Listen to this Hypochondriac: Get an Annual Physical

Let’s right away identify the elephant in the room. I’m a hypochondriac. At least that’s what Gilda and some of my friends believe, based on all my kvetching about assorted aches, pains and ailments, real and, according to them, imagined. Okay, if that’s how I am to be typecast, so be it.

But to look at me—tall, thin, standing erect, active when I want to be even as I approach my 66th birthday in seven weeks, one would be hard-pressed to think of me as damaged goods. Yet underneath my epidermis danger lurks. I have high blood pressure. I am a diabetic. I have high cholesterol. I have high triglycerides.

I tell you all this not to evoke your sympathy but rather to prompt your attention to the need for annual physicals, especially in light of a recent New York Times Op-Ed piece entitled “Skip Your Annual Physical” (http://www.nytimes.com/2015/01/09/opinion/skip-your-annual-physical.html?smid=nytcore-iphone-share&smprod=nytcore-iphone&_r=0).

Written by Ezekiel J. Emanuel, an oncologist and a vice provost of the University of Pennsylvania, the article implied limited benefit from regular checkups in the absence of compelling symptoms.

Don’t listen to him. Take my conditions, please (sorry, couldn’t resist that small homage to Henny Youngman—if you don’t know who he was, google him). Diabetes. High blood pressure. High cholesterol. High triglycerides. They are all silent invaders. Without routine blood tests of the annual physical they would not have been discovered until debilitating illness or even death might have come knocking at my body. Instead, with the aid of medications, changes in my diet and exercise routine I am able to combat and control the invasions.

Are annual physicals costly? For sure. Do they mostly reveal nothing? Yes. Dr. Emanuel argues a paltry few patients benefit from annual physicals. I am one of them. I have known intelligent, even brilliant, friends who skipped annual physicals and have paid dearly for enabling silent but deadly diseases to fester inside them. 

Consider the alternatives, not in some abstract way. Consider what it would mean to you and your family to know you are healthy or not, and, in the latter case, that you detected your condition early enough to live with it.

Bread Eaten in Secret is Pleasant

You've heard of “death by chocolate”? Well, I think my wife is trying to kill me with another tasty food: Homemade breads. Not the type that come out of a bread machine. Rather, crusty manna she makes from scratch. Last night it was puffy popovers like the ones you get at BLT Steak. Smothered in butter. Yum.

Those who know me and Gilda might be slightly confused. Weren't we, after all, practitioners, acolytes and advocates of the Atkins diet, the regimen that proscribes carbohydrate-laden foods like bread and pasta? True. 

Back in 1998, during our first trip to Prague, I thought Gilda was trying to kill me by suggesting I swear off bread and pastries in favor of eggs, bacon, sausage and as many other meats and proteins as I like. Carbs, she told me, just made me hungry for snacks during the day that my body would convert to sugar. A protein-packed diet would not encourage frequent stops at bakeries. Moreover, the Atkins diet would help reduce and control my cholesterol and triglycerides (don’t ask for the science behind this. It’s like a minus times a minus equals a plus.)

The first breakfast in Prague was anxiety-filled. I had not eaten a breakfast egg for several years. But there I was loading my plate with scrambled eggs, a couple of pieces of bacon and sausage and more than a little bit of wonder, wondering whether Gilda was trying to kill me. 

Some people lose wait with the Atkins diet. I didn’t have to, so I modified it by eating at least one starch, such as potatoes, with one meal. Sure enough, my weight maintained, my blood test numbers improved. But I really missed bread. So did Gilda, who also followed the Atkins diet.

A couple of years ago we started to loosen up. We’d look forward to eating bread when dining out. Gilda wanted to consume less meat, so we added more pasta dinners at home. I retrieved the bread machine we had given to Dan and Allison, but soon lost interest in making bread. Instead, once a week I was bringing home a loaf from Whole Foods for salmon and tuna fish salads.

