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First Annual Report:
I moved to Myrtle Beach in the middle of last February, so my annual assessment is about due. I am glad I moved here. Walking on the beach almost every morning is at least as much fun as I thought it would be. Back home [and after a year I have come to realize that Sugarloaf Mountain and environs will always be my home] on those perfect mornings the mountains and I would stand in 1. silent awe; 2. mutual respect; or 3. benign indifference [choose one] of each other. But here, me and the ocean engage in a process of intermittent acervuline atmospheric disturbances creating alternating areas of compression and rarefaction which tend to present themselves in various configurations of wavelength, frequency and amplitude. I usually say something like "good morning ocean" and make some phatic comment about the shape of the waves or the amount of beach it leaves for me to walk on. The ocean replies in its soothing, uplifting and spiritually satisfying tones. Once or twice last summer it sounded a bit pissed off, but soon got over it.
The other primary reason I moved to this particular spot was that the only chink in my usually fairly frugal armor of self control is eating out. Decadence rules! Within a 10 minute walk of my residence just off "restaurant row" are these: four steak houses, two Italian, two sushi, one Chinese, two Mexican, two "name" (Sam Sneads and Thoroughbreds), one pizza place, two fast food places, one oyster bar, and one almost upscale grocery with dining in. Oh, and one strip joint that might also serve food ??. A perfectly prepared and presented excellent recipe and a good glass or so of wine are some of my very favorite things. I was tempted to look up some pretentious terms to describe my eating tastes, but truth is I don't know Haute Cuisine from greasy spoon in terms of being a food critic. Nonetheless, I am a good judge of competence and speak with authority on the shirttails of Jean-Anthelme Brillat-Savarin (1755-1826). Of course you have read him, haven't you?
" Gourmandism is an act of judgment, by which we prefer things which have a pleasant taste to those which lack this quality".
One thing the many Myrtle Beach Restaurants at which I have eaten seem to have in common is that in the usual rating of one to five stars, they are all threes. I haven't been served anything that should have been sent back to the kitchen, but nothing like the frequent fours and a couple of times bordering on fives I enjoyed in Boulder. Up until about a month ago, I had been eating dinner out about 3 times a week since last February. In that time I have been served three dishes that deserve mention and a solid four--- Maryland Crab Cakes at Phillips, Sea Bass at the Bonefish Grill, and Chicken Parmesan at Geno's Pizza and Café'. I complained earlier about the local custom of forgoing presentation in favor of the art of piling as much food on the plate as would fit. Problem became as time went on I began to increase the amount of the pile I ate at one sitting. Despite the fear of obesity I had expressed before I moved here - which fear gradually became a self-fulfilling prophecy --- in the eleven months since I moved to Myrtle Beach, I gained between 15-20 pounds and added almost 4 inches to my waistline. I had already resolved myself to the inevitability that the six pack of youth would come to resemble a kegger, but when it came to the point that the first thing I noticed in the bathroom mirror in the morning was my stomach, I had had it. So, for the first time in my life I went on a formal diet. I shelled out 65 bucks for an online enrollment in the South Beach diet. (This is by no means an endorsement. All commercial diets are unconscionable rip offs in the long run. If one is not able to get a handle on the calories in, calories out ratio, it's all coming back.) Things that led to me choosing South Beach over other choices were that it included a pretty good variety of food that one didn't have to put on the scale before eating, and it had a two week First Phase, sort of like military basic training. I believed I needed the discipline, but mostly they had already done all the arithmetic so I followed the diet pretty rigidly for the two weeks. At the end of the first phase (and last one for me) I had lost six pounds and a very gratifying almost two inches around my waist, in spite of the fact that I ate more eggs and red meat during the two week period than I had in the last two years.
