Category Archives: health

On the munchies

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Everybody gets them, and always at the worst time. The munchies are rather irrational–eating when you don’t really need to. You had a big lunch or supper, but only a couple of hours have past and you already want a Twinky. You know that there is a fresh bag of chips in the cupboard, and you are planning your assault. The munchies show up at about midnight, maybe a little after. They also show up during sporting events, especially when you ensconced on your sofa drinking a refreshment. The munchies are an irrational craving that crawls into your brain like a Night Gallery earwig and gnaws at your cerebellum until you give in and make the popcorn, break open a new package of Ho-Ho’s, eat an entire row of Oreos, deep fry a few Twinkies, roll out a barrel of carmel corn, break out a box of chocolates, eat that Snickers that you hid away in the back of the freezer, go to White Castle for some sliders. Some people, skinny people mostly, can luxuriate in a profound attack of the munchies and suffer no ill effects from a night of gorging, but the rest of us feel nothing but bloat and guilt. Gluttony is a mortal sin, after all. But the munchies are amoral and know no bounds or ethical codes, are blind and unfeeling. The stomach growls, the saliva flows, and visions of sugar plums dance in your head. You start looking for your keys, the local gas station gas candy bars, peanuts, Cracker Jacks, and potato chips. Maybe some soda too. Some Little Debbie snack cakes. You stare into the dim light of the refrigerator wondering where the leftover meatloaf went and wondering what might happen if you resuscitate the macaroni and cheese that was left over last week and is starting to look furry. In disdain, you push aside a Diet Coke, and wonder if you can super-size an order of burgers at the local fast food chain, you know, the one with the clown. It’s three a.m. and the pit in your stomach is deep and empty, so you head out to Wally World for crackers, gum drops, Pop Tarts, Cheerios, milk, and a couple of caramel apples. The munchies are why the big box stores never close. They are filled with people trying to solve their munchies habit, walking up and down the aisles trying to find that one perfect snack that will resolve their craving. The munchies bring out the worst in all of us, eating when we don’t need it, ruining our diets, putting on some extra weight, wrecking our teeth, pushing our blood sugar to record levels. We dream of cheese cake, doughnuts, and cotton candy, but we should be eating a small salad with lettuce, tomato, and onion. Olives are part of the munchies family, so one must stay away from them. We have met the enemy, as Pogo once said, and he is us.

On the munchies

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Everybody gets them, and always at the worst time. The munchies are rather irrational–eating when you don’t really need to. You had a big lunch or supper, but only a couple of hours have past and you already want a Twinky. You know that there is a fresh bag of chips in the cupboard, and you are planning your assault. The munchies show up at about midnight, maybe a little after. They also show up during sporting events, especially when you ensconced on your sofa drinking a refreshment. The munchies are an irrational craving that crawls into your brain like a Night Gallery earwig and gnaws at your cerebellum until you give in and make the popcorn, break open a new package of Ho-Ho’s, eat an entire row of Oreos, deep fry a few Twinkies, roll out a barrel of carmel corn, break out a box of chocolates, eat that Snickers that you hid away in the back of the freezer, go to White Castle for some sliders. Some people, skinny people mostly, can luxuriate in a profound attack of the munchies and suffer no ill effects from a night of gorging, but the rest of us feel nothing but bloat and guilt. Gluttony is a mortal sin, after all. But the munchies are amoral and know no bounds or ethical codes, are blind and unfeeling. The stomach growls, the saliva flows, and visions of sugar plums dance in your head. You start looking for your keys, the local gas station gas candy bars, peanuts, Cracker Jacks, and potato chips. Maybe some soda too. Some Little Debbie snack cakes. You stare into the dim light of the refrigerator wondering where the leftover meatloaf went and wondering what might happen if you resuscitate the macaroni and cheese that was left over last week and is starting to look furry. In disdain, you push aside a Diet Coke, and wonder if you can super-size an order of burgers at the local fast food chain, you know, the one with the clown. It’s three a.m. and the pit in your stomach is deep and empty, so you head out to Wally World for crackers, gum drops, Pop Tarts, Cheerios, milk, and a couple of caramel apples. The munchies are why the big box stores never close. They are filled with people trying to solve their munchies habit, walking up and down the aisles trying to find that one perfect snack that will resolve their craving. The munchies bring out the worst in all of us, eating when we don’t need it, ruining our diets, putting on some extra weight, wrecking our teeth, pushing our blood sugar to record levels. We dream of cheese cake, doughnuts, and cotton candy, but we should be eating a small salad with lettuce, tomato, and onion. Olives are part of the munchies family, so one must stay away from them. We have met the enemy, as Pogo once said, and he is us.