A few weeks ago Gilda, who despite becoming a fantastic cook never considered herself an expert baker, decided to try her hand at bread. She began with a recipe for no-knead bread. It emerged from a Dutch oven a perfect circle, in the words of Mark Bittman of The New York Times, “to nearly duplicate an artisan bakery loaf, with a crackling crust, open-holed crumb, light texture, and fantastic flavor.” The bread equaled if not surpassed breads served in the best restaurants (here’s a link to the recipe— http://www.nytimes.com/2006/11/08/dining/081mrex.html)

Tonight Gilda said next week she will try baking biscuits. Is there no end to her devilish plan? And yet, as is written in the Book of Job, “Bread eaten in secret is pleasant.”

Nuts to You

Tonight’s poker game at my house has been postponed because of the snow and late scheduling conflicts by three players who previously committed to show up. If I were a vindictive man, I’d name names. But in this time of Mandela inspired forgiveness, I’ll follow Madiba’s example and not hold a grudge.

Which brings me to the real reason behind this post, inspired by the time a few years ago during another hosting of my group’s poker games when a friend got up to get a beer and was stunned by the vast quantity of nuts arrayed across the second shelf of the refrigerator. He joked about our house being inhabited by squirrels. 

Truth is, on that second shelf we have regular almonds and dry roasted almonds, slithered almonds, cashews, pecans, shelled and unshelled pistachios, pine nuts, brazil nuts, sunflower seeds, peanuts, chocolate covered peanuts, and trail mix packs. A true squirrel heaven. We have such a wide array of nuts because most mornings my breakfast consists of almonds and cashews combined with assorted fruit, all smothered in whipped cream. Gilda usually takes dry roasted almonds, brazil nuts and some pecans for snacking during the day. 

You might be scratching your head wondering if we’re eating the wrong stuff, but you wouldn’t be if you read Jane Brody’s column in Tuesday’s NY Times (http://well.blogs.nytimes.com/2013/12/09/snacking-your-way-to-better-health/?ref=health&_r=0). Once considered bad for you, nuts are now a first line of defense against such illnesses as cancer, heart and respiratory disease. 

Despite their high fat content nuts are said to reduce bad cholesterol. They also can lower triglycerides. Unfortunately, I started my nut regimen way after my triglycerides topped the four digit level. They’re under control now, most notably from a changed diet along with a supercharged omega-3 fish oil capsule, Lovaza. You have to be careful with Lovaza, or any fish oil capsule, for that matter. If one of the pills leaks, the others in the bottle are infused with an overwhelming fish smell. That apparently happened with my most recent Lovaza prescription. I couldn’t get the fish oil smell off my hands despite repeated washings with soap and water and a spritz of Purel. It got so bad I had to call the mail order pharmacy to complain. I suspect I wasn’t the first to do so as the pharmacist was quite apologetic and accommodating, agreeing to send out a replacement order ASAP.  

Twinkie Twinkie Stars No More

I wasn’t too distraught to hear Twinkies would no longer be processed by Hostess Brands. But Devil Dogs!!! Now that’s hitting me where it hurts—in my memory bank.

Drake’s Devil Dogs, along with Yankee Doodles and the occasional Ring Ding, were as integral to my first 30 years as wearing socks was. They sustained me, until, that is, my blood sugar levels oozed créme. Growing up, we always had fresh cake from the bakery, marble loafs or seven layer cakes or checkerboard chocolate cakes in the bread drawer or simply out on the dinette table. But for a quick fill me up, nothing came close to a Devil Dog or three-pack of Yankee Doodles. 

I continued this childhood gluttony even after marrying Gilda whose concept of a sweet tooth somehow never reached full development. She tolerated, barely, my sugar-laden eating habits which included a breakfast of Devil Dog with, not being a coffee or tea drinker, 6-8 ounces of Coca-Cola. My 10 am snack in the newsroom was another Coke and a Baby Ruth bar. Even after my triglycerides topped 1,100 I didn’t forsake my sweets. I’d drink Coke in front of our children. They were not allowed to imbibe any. Gilda told them, “Daddy has an addiction.” It worked. To this day, Dan and Ellie rarely drink sodas. But I did, until my internist demanded I change my eating and drinking regimen some 25 years ago. I now drink Diet Coke or Crystal Light lemonade. I haven’t had a Devil Dog in decades. Or a Yankee Doodle. Perhaps that’s why Hostess, which bought Drake some years ago, hasn’t maximized sales.

