Killer Carbs

Dr. Robert Atkins said that carbs can kill you, but I never believed it. Not until August 18, 2007 when I saw the fact demonstrated in front of my own two eyes. Steve, hereafter known as HH (handsome husband), and I decided to head to the local bagel shop via bicycle. You’ve got to admit it, there are no carbs like bagel carbs. Toasted, chewy, unrepentant carbohydrates flooding the blood stream, bringing good cheer to muscle energy-stores everywhere. Or at least that’s my excuse. I really don’t think that the 2.5 mile ride from my front door to the bagel shop probably qualifies as an energy-store depleting event. But I digress…

It is unlikely that anyone living in America since the mid-1960’s is unfamiliar with the Atkins Diet. Controversial since its inception, it is based upon the premise that the food pyramid should be discarded. Atkins claimed that saturated fat was overrated as a nutritional hazard for heart health and contributor to obesity. Instead he prescribed a dramatic restriction in carbohydrate intake in order to switch the body’s energy source away from burning carbohydrates. He claimed that his dietary principles would increase use of stored body fat resulting in lower body weight, improved cholesterol and lipid profile, and lowered cardiac risk. Pork producers all over America greeted the Atkins Diet with open arms. Pork rinds…they weren’t just for rednecks anymore. In fact, those that I know who have used the Atkins approach have lost weight. They also report dreaming about mashed potatoes and pizza crust. In one particularly disturbing dream a giant baked potato chased the dieter through an endless maze of hallways. Revenge of the Spuds.

Now, in a stunning scientific breakthrough, I’ve learned that one doesn’t necessarily need to actually EAT the carbs to run a health risk. As HH and I made the gentle right turn from the road into the bagel shop parking lot, I heard an ominous crrrrrunch, then THUD from behind me. I looked over my shoulder to see HH laying on the pavement. He was still in the riding position, both hands on the handlebars and feet clipped onto the pedals. Laying quite still. As I swung round I heard a moan. Good news from my perspective, CPR would not be needed.

HH wriggled his feet to loosen them from the pedals and struggled to his feet. I knew he was seriously hurting when he abandoned his beloved bicycle, Streak, on the pavement. "This must be critical," I thought. HH loves Streak. I know that in case of a house fire, given the choice between rescuing me or Streak, he’d be sure to hurrry back for me once the bike was safely out of danger.

He shuffled slowly to the curb with his head barely raised above waist level, right elbow and hand dripping blood from assorted road abrasions. The real problem? HH had landed on his right hip and leg…his bad side. The Hip that invariably causes physicians reviewing x-rays to say, “Oh boy! You’ve got some case of arthritis in there!” That hip just doesn’t move in the direction demanded by a sharp fall onto hard asphalt. Consider his hip = the Titanic, and the road = the iceberg. No contest. Our trip toward bagel carb heaven had just sunk.

In case you’re wondering what the worst part of the story is…..it was his birthday.

So read this as a cautionary tale. Apparently the mere intention of carb consumption can now be hazardous to your health. As for myself and HH, we’ve decided that this coming Saturday, we’re playing it safe. Oh, we’ll still go to the bagel shop. And we’ll still go via bicycle. But we only intend to consume some high-fat Atkins-approved product, such as cream cheese. That bagel underneath…it’s just the transport mechanism.

Summertime

One of the best things about riding a bike is that for a few lovely minutes, I am 11 years-old again. Oh, not the gawky, awkward, self-conscious 11 year-old. But the freckly-faced 11 year-old that received a slightly used blue and silver one-speed, coaster brake equipped beauty for my birthday. The 11 year-old who was terrified to ride down the Pine Street hill, but could ride up the same hill - no problem. I feel the breeze in my hair, I remember riding “no hands” and learning to peddle like crazy so that for a few glorious minutes I could put my feet up on the handlebar. That first taste of freedom that a bicycle brought. The first taste of what it might be like to be “grown up” and able to go where I wanted, independently, and f-a-s-t.

It’s only a lovely few minutes, though. Then my _ _ - something body reminds me that there isn’t much fear of how fast I can manage to go downhill, it’s fear of just how slow I might go uphill! But, still…for those minutes, it’s the summertime of youth, and I hear a popsicle calling my name.