On the apple

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One of my favorite foods, I’ll eat apples in almost any form: fresh, sauce, caramel, pie, juice, cider, baked. Those round red (or yellow or green) orbs of juiciness are to die for. Especially, this time of year when the fresh apples are starting to appear in the supermarkets. I have already written here about making pie, and apple pie is my favorite. As a five-year-old in kindergarten we peeled apples, chopped them up, and fried them with a little lard to make apple butter. Apple butter is to die for on fresh crunchy toasted home-made bread. I like to put grated apple into oatmeal with a little brown sugar and cinnamon. Perhaps what I most like about apples, however, is the simplicity of the fruit itself. Just wash it and start eating. Yes, a little juice might go up your nose in the first bite, but you wipe your chin off and plan your second bite. Red apples look very inviting, but it is the party-colored apples that really have all the flavor. I believe that apples grow everywhere in the world. In Spain they make a naturally fermented cider that when served cold is a most delightful taste sensation. The apple is, of course, the paradigm for all snacks, given by Eve to Adam when he just couldn’t get enough. Does anyone honestly blame him for taking and eating the apple? Would you have done anything differently? When I was in cross-country a number of years ago, we would often plan our routes to include an apple orchard, or at least until the sheriff showed up and told us to stop. There’s a small restaurant in northern Spain in Santillana del Mar called Casa Cossio that serves the most delicious baked apples for dessert, cinnamon, sugar, a twist of orange. It leaves you wanting more. Until I got my braces on as a teenager, fall was all about buying a bag of caramels and some apples and making candy apples. It gets all over your face, your hands, stuck in your teeth, makes an enormous sticky mess, but it is so worth it. As I eat my caramel apple I can feel the cool breezes of October, smell the dry leaves that have already fallen from the trees, stared at the dead gray sky which threatened snow. The big debate when eating apples is, I guess, whether to peel or not. Apple skin has never bothered me, although it will get stuck in your teeth, but that’s what floss is for, right? Apple juice, especially when doctored with cinnamon and other spices–cloves and all-spice–fills a room with glorious smells when heated. On a frigid January day nothing will thaw out a frozen snow shoveler like a nice, hot mug of spiced cider. You might even forget, if just for a moment, that the ice is hard, the snow is deep, that the wind is out of the north, and that the windchill factor is double-digits below zero. Hot apple cider has a way of mending what is broken in your soul, of giving your tired, aching muscles hope, of making winter an okay place to be. On a hot summer day in Texas, you pour it over ice and add a twist of lemon and the heat doesn’t seem nearly as horrible as it is. The apple pie is the perfect dessert–no debate there. I’m not allergic to apples or anything they might put in a crust, so if I am eating out, I can usually trust the apple pie to hold me over until the next meal. The apple is composed of gracious, sensuous lines and curves that suggest erotic pleasures and unnamed delights. The apple lives in its own metaphors, subverting its own innocence while giving boundless pleasure to its consumers. The next time you eat an apple, I suspect you might have a new appreciation for this simple fruit.

On the apple

Posted on by

One of my favorite foods, I’ll eat apples in almost any form: fresh, sauce, caramel, pie, juice, cider, baked. Those round red (or yellow or green) orbs of juiciness are to die for. Especially, this time of year when the fresh apples are starting to appear in the supermarkets. I have already written here about making pie, and apple pie is my favorite. As a five-year-old in kindergarten we peeled apples, chopped them up, and fried them with a little lard to make apple butter. Apple butter is to die for on fresh crunchy toasted home-made bread. I like to put grated apple into oatmeal with a little brown sugar and cinnamon. Perhaps what I most like about apples, however, is the simplicity of the fruit itself. Just wash it and start eating. Yes, a little juice might go up your nose in the first bite, but you wipe your chin off and plan your second bite. Red apples look very inviting, but it is the party-colored apples that really have all the flavor. I believe that apples grow everywhere in the world. In Spain they make a naturally fermented cider that when served cold is a most delightful taste sensation. The apple is, of course, the paradigm for all snacks, given by Eve to Adam when he just couldn’t get enough. Does anyone honestly blame him for taking and eating the apple? Would you have done anything differently? When I was in cross-country a number of years ago, we would often plan our routes to include an apple orchard, or at least until the sheriff showed up and told us to stop. There’s a small restaurant in northern Spain in Santillana del Mar called Casa Cossio that serves the most delicious baked apples for dessert, cinnamon, sugar, a twist of orange. It leaves you wanting more. Until I got my braces on as a teenager, fall was all about buying a bag of caramels and some apples and making candy apples. It gets all over your face, your hands, stuck in your teeth, makes an enormous sticky mess, but it is so worth it. As I eat my caramel apple I can feel the cool breezes of October, smell the dry leaves that have already fallen from the trees, stared at the dead gray sky which threatened snow. The big debate when eating apples is, I guess, whether to peel or not. Apple skin has never bothered me, although it will get stuck in your teeth, but that’s what floss is for, right? Apple juice, especially when doctored with cinnamon and other spices–cloves and all-spice–fills a room with glorious smells when heated. On a frigid January day nothing will thaw out a frozen snow shoveler like a nice, hot mug of spiced cider. You might even forget, if just for a moment, that the ice is hard, the snow is deep, that the wind is out of the north, and that the windchill factor is double-digits below zero. Hot apple cider has a way of mending what is broken in your soul, of giving your tired, aching muscles hope, of making winter an okay place to be. On a hot summer day in Texas, you pour it over ice and add a twist of lemon and the heat doesn’t seem nearly as horrible as it is. The apple pie is the perfect dessert–no debate there. I’m not allergic to apples or anything they might put in a crust, so if I am eating out, I can usually trust the apple pie to hold me over until the next meal. The apple is composed of gracious, sensuous lines and curves that suggest erotic pleasures and unnamed delights. The apple lives in its own metaphors, subverting its own innocence while giving boundless pleasure to its consumers. The next time you eat an apple, I suspect you might have a new appreciation for this simple fruit.