While it was not an unpleasant experience the primary value of the two weeks was that it served as sort of a gastronomical cold turkey period that allowed me to kick the "mini-addictions" that had become part of my eating habits. It was also a good period for me to solidify my impressions of once again living in the deep south. The end result of that process has required me to make a number of unexpected adaptations to my life style in order to fully enjoy my sunset years here in Dixie. First, the near nirvana I had expected was waiting for me in the local restaurant scene just didn't pan out. And it wasn't just the food. For examples:
Local steak house bearing the same name as famous movie star. I overheard the server, a young guy maybe old enough to have graduated from high school after failing tenth grade four times, discussing some detail of a food order the customer was requesting. This young punk says "don't worry, I'll make sure the boys in the kitchen do it that way". Boys? One usually calls the person who prepares the food in an upscale restaurant such as this was the chef. Reading too much into it? Read on...
Oyster bar and seafood restaurant laying claim to being a locals favorite. Funky ambience, kinda reminded me of The Pioneer Inn in Nederland only with an older crowd and much better food. Server kept saying "yes sir" to me. Attempting to be mildly humourous, I said, "my name's Jim and I have never done anything in my life that would entitle me to be called sir". Expression change. She said, rather huffily, "that's how it's done down here, get used to it, or go back up north".
Fairly fancy Italian restaurant, bartender, servers in white shirts, black vests and bow ties. Read an article about the owner in the paper, he said he wanted to open a "swank" restaurant. Long time super proficient bartender with an incredible memory. He pretty much requires that everyone engage in constant conversation. I am really bored with typical barroom conversation, especially among men, who seem to either read the sport pages to each other pretending that they are expressing their own original opinions, or lie about all the fantastic stuff they have done and the subjects they consider themselves to be an authority on, or talk about how stupid other folks are. Since I wasn't going to get away without talking, and it was just before election day, I referred the bartender to my web site. That way the next time I came in we would at least be able to argue about things I cared about. The next time I came in I could feel the temperature drop about fifty degrees. He finally took my food and drink order; served me with a scowl on his face in absolute silence. Shortly thereafter, four folks came in and sat at the bar waiting for a table to open up. Turned out they had some acquaintances in common and the bartender started impressing them with how much money he was making, and the famous and local rich people who frequented the joint. I treated the conversation much like I do commercials on television; just let them fade into the background without really being aware of the subject. I did hear him saying something about the older he got (he was middle aged at most) the madder certain attitudes got him. I kinda caught the older part and said "Oh, no. The older you get the less you care about other people's attitudes". He stuck his finger in his ear and twisted it in a volume increasing motion, glanced my way and said "oh, so you finally decided to turn up your hearing aid", and stalked (yes stalked) away.
Then, the steak house I thought might have had an escort service on the side turned out to be just that. After the third time I got a bit tired of being hustled and stopped going there. They just couldn't seem to grasp the idea that I had come into the restaurant to eat. The first sushi bar was the one where the younger and prettier servers started talking about their expensive school books and high rent. But then I went to the second sushi bar. From where I was sitting at the bar, I could see the entrance and every time I would glance that way a damn hot looking Eastern European woman would start dancing. I let that slide, and pretty soon the Maitre d' sashayed by to check me out. I mean he was flammming! So apparently they made a tactical decision regarding my sexual tastes, and pretty soon a young boy came and stood on the other side of the bar. He smiled at me and just stood there. After a few minutes he went away and another young boy came and stood in his place. I doubt either of them was 18. Both my server and several other staff also looked eastern European, and I recalled seeing a television show about women in that part of the world who were desperate to escape the local poverty signing up for what they thought was a legitimate job, only to be coerced into prostitution (?).
But at least the different races have a harmonious working arrangement here. The African American folks work in the kitchen, the Hispanic folks buss the tables, and the white folks do everything else. The old racial bigotry attitudes are still alive and well, they are just practiced less overtly than in the past. There is a huge annual motorcycle rally for black bikers in Myrtle Beach that occurs soon after the white bikers rally. The euphemistic local terms for these two events are the Harley Rally and the Sport Bike Rally. Wonder how the black biker rally would have come across in Selma back then?
If you like good wine with dinner, as I do, eating out can be fairly expensive. So here I was spending big bucks on dinners that were good, but not special; hanging out in places that did not offer me the comfortable social atmosphere I was used to--- and all the time getting more and more dissatisfied with the expansion of my waistline. Using all the resources of my vast analytical intellect, I steadfastly considered the relevant elements and came to a brilliant, albeit startling, conclusion. I would just stop eating out and do my own cooking. Oh.
