A Weekend of Food and Friends

After several weeks of being rather non-social, Kris and I spent a lot of time with friends this weekend.

Thursday

On Thursday, I drove to Salem to have lunch with Mackenzie. Though both of us are feeling heavy, and we believe we should start watching our weight, we opted to eat at The Great Wall, my favorite Chinese buffet. I love that place. While we ate, we brainstormed possible collaborations.

I’m interested in having Mac help me revive Money Hacks, a companion site to Get Rich Slowly. Mac surprised me, however, by suggesting a site that I’ve had on the back-burner for some time: Get Fit Slowly. I’d planned to launch a site with that name on January 1st, but was worried I wouldn’t have time with all my other projects. But with Mac as a partner, I think it has a far better chance at succeeding. I’m excited about working with him on this.

On Thursday evening — my belly still stuffed — we headed to Gino’s with Paul and Amy Jo. We seem to do this once a week lately. It’s fun. I ordered the clams, of course, and a cheese platter. But I was so full from The Great Wall, that I couldn’t even finish the clams! When the cheese platter came, I thought I’d explode.

Friday

On Friday afternoon, we stopped by Rejuvenation to look at furniture for the living room. I sat in a number of chairs, and fell in love with the much-too-expensive Stickley pieces. Now begins my quest to find similar furniture for less. (Look for more on the furniture quest in coming entries.)

In the evening, we visited Marcela, Pierre, and their children for a wonderful dinner. We have them over about once a year; they have us over about once a year. Though we don’t see them often, I always love these meals. Marcela and Pierre are intelligent, witty, and fine cooks. Their kids are very precocious. On Friday, Ella was telling me all about the money she’d saved. It was great stuff. But by the time I remembered to run to my car for the camera, she’d become a little shy. Still, here’s a couple of minutes of my conversation with her. Louis is providing background commentary.

For dinner, Marcela had prepared a pork roast, mashed potatoes, and more. It was delicious. Pierre, being French, always has a great selection of wine. In particular, I’m fascinated by his ability to pick sparkling wines that aren’t too flowery. I always think of champagne as a light drink, something sort of girlie. But Pierre has a talent for choosing sparkling wines that work well as aperitifs. This time he served a Domaine Ste. Michelle Blanc de Noirs. “This is like pop!” I exclaimed, and it was. It was great. He also recommended the Blanc de Blanc from the same winery. (Another winner from the past was a Roderer Estate Anderson Valley Brut.)

Saturday

Saturday found us double-booked. We spent the day doing chores. In the late afternoon, Mac and Pam and the kids came up for dinner. We prepared salmon with lemon/caper/mustard butter using fish from our neighbor, John, who is newly returned from his summer in Alaska. (John is also our primary source for grapes, especially the Concords, which I love.) It was great to chat with the Proffitt-Smiths, and to see the now-beefy Liam.

After they’d left, we darted up to Portland to join Courtney’s 40th birthday celebration at Bluehour, one of Portland’s hippest restaurants. We’d never been before, but knew it was swanky. Apparently it’s swankier than we had imagined. I felt severely under-dressed, but my discomfort faded after I began to chat with Andrew. I felt like we had a nice talk, something we don’t get very often anymore. Because Kris and I had already eaten, we didn’t have much. Perhaps it was because we didn’t order an entree, but I wasn’t impressed. Bluehour is expensive, but the food was decidedly mediocre. It was nothing special. I’d rather go to Gino’s almost every time. (In fact, we spent as much for just a little food at Bluehour as we might spend for an entire meal at Gino’s.)

Sunday

Now we’re enjoying a lazy Sunday. I have a lot of writing to do. Kris is reading the book group selection for the month: Oscar Wilde’s Picture of Dorian Grey.

It’s been a lovely weekend, actually. Very nice, indeed. But this weekend is just the beginning. We have a lot of social engagements in the coming weeks, too. In fact, I think every weekend in October is booked, as well as many in November and December.

The See-Food Diet

After reading Penelope Trunk’s recent post about eating disorders, I ordered the book Breaking Free from Emotional Eating by Geneen Roth. I figured it was cheaper than paying Lauren for another batch of wellness coaching sessions. I’m willing to give it a shot.