On doughnuts

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I don’t eat doughnuts because they have eggs in them, but until I found out that I had an allergy to eggs, I ate plenty of them. Doughnuts are wonderful because they are the perfect vehicle for transporting fat and sugar into the human digestive system. But doughnuts are serendipitously wonderful because of their highly suggestive, if not original, shape–a round pastry with a hole in the middle. Who would have ever invented a pastry that is defined by emptiness, by nothingness, by what is missing? You can see the other side of the room by looking through the doughnut hole. So how do you eat a doughnut? Do you bite it in the middle and work your way around? How do you decide where the middle is exactly since doughnuts are almost always symmetrical no matter how you fold them? As a three-dimensional conundrum, the doughnut is a map-maker’s nightmare, a labyrinth designer’s dream, and a pastry chef’s canvass. You can do a lot with a doughnut. I always preferred them with lots of chocolate frosting, although my grandmother fried them in lard and those doughnuts didn’t need any extra help. They melted in your mouth, but the cholesterol factor was pretty high. The very curves of the doughnut give it erotic overtones that cannot be ignored. The doughnut is nothing but curves–voluptuous, exotic, full, suggestive, fatal. How can you not look at a doughnut and not think of sex? How does the saying go, there are no dirty doughnuts, just dirty minds? Yet I would suggest that the doughnut’s ongoing appeal has less to do with chocolate, sugar, and fat (three out of five major food groups–missing caffeine and salt, but no food is perfect), and everything to do with its curves. Curves have always been more appealing than straight lines, which are cold and impersonal. The doughnut is warm and moist, engaged in continuous curves that shape its identity and give it a “come hither” look. Nobody says “no” to a doughnut–hungry or full, it doesn’t matter. Glazed, iced, with sprinkles, with powder sugar, or just plain, the doughnut is a mysterious bit of food that has no earthly reason to exist. Nobody needs doughnuts–not little kids, nor policemen, nor college professors, nor housewives, nor anyone else you might imagine. So, why do people line up twenty-deep in their SUV’s every Sunday morning to buy them?

On snoring

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I snore. I also suspect that most people do at some point in their lives. The sounds that snorers make is on my top ten list of all time worst sounds right between vacuum cleaner and leaf blower, but still below garbage trucks, babies crying on an airplane, and car crash noises. Snoring wouldn’t be so bad except that you hear it during the night when you are trying to sleep. It’s probably not as bad as water-boarding, but waiting for the snorer to either snort again or shut up is pure torture. And not all snorers are created equal. I know one or two that can make the paint peel and the wallpaper curl from the sheer volume of sound. I’m a little surprised they haven’t damaged their own hearing or that they don’t wake themselves up. Some snorers are stealthy and wake you up, but then don’t snore again for awhile until you are just about to sleep again and they start up the chainsaw again. A full-blown, sonic boom snorer can drive you out of your mind. Murders have been committed in the name of snoring. Researchers tell us that excessive snoring is bad and needs treatment, and some snorers get help. Yet many snorers just grind away each night, snuggled in the arms of sleep, blissfully ignorant of the havoc they are creating. I knew of one fellow that was asked to leave a hotel because he made so much noise. Some people sound like they are drowning, while others gurgle and grown, creating a symphony of strange animal noises. I am unsure of what the evolutionary function of snoring is. I would think that snorers would have been eaten by large predators who one, would have found them easily in the dark, and two, would eat them just to shut them up. Animals need their sleep as well. I haven’t even mentioned the victims of snoring, who grab and blanket and pillow and exile themselves to the lumpy couch in the den out of sheer desperation and sleepiness. For some snorers, no amount of prodding or poking does a bit of good, and they can snore equally well on their stomachs as on their backs. Posture means nothing. The thunder continues, the chainsaw drones on, and millions of helpless sleepers spend their nights roaming the halls of the homes in search of quiet place to sleep.