fish, like the humble tilapia. I have nothing against tilapia. Tilapia has never done anything to offend me. It's a fine fish. It's mild, inexpensive and abundant. But, it's just not salmon. If tilapia is the ground chuck of the fish world, salmon is--to me--the filet mignon. I've grilled salmon, baked it, pan seared it, pan roasted it, poached it and cedar planked it. And that's just with the fresh stuff. I've also made salmon croquettes with the canned salmon, made salmon puffs and salads with the smoked stuff. Like I said: I love salmon.


The following is an Ina Garten recipe and one of my favorites. The panko crust on the top of the fish gives it an awesome textural contrast to the delicacy of the fish. It gives you that satisfying little crunch with each bite. Spreading dijon on the flesh side of the fish before applying the crust does a great job of keep the crust in place while you transfer it to the pan and while its cooking as well as imparting flavor. The lemon zest in the crust and a little squirt of lemon juice on top of the fish right before you eat it really completes the flavor profile. Also, the skin is crispy and--if you're so inclined--quite good to eat. Love it. In the picture below I prepared it with roasted rosemary red potatoes and a spinach salad with an orange balsamic vinaigrette.


By the way, my leg's doing better. Got some of the stitches out yesterday. Walking around fine, still no running though...

Ingredients

• 2/3 cup panko (Japanese dried bread flakes)
• 2 tablespoons minced fresh parsley
• 1 teaspoon grated lemon zest
• Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper
• 2 tablespoons good olive oil
• 4 (6- to 8-ounce) salmon fillets, skin on
• 2 tablespoons Dijon mustard
• 2 tablespoons vegetable oil
• Lemon wedges, for serving

Directions

Preheat the oven to 425 degrees.

In a small bowl, mix together the panko, parsley, lemon zest, 1/2 teaspoon salt, and 1/2 teaspoon pepper. Drizzle with the olive oil and stir until the crumbs are evenly coated. Set aside.

Place the salmon fillets, skin side down, on a board. Generously brush the top of the fillets with mustard and then sprinkle generously with salt and pepper. Press the panko mixture thickly on top of the mustard on each salmon fillet. The mustard will help the panko adhere.

Heat the vegetable oil over medium-high heat in a 12-inch cast-iron skillet or large heavy, ovenproof pan. When the oil is very hot, add the salmon fillets, skin side down, and sear for 3 to 4 minutes, without turning, to brown the skin.

Transfer the pan to the hot oven for 5 to 7 minutes until the salmon is almost cooked and the panko is browned. Remove from the oven, cover with aluminum foil, and allow to rest for 5 to 10 minutes. Serve the salmon hot or at room temperature with lemon wedges.

Laid Up

So, I'm off the running path for a couple of weeks. Monday I had a cyst removed from my right calf. It was nothing serious, not malignant or anything, but the doctor had been telling me it needed to come out for a while and I finally listened. I'm hard-headed that way. In any case, I now have a two and a half inch incision on the back of my leg with lots of stitches. My girlfriend calls it my Frankenstein Leg. One of my first questions to the doctor was, "How long until I can run again?" He told me to give it two weeks. Ugh. It was way less than I was afraid of, but still longer than I wanted. Two weeks of no quiet runs in the morning, no quick three mile loops in the evening to make up for that cheeseburger I had at lunch, no weekend long runs. Oh well. At least I'll have a cool scar right?