I had already been doing much of my cooking for years and enjoyed cooking. But I would cook only once or twice a month. I would spend the whole day making two big pots of soup, 3 or 4 family sized entrees, divide the batch into individual servings and freeze them. Thing was I didn't pay much attention to technique or standards, I would just toss in a handful of this and a handful of that. Sometimes it would turn out great, and sometimes the "same" recipe I had enjoyed before would come out coyote food. So during my two week basic training period I started taking daily meal preparation seriously, and rather than it being the irksome drag I had thought cooking for one would be, it turned out to be great fun. Rather than sticking a plastic container in the microwave during the commercial breaks, the process of planing and preparing dinner has become a part of my day I genuinely look forward to, and since I am fully satisfied with substantially smaller portion sizes my gut is gradually returning to an acceptable size. I knew I was taking this new role seriously when I bought a set of measuring spoons!
One of the smug ways I used to entertain myself when I lived in the mountains was to notice how quickly woods newbies would observe exotic wildlife. Many of them had encounters with wolves, bears and mountain lions shortly after moving to the hills. One fellow was delighted to observe a black footed ferret. For some strange reason, the longer folks live in the mountains the more likely they are to see coyotes, dogs, and marmots. In my thirty years of mountain living and spending a lot of time outside, I saw exactly one mountain lion, in fact, I saw far more wildlife out of my living room window than I did in the woods. Unfortunately these observations did nothing to deter me from becoming a diet expert after two weeks experience.
I was very pleased with the results I got from the South Beach diet. It provided me a safe, structured environment to understand and get my act together. But I didn't learn jack shit that I now find useful--- good carbs/bad carbs? Good grief. Over the years one consistent bit of advice from those giving it has been to stress the need for lifestyle changes to keep from regaining the weight. I really felt sorry for the weight yo-yo'ers, because--- lifestyle changes? Man, that has got to be hard. OR maybe it can be a lot easier than it looks. Here's two things that helped me.
1. Dr. Phil said to eat things that took a long time to prepare. That didn't make a lick of sense to me until I started thinking about what was involved in lifestyle changes. Ordinarily, in dieting one tries to develop a dislike for eating... try not to think about food until it is time for your bland can of weight watchers stew. Get it down and try to ignore your desires until the next feeding time. OR one could jump into the experience of food with both feet. Spend a lot of time thinking about it. Serious, now did you ever notice what a red bell pepper looks like cut into neat little squares on an oak carving board ? Man that sure is pretty. Notice that. It doesn't take a lot of self hypnotism to make the act of cutting up a bell pepper part of your meal.
2. A french lady wrote a book with the title something like why french women ain't fat. She said. "You eat what's in front of you". Aha! Fix your plate away from the table. Take some time and make it look nice. Put on the plate just enough to keep you well within your guidelines. Then take it to the table, and eat all of it! Clean up and enjoy every tiny scrap of food on your plate. Lick your plate clean if your upbringing will allow that. When you have devoured every morsel, then the meal is over. Say Damn! That was good. Belching is not mandatory.
The only other significant change I had to make from my pre move plans was transportation. In November of 1969 I bought a brand new Toyota Landcruiser. For some reason I never got rid of it. For maybe fifteen years I only drove it occasionally to haul trash to the dump and errands like that. Then when we would have hard winters I would keep it chained up, and drive it back and forth to the main road where I left my Subaru parked. So I got the bright idea of fixing it up and bringing it with me. That way I could squander my would be car payments on whiskey and wimmin. Well what looked right at home among the other funky cruisers running around in the mountains didn't fit in very well down here. In Boulder Canyon I could run with the pack, but on flat four lane highways, I just kept traffic backed up. My cruiser was quite happy on the road when Jimmy Carter was president--- but 70 MPH--- whoa. Then too it doesn't have air conditioning, so sadly I decided I would put it on eBay toward the end of Feb. I bought me a Toyota Corolla while it was still on the boat coming over here, and now I fit right in trafficwise.
So that was my year. How was yours? Time for me to get back to my cockpit inspection.
