You would think I was dying

Three weeks ago I visited my family doctor for a routine physical.  For most of my adult life I stuck to a strict schedule of making sure I would get myself checked out every year, but this time I realized that it had been over two years since my last visit.  No worries though, as I felt about as good as I can remember myself ever feeling and I wasn't expecting anything out of the ordinary.

Everything went great, and the Doc was surprised at how well I was eating and the level of activity that I kept myself in.  I even managed to get out of there with my dignity intact as well.  You see I just turned 45 and have been told for some time now when I could count on the old five fingered kiester drill.  I was convinced that the day had finally come but to my relief I was assured it could wait.  I jumped back into my street clothes, went to the lab to tap some blood, and I was back on the road in twenty minutes.

Two days later the phone rings and it's the Doctor's assistant calling with the results of my lab work.  I'm told that my cholesterol is too high and given the fact that I eat right, I don't smoke, I'm not overweight, and I'm basically in the best shape a man of my age can be in, they suggest prescription medication for me.  But that's not my style.  That's for the greying guy on the TV commercials who runs opposite the male enhancement offers.  Not someone who cycles 120 miles a week and visits the gym regularly.  Again I ask, "why me God?"

I have to think a generally large portion of the population in this world lives with high cholesterol.  And most people know this of themselves and just shrug it off as a minor bump in the road.  But not me!  No my friend, I'm finding myself spending the next three hours of my day Googling everything about what I can do to battle this evil disease that I'm afflicted with.  I put work, family, and friends on hold until I research the medication, find the right diet, and figure out an end to yet another reminder that I'm not 20 years old anymore.

A day later I rise from the ashes with what I affectionately call the "Pansie Boy Grocery List" and it's off to the store to stock up on more wheat, fruit, and green boring things than a man deserves.  My cart is missing crackers, red meat, soups, and all the sustenance that I once thrived on.  The times were gonna change and I was damn well gonna change with it.  And three weeks later I'm proud to say I'm still doing my part to stick with it and actually feeling better for it.

I know I've made a mountain out of a mole hill here.  Although the risk of heart disease is nothing to take lightly, I know that in my case I shouldn't be as alarmed as I was/am.  My case is minor at best, and with the proper diet and medication I should be able to live with this.  Maybe even someday without the meds.

It just stinks when you find yourself getting up in the years and you start to realize all the indicators of it.  That eagle eye you once had is getting a bit fuzzy now.  The flight of stairs once taken with no effort now brings a few extra breaths.  The food you once ate and the alcohol you consumed right with it is now living comfortably forever around your waist.  And that extra skip in your step is more of a trip.

High cholesterol is just another foe to deal with when you've become accustomed to a certain lifestyle that brought you much happiness and gratification.  Most of which was dependent on the size of your plate.  It's not a death sentence.  It's livable, doable.  It's all up to you.  Live for the day or plan for the future.  It's your choice and I for one choose the latter.  I just hope this is as hairy as it gets.  Could you see me with anything serious?

Poor food shouldn't be an apology, but a boast.

I wish I could say that it was me who coined that phrase but I'd be lying.  It was found in the words of John Baxter who writes for Food and Wine magazine and I have to say I totally agree with him.

The article outlines his younger years growing up in Australia and the foods that were prepared not only by his family but those in which he found on his travels to Europe.  My history isn't nearly as grandiose as his but there are similarities in the points that were made.  One particular point being that some of the best meals a person has had may have come from tougher times with the simplest ingredients.

Just look at some of the dishes of our grand-parent's time.  On the Polish side of my family there have been many meals where I can recall Czarnina being served.  As repulsive as I thought it was, my relatives and many others like them truly enjoyed it.  There were casseroles and stews that contained absolutely every piece of the animal that you either shot or brought back from the butcher.  Nothing made it to the floor, it was all in the pot.  Anyone who has relatives who lived through that era and are still alive today will tell you that things were tough for a lot of people back then.  Jobs were scarce, money was tight, and families were large.  If you were going to survive you made sure that nothing went to waste.

By no stretch of the imagination was I raised in hard times.  Both my father and mother worked to provide my sister and I with everything that we could need.  Albeit my sister still believes that I was their favorite and that she should have gotten the braces on her teeth, that in itself is a whole other story.  But even though we were a comfortable middle class family who could afford a nice meal or two here and there we had our share of poor meals growing up.  These were contributed more to time constraints than to any financial hardship.

Meals that consisted of rice and sauce, wieners and potatoes, and ground beef buttered on bread and cooked in a toaster oven.  These were some of the staples of my diet when I was growing up.  We occasionally mixed it up with take-out from several different establishments but when it came time to cook this rotation was a common one in our home.

After all, this wasn't the Cleaver residence.  June didn't stay at home and cook while Ward brought home the paycheck.  With both parents as bread winners there were very few times, if any, where a meal was on the table when we would get home.  Dinner was usually discussed moments before the stove was turned on, and the finished product was determined by what left overs were in the fridge and just how ambitious you were to cook after a hard days work.  Aside from the reluctance to waste anything, I'm thinking situations like these are what must have introduced the world to Shepherd's Pie.

So here I am 30 years later and I'm the appointed chef of the household.  My wife cooks, just not a lot.  And in her defense I'd say that if roles were reversed and she showed as much enthusiasm to spend way too much time cooking as fancy of a feast every night for me, then I certainly wouldn't cook either.  I don't know if it's because of my childhood deprivations that I do this or that I bore too easily and want to try different things.  Either way, I feel I have to go over the top every time I cook.  It doesn't matter if I get home from work at seven-o-clock, an eight course meal is always on my mind.

Honestly though, who has the time to do it?  In our dual income little world we would be sitting down to eat at nine-thirty if leg of lamb and creme brulee were on the menu.  You just can't carve out enough hours in the day to prepare meals like that.  When time is at a premium, we just try not to make dinner from a box.  This I can live with.

So there is something to be said for poor food, comfort food, or whatever it is that you may call it.  No, I'm not talking about a gallon of Haagen-Dazs chocolate peanut butter ice cream.  I'm talking about stuffed green peppers, tater-tot casserole, and yes grilled ground beef slathered on sandwich bread.  If not just for the simplicity in preparing them; it's good stuff that hits the spot, made from things that most people already have in the pantry.  Cooking shouldn't always be a marathon.  Sometimes the best meals are only a few minutes away.

Man I can smell mom's kitchen already.