Twinkies? I think I might have sampled them two or three times. They really tasted ... tasteless. I never could understand other people’s fascination with them. Maybe it was their “white bread” sheen, so sterile within the plastic wrapping. Devil Dogs and Yankee Doodles came out of Philadelphia-based Drake, urban, ethnic, mixed races. Twinkies was middle America—white on white. It was like mayonnaise on a white bread pastrami sandwich. Don’t cringe or laugh—that’s how airlines served deli sandwiches 30 years ago. At least they left the crust on the bread. Twinkies had nothing to sink your teeth into. Just air. And créme.

Financial watchers expect the equity bankers who own Hostess to sell off several brands, including Twinkies, to recoup some of their losses. I hope someone buys the rights to produce Devil Dogs and Yankee Doodles. Even though I won’t buy any, it would be comforting to know part of my childhood and young adulthood lives on.

There have been many articles commemorating the 82-year rise and fall of Twinkies. Here’s one I particularly enjoyed:

http://m.apnews.com/ap/db_289563/contentdetail.htm?contentguid=vaA0rt0p

More Summer Musings

How Did They Know? How did the brain trust at Modern Baking magazine know to send me an online subscription solicitation? I hadn’t baked bread in more than 15 years but had just recently taken up the practice. Two breads down and lo and behold, the subscription solicitation arrives in my email inbox, even before my planned blog on my new pursuit. Big Brother is definitely watching. Maybe Modern Baking has access to my supermarket purchases. The honchos there would have seen my purchases of flour, yeast, non fat dry milk and deduced I was baking up a storm.

I stopped baking bread when I started following the Atkins diet of no or reduced carbohydrates. I didn’t do it to lose weight, but rather to control my triglycerides and cholesterol. They’re much better now, thank you, so I dusted off the Welbilt bread machine and began mixing the ingredients several times a week before going to bed. The smell of fresh cooked whole wheat bread permeating the house is quite stimulating in the morning. 

But it also can be enlarging. Aside from the bread, I haven’t changed my eating habits over the last fortnight, so I’m left with bread as the reason I’ve added a few not-so-well-placed pounds. Less than two weeks till Ellie’s wedding, so I think I might resist making any more bread for a while.

Early Bird Special: Today I might have officially become a retired senior citizen. To lose those few pounds around my waist, I not only unplugged the bread machine but also decided to forego eating carbs. No bread. No cereal. No chips. No rice. No pasta. No potatoes. No pizza. Lots of hunger. 

By 4 pm today I was in deep need of an early bird special dinner. As Gilda had an evening appointment, I was on my own, which meant I could attack the leftover chicken scarpiello at my whim. My whim meant 5 o’clock. After polishing off a double portion (even with some potatoes), I was still hungry, so I ate some almonds and cashews. I’m still hungry. How will I make it to a normal bed time? What’s more, when I go to bed hungry I tend to hallucinate. I’m not optimistic about this diet. I’m not optimistic about really getting older and becoming a devotee of early bird specials. I hope my daughter appreciates the extreme sacrifice I am making for her.

Bird’s Eye View: Driving home last Thursday night from the theater (an enthralling production of Dogfight at Second Stage, highly recommended), I saw a column of scaffolding rising at the end of 8th Avenue. I knew it wasn’t a new Apple store popping up. I assumed good ol’ Christopher Columbus’ statue at his eponymous circle was in need of some pointing or other minor repair. 

I was wrong. As the accompanying article reveals, ordinary citizens will get to see what previously only New York’s pigeons could appreciate—face to face encounters with the Great Navigator (http://www.nytimes.com/2012/08/13/arts/design/in-columbus-circle-tatzu-nishi-to-build-living-room.html?_r=1). 

Cosmo Girl: Yesterday I finally finished an article from the the week prior’s New York Times Sunday magazine on the international proliferation of Cosmopolitan. Today, news came its signature editor, Helen Gurley Brown, died. 