I moved to Myrtle Beach in the middle of last February, so my annual assessment is about due. I am glad I moved here. Walking on the beach almost every morning is at least as much fun as I thought it would be. Back home [and after a year I have come to realize that Sugarloaf Mountain and environs will always be my home] on those perfect mornings the mountains and I would stand in 1. silent awe; 2. mutual respect; or 3. benign indifference [choose one] of each other. But here, me and the ocean engage in a process of intermittent acervuline atmospheric disturbances creating alternating areas of compression and rarefaction which tend to present themselves in various configurations of wavelength, frequency and amplitude. I usually say something like "good morning ocean" and make some phatic comment about the shape of the waves or the amount of beach it leaves for me to walk on. The ocean replies in its soothing, uplifting and spiritually satisfying tones. Once or twice last summer it sounded a bit pissed off, but soon got over it.
The other primary reason I moved to this particular spot was that the only chink in my usually fairly frugal armor of self control is eating out. Decadence rules! Within a 10 minute walk of my residence just off "restaurant row" are these: four steak houses, two Italian, two sushi, one Chinese, two Mexican, two "name" (Sam Sneads and Thoroughbreds), one pizza place, two fast food places, one oyster bar, and one almost upscale grocery with dining in. Oh, and one strip joint that might also serve food ??. A perfectly prepared and presented excellent recipe and a good glass or so of wine are some of my very favorite things. I was tempted to look up some pretentious terms to describe my eating tastes, but truth is I don't know Haute Cuisine from greasy spoon in terms of being a food critic. Nonetheless, I am a good judge of competence and speak with authority on the shirttails of Jean-Anthelme Brillat-Savarin (1755-1826). Of course you have read him, haven't you?
" Gourmandism is an act of judgment, by which we prefer things which have a pleasant taste to those which lack this quality".
One thing the many Myrtle Beach Restaurants at which I have eaten seem to have in common is that in the usual rating of one to five stars, they are all threes. I haven't been served anything that should have been sent back to the kitchen, but nothing like the frequent fours and a couple of times bordering on fives I enjoyed in Boulder. Up until about a month ago, I had been eating dinner out about 3 times a week since last February. In that time I have been served three dishes that deserve mention and a solid four--- Maryland Crab Cakes at Phillips, Sea Bass at the Bonefish Grill, and Chicken Parmesan at Geno's Pizza and Café'. I complained earlier about the local custom of forgoing presentation in favor of the art of piling as much food on the plate as would fit. Problem became as time went on I began to increase the amount of the pile I ate at one sitting. Despite the fear of obesity I had expressed before I moved here - which fear gradually became a self-fulfilling prophecy --- in the eleven months since I moved to Myrtle Beach, I gained between 15-20 pounds and added almost 4 inches to my waistline. I had already resolved myself to the inevitability that the six pack of youth would come to resemble a kegger, but when it came to the point that the first thing I noticed in the bathroom mirror in the morning was my stomach, I had had it. So, for the first time in my life I went on a formal diet. I shelled out 65 bucks for an online enrollment in the South Beach diet. (This is by no means an endorsement. All commercial diets are unconscionable rip offs in the long run. If one is not able to get a handle on the calories in, calories out ratio, it's all coming back.) Things that led to me choosing South Beach over other choices were that it included a pretty good variety of food that one didn't have to put on the scale before eating, and it had a two week First Phase, sort of like military basic training. I believed I needed the discipline, but mostly they had already done all the arithmetic so I followed the diet pretty rigidly for the two weeks. At the end of the first phase (and last one for me) I had lost six pounds and a very gratifying almost two inches around my waist, in spite of the fact that I ate more eggs and red meat during the two week period than I had in the last two years.
