Jack Declares War on Lard

Ever since Dolly-girl made that crack about my reputation starting to precede me I've been thinking maybe it's time to trim off a few of the winter pounds that accumulated over, oh, say the last 6 or 7 winters. Squirrel Nutkin I ain't exactly been. Squirrel packs it on, but then manages to trim down to leaping weight in the spring. Anyhoo, with Dolly-girl's words ringing in my ears (although how I know their Dolly-girl's words I don't 'cause my ears ring all the time), I declare War on LARD! Fellow haters of LARD, join my quest at Waddling Towards Fitness. Jack is back on the case!

Waddling Towards Fitness: Update, August 7, 2010

Pictured to the left is a 25 pound pail of LARD. Half of the total amount of LARD that I'm committed to lose as I Waddle Towards Fitness. According to a supposedly trustworthy site on the interwebs, LARD has a density of 0.772 g per ml which converts to 6.42 pounds per gallon. That makes that about a 4 gallon pail. So I need to lose 8 gallons of LARD off my LARD-ASS body.





So far, I'm happy to report, since Sunday last, I've lost 6.8 pints of LARD--that's about 0.85 gallons.








It's not easy. LARD is all around me. Ooo, that's close to the Troggs' song that Bill Nighy parodied in Love Actually, one of my favorite sappy romantic comedies.
I feel it in my fingers
I feel it in my toes
The LARD that's all around me
And so the waistline grows

It's hanging all around me
It's everywhere I look
So if you want cardiac fitness
Find something lean to cook...




However, I will triumph over LARD, even as it tempts and attacks me. And a pail of Armour LARD and Bill Nighy are going to be my talismans!

Waddling Towards Europe: New Bill Clinton-Inspired Dedication

Well, I see it's been some time since I wrote about waddling toward fitness. That's because...I'm FIT! Wrongo. That's a lie. No way. No how. Actually, I haven't written because I haven't been very good about my attempts to lose weight and get fit. That seems to happen in the summer when we have yard work to do instead of free time to walk everywhere.

But look at me! Disgusting--I'm as fat as the hog I was eating that night and, by the way, that's not a lite beer in my hand.




However, I took note of the frenzy over Chelsea Clinton's wedding, including the newly-trim Father-of-the-Bride-former-President-of-these-United-States-and-current-husband-of-the-Secretary-of-State. I mean, look at him. Down right rail-like. Apparently he became so under orders from his daughter. I suspect a personal trainer was involved as well. And a chef.

So, it is with renewed vigor that I promise to get back to it and lose some weight--how about a goal of 15 pounds--before we leave for Europe on September 6. 15 pounds in 35 days. I can do it!

A Beautiful Weekend in Ashland: Don't Give in to Pride or Prejudice

Dolly-girl put the handset of the blower back on the hook, turned, and spoke. "Javier. It's on. This weekend." Javier Boleyn is a pal-o-Dolly-girl's--and mine too, now--from way back when they were running a bookmakin' operation on the east coast. They don't do that anymore--Dolly-girl got into versin' people and Javier, well he specializes in tellin' people's tales that need tellin' for whatever reason. She continued. "We got the tickets and it's a biggie--Henry IV, Part I is on the stage. You don't see that often" I shook my head. Ooo boy, thank someone for that. Nothin' like a history play to keep one on one's toes. Literally, keeps a guy from snorin'.



I made a quick call and booked us into our regular stayin' spot, a cozy inn that Dolly-girl adores. I gotta admit, it's to my likin' too and the &B part of B&B is somethin' to sit for! Plus the weather's great and there's a nice deck where you can plant your carcass out in the fresh air and relax and take in life through a spoon--concave or convex, plenty of time to take it in both ways if you want.




After we finished our feedbags, we went out for a perambulation around the town to see what we could see. It was Saturday so a lot of farmers were bringin' whatever they farm into town for town people to take home and cook so they could feel close to the land, like they might own a barn or somethin'. There was plenty to go around, including some pretty nice lookin' cackleberries.