Here’s one incomparable line from her obituary on The Times Web site: “She was 90, though parts of her were considerably younger.”  (To read the rest of the obit click this link: http://www.nytimes.com/2012/08/14/business/media/helen-gurley-brown-who-gave-cosmopolitan-its-purr-is-dead-at-90.html?pagewanted=1&ref=arts)  

Youthful Enthusiasm: In Paul Ryan’s introductory remarks with Mitt Romney Sunday aboard the USS Wisconsin, the Republican vice presidential hopeful delivered some good and bad news. He started with the bad news—Barack Obama was still president. Then he went on to say the good news was “on November 6 he won’t be any longer.” 

Maybe it was the excitement of the moment, but for the record, regardless of who wins the November election, Obama’s first term as president of the United States will not end until around noon on January 20, 2013.  

Softball Update: I’m a bad student of the game. I haven’t learned my lesson—when pitching, don’t let the other team hit the ball directly at your fielders!

We lost again yesterday, another blowout, 11-1, to a team that began the day with the same 3-10 record. Thirteen errors in the first six innings of a seven inning game. I think they had six legitimate hits. I don’t like losing, but I really hate giving a game away. I’m also embarrassed to say I lost my cool after the fourth or fifth error in the second inning. I apologized to the player I criticized, but the damage was done. They’re trying, but from my vantage, they’re really trying my fortitude. 

Twinkies and Other Food Tidbits

Gilda thought I’d be devastated. She told me Hostess, the maker of Twinkies and other soft confectionaries, filed for Chapter 11 bankruptcy protection. So kind of her to be concerned for my culinary welfare, but no, sweetheart, I have no fondness for Twinkies, I replied. My cravings are for Drake’s Devil Dogs, or Yankee Doodles, and the occasional Ring Ding. No my sweet, Hostess filing a second bankruptcy petition just three years after emerging from similar protection was no reason on my part to be alarmed.

Of course, that was before I read the newspaper article and discovered Hostess owns Drake’s and has for more than a dozen years. I plead ignorance because I haven’t eaten a Devil Dog, Ring Ding or Yankee Doodle in more than 15 years.

I wasn’t always a snack food snob. Back in my 20s, I consumed Drake’s products daily. My routine before embarking on my morning police department checks in Derby and Seymour, Conn., was a breakfast that included a Devil Dog or three-pack of Yankee Doodles. By 10 am in the New Haven office, I’d take a Coca-Cola and Baby Ruth break. I had another Coke at lunch and at least another one with dinner. That’s at least three sugar-packed Cokes each day, though Gilda would tell you I sometimes started the morning off with another one at breakfast as I don’t drink coffee except on rare occasions. It was no surprise then that by my mid-30s my triglycerides had zoomed past the 1,000 mark (less than 200 is considered healthy). They’re under control now, but at the cost of giving up almost all sweets, including Drake’s cakes. I’ve learned to even enjoy Diet Coke.

Growing up in Brooklyn, my family usually stocked the cupboard with cakes from the Polish bakery two blocks away. Marble cake, seven layer cake, checkerboard cake, cherry, blueberry, and custard danishes. You could always find a piece of cake on our dinette table. My parents, especially my father, enjoyed a piece of cake with his coffee each night. Our children always knew when my parents were coming to visit by the sudden appearance of cake in our house.

I really miss not snacking on cake. It really pains me when we have to dump leftover cakes we put out for dinner parties we host. I inherited my father’s desire for cake. But I also inherited my mother’s inability to cope with too much sugar.


Fish & Chips: CBS Sunday Morning ran an interesting piece on the quintessential British fast food, fish & chips, which recently celebrated its 150th anniversary as a pillar of the English diet.

Surprised me that fish & chips is so young a dietary staple of the mother country. Even more surprising was the belief that a Jewish fishmonger was responsible for at least the introduction to the English menu of the fried fish component (http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/8419026.stm). Gee, I always though gefilte fish was the extent of Jewish influence on seafood cuisine.


Princes of the Fisherman: Please don’t take this the wrong way, no sacrilege is intended, but I was amused the other day when a reporter asked New York Archbishop Timothy Dolan if he was doing anything special before his investiture as one of the 22 newly named cardinals by Pope Benedict XVI. He replied he was trying to lose weight to get into his new uniform.

Which made me wonder, why is it that so many religious leaders, of all denominations, are, shall we say, more corpulent than one would expect from religious orders that cherish not only piety but a certain amount of asceticism that would preclude the over-indulgence of food?

Just asking...