While it was not an unpleasant experience the primary value of the two weeks was that it served as sort of a gastronomical cold turkey period that allowed me to kick the "mini-addictions" that had become part of my eating habits. It was also a good period for me to solidify my impressions of once again living in the deep south. The end result of that process has required me to make a number of unexpected adaptations to my life style in order to fully enjoy my sunset years here in Dixie. First, the near nirvana I had expected was waiting for me in the local restaurant scene just didn't pan out. And it wasn't just the food. For examples:
Local steak house bearing the same name as famous movie star. I overheard the server, a young guy maybe old enough to have graduated from high school after failing tenth grade four times, discussing some detail of a food order the customer was requesting. This young punk says "don't worry, I'll make sure the boys in the kitchen do it that way". Boys? One usually calls the person who prepares the food in an upscale restaurant such as this was the chef. Reading too much into it? Read on...
Oyster bar and seafood restaurant laying claim to being a locals favorite. Funky ambience, kinda reminded me of The Pioneer Inn in Nederland only with an older crowd and much better food. Server kept saying "yes sir" to me. Attempting to be mildly humourous, I said, "my name's Jim and I have never done anything in my life that would entitle me to be called sir". Expression change. She said, rather huffily, "that's how it's done down here, get used to it, or go back up north".
Fairly fancy Italian restaurant, bartender, servers in white shirts, black vests and bow ties. Read an article about the owner in the paper, he said he wanted to open a "swank" restaurant. Long time super proficient bartender with an incredible memory. He pretty much requires that everyone engage in constant conversation. I am really bored with typical barroom conversation, especially among men, who seem to either read the sport pages to each other pretending that they are expressing their own original opinions, or lie about all the fantastic stuff they have done and the subjects they consider themselves to be an authority on, or talk about how stupid other folks are. Since I wasn't going to get away without talking, and it was just before election day, I referred the bartender to my web site. That way the next time I came in we would at least be able to argue about things I cared about. The next time I came in I could feel the temperature drop about fifty degrees. He finally took my food and drink order; served me with a scowl on his face in absolute silence. Shortly thereafter, four folks came in and sat at the bar waiting for a table to open up. Turned out they had some acquaintances in common and the bartender started impressing them with how much money he was making, and the famous and local rich people who frequented the joint. I treated the conversation much like I do commercials on television; just let them fade into the background without really being aware of the subject. I did hear him saying something about the older he got (he was middle aged at most) the madder certain attitudes got him. I kinda caught the older part and said "Oh, no. The older you get the less you care about other people's attitudes". He stuck his finger in his ear and twisted it in a volume increasing motion, glanced my way and said "oh, so you finally decided to turn up your hearing aid", and stalked (yes stalked) away.
Then, the steak house I thought might have had an escort service on the side turned out to be just that. After the third time I got a bit tired of being hustled and stopped going there. They just couldn't seem to grasp the idea that I had come into the restaurant to eat. The first sushi bar was the one where the younger and prettier servers started talking about their expensive school books and high rent. But then I went to the second sushi bar. From where I was sitting at the bar, I could see the entrance and every time I would glance that way a damn hot looking Eastern European woman would start dancing. I let that slide, and pretty soon the Maitre d' sashayed by to check me out. I mean he was flammming! So apparently they made a tactical decision regarding my sexual tastes, and pretty soon a young boy came and stood on the other side of the bar. He smiled at me and just stood there. After a few minutes he went away and another young boy came and stood in his place. I doubt either of them was 18. Both my server and several other staff also looked eastern European, and I recalled seeing a television show about women in that part of the world who were desperate to escape the local poverty signing up for what they thought was a legitimate job, only to be coerced into prostitution (?).
But at least the different races have a harmonious working arrangement here. The African American folks work in the kitchen, the Hispanic folks buss the tables, and the white folks do everything else. The old racial bigotry attitudes are still alive and well, they are just practiced less overtly than in the past. There is a huge annual motorcycle rally for black bikers in Myrtle Beach that occurs soon after the white bikers rally. The euphemistic local terms for these two events are the Harley Rally and the Sport Bike Rally. Wonder how the black biker rally would have come across in Selma back then?
If you like good wine with dinner, as I do, eating out can be fairly expensive. So here I was spending big bucks on dinners that were good, but not special; hanging out in places that did not offer me the comfortable social atmosphere I was used to--- and all the time getting more and more dissatisfied with the expansion of my waistline. Using all the resources of my vast analytical intellect, I steadfastly considered the relevant elements and came to a brilliant, albeit startling, conclusion. I would just stop eating out and do my own cooking. Oh.