Seein' as how it was a dozen years to the day almost that me and Dolly-girl tied the knot, and seein' as how Javier had a ticket for a drama that we'd seen before and didn't need to see again, me and her decided to go out and get us some fancy, what she called L'Art de la cuisine française whatever that is, for the night-time feedsack. Dolly-girl'd spotted this joint that's been around as long as we've been gawkin' at the Bard south of the Oregon Vortex. We tried it out and I gotta say, it was hittin' our spots, alrighty.



After we were done tyin' on the feedbag, Dolly-girl shot me one through the wave and said, "What's with the droppin' Gs, Jack? You sound dumb, like that Magilla-from-Wasilla." "I thought you liked it--you keep tellin' me it wouldn't hurt to loosen up and drop a G-or-two now and then." Her greenies rolled like I knew they would before they peeked out under the wave." "Jeeze Louise, Jack, I was just talking about how you don't need to keep the first sawbuck you ever made down there at D'Mestiere Investigations, that's all." I slipped her arm through mine, pulled her close, started off down the street, looked up and winked at the moon. "Oh, is that what you were suggesting I do..."

Poutine or Not Poutine? Lunch at Pirate's at Jordan River, Vancouver Island, BC

The sun was approaching Dolly-girl's yardarm--noontime--and she was starting to make some noise about just where it was that we were going to pull the roadster over to the side at some roadhouse and have a drin...naw, not Dolly-girl, I'm talkin' lunch here. As readers of these writings know, lunch is an item of ultimate importance. Breakfasts come and go. Dinners? Take or leave 'em. Lunch, now that's the feedbag that counts.


We were out for a spin with Anna-Maria and our friends Dania and Leo Beech. Anna-Maria had had some people that needed talking with over on the mainland, Dolly-girl was headed to a week with some shady characters that needed versed, and me, old Jack was headed to Apple Valley to make sure that some troublemakers I talk with from time-to-time were still on the narrow and straight. Couldn't be done on the blower, so I was gonna have to catch the Clipper on Monday and have it set me down among the Red Delicious. Dania and Leo? They hail from around the parts--they needed a break across the Strait.



We were motoring along the coast when Dolly-girl yelled, "This is the place, Jack. This is it, it's it. Stop the roadster. Before I could set the brake, she'd made a dash for Pirate's Lunch.
It wasn't no Canoe, but I had a feeling we were actually going to end up with feedbags to tie on. And, we would be standing while we emptied these ones, 'cause Pirate's was a truck with some tires getting flat, sitting in a parking lot.


I'm not sure what caught Dolly-girl's eye. Coulda been the Fins and Fries. Might of been the thought of a burger and a stack of roses swimming through some hot oil. It was something, and I'll tell you, Pirate's had something for everyone of us.










Leo and Anna-Maria took a look at the menu on the side of the truck, looked at each other, and gave the up and down to a grilled tube steak with a rose off the grill and a squirt out of the yellow bottle.

Dania ordered up the well-dressed diner with frog nails.






Dolly-girl, well sure enough, Pirate pinned a plate of roses on her. They were fresh, hot, and plenty to go around.

Meanwhile, the first thing that had my peepers winking like a Fox News anchor interviewing the Wack-o from Wasilla was a sign that caught my eye. Note to Pirate: D'Mestiere Investigations has been retained in a copyright infringement case. Those Ms look a little too familiar...


Yes, indeed, I was looking at a second chance for poutine. Poutine Denied! at Canoe, but Pirate was going to offer me my revenge. A chance to give him a first class, 5 Curd review in response to Poutine Denied! Great decor and poutine, too. I ordered it. Dolly-girl was right! This is it! Note to self: Use of This is it! can probably get D'Mestiere Investigations investigated by the estate of Michael Jackson--knock it off.I should have known: Pirate pronounced it "poo-teen."


The Faux Poutine arrived. My excitement faded fast. While the fries were fresh cut and cooked just right--in fact, delicious fries--and the gravy, while likely from a can or mix was tasty--although not salty enough--the curds were--WHAT? Strips of American cheese (wait, I guess that would be Canadian cheese--or would it be? I think Canadians have more taste) had been torn up and laid to rest on the fries and gravy. IMPORTED AMERICAN CHEESE! Strips!



