Don't Poke the Bear

181.2 lbs. Do not poke the bear.

Retraction: in a previous blog, Joe Castiglione was referred to as “the color man” for WEEI’s radio coverage of the Boston Red Sox. It has been pointed out (by someone who was a bit of a hemorrhoid about it, to tell you the truth. He would do well to remember that I have a truckload of frequent flier miles, hotel points and a GPS.  I also have a reputation for doing “things” when provoked. Not naming names, but his wife, whom I like because she has already slugged him once for my benefit, is checking life insurance coverage. Be afraid. Be very afraid) that Joe is “the Voice of the Red Sox.” Well, Joe is the Voice who also works with Dave O’Brien  and combos are usually a play by play man and a color commentator. Apparently not. So, in addition to dealing with short sleep, a slow rolling nosebleed (sinus bullshit. My right eye looks like someone belted me) and things not going my way, weight-wise, Management regrets the error of referring to Joe Castiglione as anything but the Voice of the Red Sox. And Shaws Markets. And though I am not naming names: FYJMYPITA. He’ll take it in stride.

He did redeem himself by sharing a Brussels sprouts recipe that makes the damned things look edible. To wit:

shallow roasting pan, 400F oven. Shallow baking dish (pizza pans work best) and your sprouts cut in half length-wise.

To said sprouts, add about a tablespoon of good olive oil, sea salt & freshly cracked black pepper & toss well.

Roast them for about 25 minutes. Remove from the oven and place into a mixing/ serving bowl and add the juice of half a lemon (or to taste) and any additional S&P you want as well as any stray gahlic you happened to roast off at the same.

Why bother? BS (So appropriate) belong to the cruciferous vegetable (No, I  don’t know what it means unless it’s “makes smelly farts”, but it includes sprouts, cabbage, cauliflower and I THINK broccoli) family and are chock full of health benefits. However (and this is strictly my opinion. There are actually people out there who think they’re wonderful. I believe these people also mourn the passing of New Coke and the AMC Pacer), like most medicine, they taste lousy. And they’re too chewy* (*when I reheated the “steam in a bag” veggie trio by Trader Joe’s that contained the cursed sprouts, sugar snap peas and asparagus,  I did so for the same amount of time I initially cooked them and found the BS much more tender and edible. Just an FYI). Morton’s Steakhouse (what so proudly I hail) sautés them with bacon and shallots and that’s pretty good. I do not have the kitchen facilities to test the above recipe. I ask my readers (and you know who you are) to undertake a test drive and report back with a comment on the blog (the ones out there are getting kind of dusty anyway).

Furthermore, if you’re looking to incorporate more and different veggies, sweet potatoes are also your friend. Truckload of nutrients.I got a couple of sweet potato planks (baked, I think) from Whole Foods a couple of weeks ago and they had been treated with orange (like orange zest added before baking). Good Golly Miss Molly, but that is fantastic stuff! I like sweet potatoes with butter and salt, butter and cinnamon but adding orange is an ascent to heaven. Paul Simon asking Art Garfunkel to sing with him, adding chocolate to peanut butter or Paul Newman and Robert Redford together kind of harmony. There are recipes at Allrecipes  that have you assemble an orange juice, cinnamon and margarine kind of glaze, but the ones  I ate didn’t seem glazed. I’ve gotten to a point where I’ll eat sweet potato fries (can’t tell you the last time I ate ANYTHING fried) over white potato fries. Somewhere, a small corner of Idaho just died.

I have a brand new health insurance card and brand shiny new health insurance, which is good because I had to cut today’s cardio short on account of my right knee. I have bashed the bejesus out of my right kneecap over the years and I get low level discomfort from time to time (since it is neither chronic nor searing pain, I just “walk it off”). Today, however, after weight training (and I’m slowly shifting from the pulley Nautilus type machines to free weights. More on that in a different blog, okay?), I got on the treadmill for an hour walk and within 10 minutes got a “Bitch, take 5 more steps and I’ll have you in the emergency room” sensation from the right knee. I stopped (not willingly) because when you get an unmistakable sign like that, you don’t argue. I’m not limping, but it’s still grumpy down there.

Yesterday, we had a substitute yoga teacher (Lila is injured). Remember Hans Landa, the little British lady?  (Reread the old post)Yep. She was back. Truthfully, I like her a lot; she has a knack for getting you into the deepest possible stretches and then just a wee bit more. We did a series of One Legged Dog into Warrior on one side, then she said, “We can ignore the left side, but you’d be limping.” I may have overworked the knee yesterday, plus the fact that I tend to sit here with my legs crossed, right over left and that puts on pressure the joint doesn’t like. I will let the chiropractor have the first shot at it on Friday.

This does not please me. I had managed to clear the decks, work and time-wise, so that I could indulge in a Monster Burn day (Weight training, all major muscle groups plus two hours of two different kinds of cardio).  I was going to do just that when interrupted. Once again, it will be necessary for the brain and the body to have a conversation about who’s in charge (and yes, I remember the old dorm room poster from the mid-seventies about the various body parts wanting to be boss and the asshole shut down  and after a couple of days, the rest of the body decided it was boss, so you don’t need to be smart to be a boss, just an asshole). There is a plan. There are instructions being followed and, having been told all my life I fall short in the “following directions” category, I expect (reasonably, I believe) to get the promised results when I actually do follow directions.

I’ll sign off with this question for you to ponder: why does the free weight section at the gym smell like Brussels Sprouts?