I had already been doing much of my cooking for years and enjoyed cooking. But I would cook only once or twice a month. I would spend the whole day making two big pots of soup, 3 or 4 family sized entrees, divide the batch into individual servings and freeze them. Thing was I didn't pay much attention to technique or standards, I would just toss in a handful of this and a handful of that. Sometimes it would turn out great, and sometimes the "same" recipe I had enjoyed before would come out coyote food. So during my two week basic training period I started taking daily meal preparation seriously, and rather than it being the irksome drag I had thought cooking for one would be, it turned out to be great fun. Rather than sticking a plastic container in the microwave during the commercial breaks, the process of planing and preparing dinner has become a part of my day I genuinely look forward to, and since I am fully satisfied with substantially smaller portion sizes my gut is gradually returning to an acceptable size. I knew I was taking this new role seriously when I bought a set of measuring spoons!
One of the smug ways I used to entertain myself when I lived in the mountains was to notice how quickly woods newbies would observe exotic wildlife. Many of them had encounters with wolves, bears and mountain lions shortly after moving to the hills. One fellow was delighted to observe a black footed ferret. For some strange reason, the longer folks live in the mountains the more likely they are to see coyotes, dogs, and marmots. In my thirty years of mountain living and spending a lot of time outside, I saw exactly one mountain lion, in fact, I saw far more wildlife out of my living room window than I did in the woods. Unfortunately these observations did nothing to deter me from becoming a diet expert after two weeks experience.
I was very pleased with the results I got from the South Beach diet. It provided me a safe, structured environment to understand and get my act together. But I didn't learn jack shit that I now find useful--- good carbs/bad carbs? Good grief. Over the years one consistent bit of advice from those giving it has been to stress the need for lifestyle changes to keep from regaining the weight. I really felt sorry for the weight yo-yo'ers, because--- lifestyle changes? Man, that has got to be hard. OR maybe it can be a lot easier than it looks. Here's two things that helped me.
1. Dr. Phil said to eat things that took a long time to prepare. That didn't make a lick of sense to me until I started thinking about what was involved in lifestyle changes. Ordinarily, in dieting one tries to develop a dislike for eating... try not to think about food until it is time for your bland can of weight watchers stew. Get it down and try to ignore your desires until the next feeding time. OR one could jump into the experience of food with both feet. Spend a lot of time thinking about it. Serious, now did you ever notice what a red bell pepper looks like cut into neat little squares on an oak carving board ? Man that sure is pretty. Notice that. It doesn't take a lot of self hypnotism to make the act of cutting up a bell pepper part of your meal.
2. A french lady wrote a book with the title something like why french women ain't fat. She said. "You eat what's in front of you". Aha! Fix your plate away from the table. Take some time and make it look nice. Put on the plate just enough to keep you well within your guidelines. Then take it to the table, and eat all of it! Clean up and enjoy every tiny scrap of food on your plate. Lick your plate clean if your upbringing will allow that. When you have devoured every morsel, then the meal is over. Say Damn! That was good. Belching is not mandatory.
The only other significant change I had to make from my pre move plans was transportation. In November of 1969 I bought a brand new Toyota Landcruiser. For some reason I never got rid of it. For maybe fifteen years I only drove it occasionally to haul trash to the dump and errands like that. Then when we would have hard winters I would keep it chained up, and drive it back and forth to the main road where I left my Subaru parked. So I got the bright idea of fixing it up and bringing it with me. That way I could squander my would be car payments on whiskey and wimmin. Well what looked right at home among the other funky cruisers running around in the mountains didn't fit in very well down here. In Boulder Canyon I could run with the pack, but on flat four lane highways, I just kept traffic backed up. My cruiser was quite happy on the road when Jimmy Carter was president--- but 70 MPH--- whoa. Then too it doesn't have air conditioning, so sadly I decided I would put it on eBay toward the end of Feb. I bought me a Toyota Corolla while it was still on the boat coming over here, and now I fit right in trafficwise.
So that was my year. How was yours? Time for me to get back to my cockpit inspection.