Why did the summer days of childhood never seem as hot? I don’t remember ever thinking that it was too hot to ride my bike, go down to the park for crafts and activities, or play with neighborhood friends. I don’t recall heat as an excuse to avoid the 1+ mile walk from home to the nearest city swimming pool. I remember eating supper in the basement, because it was the coolest spot in the house, and watching the water bead up on metal glasses holding icy cold tea.

Summer was clean sheets that smelled like sunshine, Noxzema on sunburned shoulders, a trip to the zoo, Sunday picnics, and my brothers digging a hole to China in the backyard.

Is summer still summer? Have I changed or has the taste of summer changed? Or is it the pace of summer that has changed? I don’t know. But for today, I only need Lil’ Red and a few minutes on the road to take me back. Back home.

High Five

I am writing this from a slightly different seat. Instead of my usual comfy, aerodynamic Terry® gel saddle, I am perched proudly in the winner’s seat! YES! My High Five Bars won the 2007 Duncan Hines Festival Baking Contest!

I can hear you asking “The what?????” You mean you have never heard of the Duncan Hines Festival? That’s a pity. It is Bowling Green’s annual celebration of one of our most famous sons – Mr. Duncan Hines. We’ve celebrated with the baking of the world’s largest brownie (in about 2001). We have the annual Duck Race, although I have no idea what ducks have to do with Duncan Hines. And, for the last few years, we have had an annual baking contest. Like the Pillsbury Bake-Off®, contestants must creatively use the sponsor’s products to create a delectable new recipe. The Pillsbury Bake-Off® attracts thousands of entrants, national media, and awards a large cash prize. It could be considered the Ritz-Carlton® of baking contests.

The Duncan Hines contest, by comparison is more like a Motel 6®. It’s homey, friendly, small, and basic. Event organizers, the Bowling Green Junior Women’s Club, leave “the light on for you” with their low-key approach. Finalists receive a friendly notification phone call, and you can call the club president anytime with questions. When finalists arrived at the judging with their prepared recipe, we all chatted and then proceeded to help and compliment each other’s creation. That’s my kind of contest.

The recipe evolved from an idea at last summer’s family reunion. My daughter, Emily, along with one of the best cooks I know, my sister-in-law Jennifer, suggested a cake or brownie capturing the taste of a Take 5® candy bar. During the remaining summer months and into fall, I took their idea and baked. Family and friends tasted, tasted, and tasted. Weight Watchers and the American Dental Society owe me a big thank you for contributions to their business growth – excess calories and sugar are hallmarks of my winning recipe.

My thoughts in the week between my notification phone call and the judging can be summed up in three words: two-hundred dollars. The grand prize, and co-incidentally the almost exact price of a dress I wanted to wear to my son’s wedding in October. A dress I would never have purchased. Fame – who needs it? Accolades – overrated. But two-hundred dollars - that I could sink my teeth into! I’ll admit it, dollar signs danced in my head.

Diabetes could have been acquired in just walking past the display of the seven finalist’s creations. Chocolate Indulgence and Banana-Praline Cheesecake were just two of the creative gastronomic beauties that my bars were competing against. Mentally, I started to review my closet and re-think just what I might wear to that wedding. I heard the judges laughing as they tried the entry preceding mine in the tasting. When the tray of High Five bars disappeared behind the wall where the judges were working I heard nothing. No laughter, no sighs of delight, no “pass that over here so that I can have more”. Was that a good sign or portent of bad news? I started thinking about which of my friends might loan me an outfit for the wedding – or – could the mother of the groom wear jeans? Nice jeans?

Well, you know the end of the story. I heard my name announced as the winner and received my check. I’ve already ordered the dress, and the smile on my winner’s face is sure to last a while. At least for the month of August – that’s how long High Five Bars will be the featured dessert at Mariah’s Restaurant, a locale fine dining spot. So, if you are in Bowling Green, or can visit this month, stop in at Mariah’s for dessert. Trust me – it’s worth the drive – after all, a panel of judges said so!