Sorry Pirate,

Fries and Gravy

Good

don't make poutine without curds.


Final Answer: NO SQUEAK? NOT POUTINE! Final score: 0 curds out of 5!

Another Beautiful Noontime in Victoria: Poutine Denied!

When it comes to tying on the feedbag, lunchtime is Dolly-girl's number one favorite time of the day. So, long about 9 in the morning, she's starting to check through her looking-around-Victoria book to see if she can get some skinny on where to fatten up from some tipster that's been to a joint before, with me? "Jack, there's a coupla places we need to eyeball for noontime feedbags. Look, Anna-Maria, look here in this book and see what you think..." The two of us, that would be me and my lovely daughter, pushed our breakfast plates away to see what Dolly-girl was running up the flagpole. "Look here at this place called Canoe, and this other one called Queen Mother's Waterside Cafe, let's go to one of them. Can we, Jack, can we? Is it a good idea?" "Settle down in your pumps there, Dolly-girl, it's still a coupla hours 'til lunchtime and I can do a lot of things, but making the big hand get to the six and the little hand get to the eleven ain't one of them." Dolly-girl likes to get a jomp on the lunch crowd. "OK, OK, I'll be good, but people'll be lining up, I tell you." I noticed her feet were still doing the little happy dance they like to do.



At the crack of 11:30, we were sticking our beans through the door at Queen Mother's, only to find out that, although the sign said "Queen Mother's Waterside Cafe," it was now a land surveyor's joint. "No lunch, here," Dolly-girl muttered, to which Anna-Maria added, "They might share--I saw a couple lunch boxes in there..." I took command. "OK, it's Canoe. They brew their own." Dolly-girl shot me a look through the wave. "That's not a good way to make an important decision, Jack. This is about lunch."



We strolled through the gate, asked the Mister of the house for a three-top, and followed Missy's wave to a nice spot under an umbrella with a view of Trouble's side of the harbour. I could tell from the crew that was headed out to nab terrorists, or maybe patrol for the stray WWII survivors who still harbor ill intentions for the harbour. "Jack, that's a group of whale watchers." Dolly-girl shattered my mental yarn...





We were the third table to be seated--a group of 3 and one of 4 beat us in. "If we hadn't stopped at the Queen Mother's we woulda been..." Anna-Maria reached over and patted her knee. "It's OK, Dolly-girl, it's OK." Little did I know.

Missy was right quick with the whaddayas. "I'll have whatever hops to the table itself." "Gotcha, IPA. Ladies? OK, two blonds. Need sand? I'll be back."


And she was. Pretty quick. The brew was tall and cool and was just what the doctor woulda ordered had the doctor been me. The girls stirred their joe while we finished giving the 3-page whaddaya the twice over. I knew at once what it was going to be for me 'cause right there, in black and white, was poutine!




Kennebec fries! Curds! Brown Beaver ale gravy! Yes!



We ordered up. I was so excited I can't even remember what the girls told Missy to hustle their way. Salad and pizza, I think. I didn't care. Dolly-girl was right--lunch was the best. We did tell Missy to bring us a bowl of yesterday's special and three spoons. That would hold us until it was time to dig into what I was thinking was gonna be a 5-curd delight! Missy came back with the chowder. It was some of the best we'd ever slurped down our hatches. We all gave the nod to that.


Unfortunately, that was the last we saw of Missy for a long time. By now the joint was hoppin'. When she did get up her courage to waltz by our spot, she mentioned that our order was being delayed by a table of 19 that was ahead of us. Hmmm, we were the third table in and by now everyone else was eating, and we were behind a table of 19? And time was running out--We had to meet Dania and Leo Beech at the ferry in a quarter-hour. We packed up. The head guy waved us out--no charge, but no poutine either. So, poutine denied gets no rating. Canoe had charisma, it had charm, it had potential--it coulda been a contender. Instead, it gets a goose-egg for service. If you go to Canoe, take your paddle, you may need to give the kitchen a little encouragement. Better yet, go to the Bug Zoo instead...