The first chapter of the book is fairly straight-forward: “only eat when you’re hungry”. I’ve heard that advice before. It’s good advice. I’m just not good at following it.

But the second chapter was startling. In “Deciding What You Want to Eat”, Roth offers advice similar to that which GRS-reader Sally gave me last spring: Tell yourself that you can eat what you want, and you’ll eventually find that you don’t want to eat junk food. This is Roth’s story:

For two weeks I ate chocolate chip cookies in varies shapes and consistencies for breakfast, lunch, dinner, and in-between. On the fourth day of the second week, I ate an egg for lunch. For dinner on the fourteenth day, I ate some lasagna that [a friend] had made. And a ball of dough for variety. On the fifteenth day, I never wanted to see a chocolate chip cookie again.

I tell this story at the beginning of every workshop because it’s absurd and because it’s true. I tell it because almost everyone there has fantasized about eating as much as she wants of whatever she wants without feeling guilty, and few people will allow themselves this freedom (or this madness).

[…]

One of the reasons it’s terrifying for compulsive eaters to believe we can eat what we want and not become obese is that we think we want so much…We feel bottomless, as if we could never get enough. We try to make up for years of dieting in two weeks of chocolate chip cookies or a month-long binge. Until we realize we are grown-ups. When I looked at the package of Hostess Sno-Balls and told myself that I really could have them if I wanted them, I realized I did want them…when I was ten years old.

For the past week, I’ve been heeding this advice. Whatever I want to eat, I eat. The very first night, I wanted chocolate chip cookies. Kris baked them, and I ate them. The next day I wanted an ice cream cone. I’ve eaten three pickled sausages. I’ve had plent of Sno-balls. I’ve eaten a lot of candy and drank a lot of Mexican Coke. Tonight I will probably have Gino’s clams.

But you know what? Eating like this has made me even more miserable. My stomach is a mass of percolating gas. My bowels are like a giant nuclear furnace. I find that I’m actually craving salad — spinach salad.

The truth is that the chocolate chip cookies and the ice cream and the pickled sausages don’t hold as much appeal when they’re not “off-limits”. I don’t feel guilty about eating them, it’s true, but I also find that I don’t really want to eat them. Right now, at this very moment, I want nothing more in this world than a tuna fish sandwich. (I’m going to lunch with Mac this afternoon — maybe we can find a place where I can get one…)

My friend Sally told me that when she craves cake, for example, she tells herself that she could have the best cake in Atlanta if she wanted. And sometimes she goes and gets it. But most of the time, the thought that she could have a very fine piece of cake is enough. She’s learned to trust herself, to trust that she can indulge herself in the future, and that she can make smart choices now. In her book, Roth writes that trust is the key:

Trust develops and builds when I am given a choice (and not, as in dieting, denied it). Trust develops when I choose to make myself comfortable, not miserable, to take care of myself rather than hurt myself. Trust develops when you learn from actual experience that you can decide which desires to act upon and which you will leave to fantasy.

I haven’t reached the end of the tunnel yet, but I believe I see a pin-prick of light…

Rain Ghost

“Do you think it’ll rain” — Dad, whenever it rained heavily

It’s pouring outside. The autumnal Oregon rainfall set in two or three weeks early this year, taking away the last few days of September, and making early October swampish.

Right now the rain is roaring down in torrents outside my office window. Whenever it rains like this — whenever it is stormy — I’m reminded of my father. He loved this weather. All my strong memories of stormy days revolve around him.

I remember working with him outside in the rain, building things, digging things, burning things. I remember driving with him in the rain. I remember how he especially loved a stormy day at the beach.

At various points throughout his life, he owned a boat. In his final years, he kept this boat tied up in Astoria. I’m convinced that the only reason he did this was so that he could have a place to enjoy the storms of autumn, winter, and spring.

Dad has been dead more than twelve years now, and I don’t think of him on a daily basis. But there are certain things — songs, smells, occurrences — that will freeze me in my tracks, as if his presence were palpable. Stormy weather always does this. Always.