the bitch is back

After not drinking at all -- not even tasting and spitting -- since New Year's Eve, I caved.

Can you really blame me?

I went to Ella tonight for work to do a little networking with the sommelier there, and it's kind of difficult to encourage a restaurant to add more Washington wine to its wine list (currently, there are only four selections in a 21-page binder) if you're only drinking water. So naturally I had to order one of the four Washington wines, and it just so happened that the 2004 Quilceda Creek Columbia Valley Cabernet Sauvignon was an option at the unbelievable price of $130. I know $130 for a bottle of wine sounds crazy for the vast majority of people, but normally this bottle -- a Wine Advocate favorite with 98 points -- is in the $250 range, and that's the off-premise price, not the restaurant price. Too good to pass up.

And of course, when the bottle arrived, I had to taste it, especially since the sommelier was totally intrigued by my choice (success!) and complimented me on the "good find" I picked from the list. And then of course, tasting led to sipping. And sipping led to one more glass and maybe even a glass after that, especially since there was steak tartare and beef tenderloin to pair with the wine.

Hence the premature end of Sober January.

Honestly, I'm surprised I made it this far. My job has made Sober January one hell of a challenge. It has been absolute torture to not just attend but host events where this is available ...

... and drink water while everyone else goes on and on about how much they love this wine. I actually started to develop a bad habit of hiding mid-event -- I literally went looking for the secret rooms and alcoves where I could be alone and observe people without feeling like I had to be drinking with them. 

Guess who the creeper on the second floor was?

I also found socializing a lot harder when I was the only person who wasn't drinking. I'd look around, listen to snippets of conversation and realize: Holy shit, I have zero in common with these people, and I kind of really don't want to be here at all.

Thankfully, I somehow always managed to find the triathlete at the party (like Kristin, whom I met here in Sacramento at the Wine Business Monthly Bottle Bash on Tuesday night), and then we talked about Ironman for a long-ass time. (Added bonus: Athletes -- triathletes, runners, anyone who trains for anything basically -- totally understand not drinking and aren't weird about it at all.)

The only Washington winery at Bottle Bash -- and it was awkward when they tried to pour me wine and I said no.

I also got really tired of people thinking I was pregnant. It got to the point where I stopped trying to explain Sober January and just went with: "Don't send gifts. Just send money."

But on the plus side: As a result of Sober January, I've saved a shit-ton of money (all of which I will likely now spend on triathlon stuff). And my training (other than my terrible running) has been nice and steady -- I feel more motivated and awake, and I've made huge strides in the pool. My overall health has improved (fewer late nights, better food choices, a happier belly). However, I didn't lose a bunch of weight -- maybe only 2 lbs. total -- but I think a lot of that is due to putting on more upper body muscle from swimming.

Anyway, the key moving forward (god, I hate that phrase "moving forward" because where else are you supposed to move?) will be balance -- I want to maintain all of the good things I've established over the past 30 days, but also still enjoy wine (and yes, the occasional crazy night out -- I will never grow up, I swear).

So bottoms up -- in moderation, of course.

in sactown

This week, my travels have brought me to Sacramento for the Unified Wine & Grape Symposium.

Confession: I don't associate Sacramento with wine, even though Unified is one of the biggest industry events of the year.

For me, Sacramento is synonymous with CIM. In other words: Extreme weather, hip pain, feelings of despair and the memory of being chilled to the bone and wandering deliriously post-race with no cell phone after my first marathon, looking for my family because my mom had my gear check bag with my warm clothes.

I ended up at this pizza joint, and I begged the guy behind the counter to let me borrow his phone so I could call someone to come get me.

So funny to stumble across it again. It still kind of makes me feel cold inside.

I wish I could say I've progressed leaps and bounds since that painful first CIM, but right now, my running is straight-up laughable. I tried doing an easy run with Derrick tonight, but I couldn't even run a mile without taking a walk break. I knew it was going to be rough to come back from this stress fracture, but I didn't realize just how slow the process was going to be.

But at least there is ramen. Sacramento never disappoints when it comes to bowls of goodness.

(Dear Shoki: I love you.)

a kick-ass roasted chicken

Confession: Because I was vegetarian for a good portion of my life, I never really learned how to cook meat. (Slicing Spam and throwing it into a frying pan does not count.)

So when my co-worker Cayenne shared her roasted chicken recipe with me, I was intrigued. She made it sound so easy: Buy a chicken. Bathe it in butter. Stick it in the oven.

I was scared at first. I had never roasted a whole chicken all by myself. (Yes, there was this chicken, but I mostly just plucked that one and didn't do the cooking.)

But I dove right in and followed everything Cayenne said. And through some kind of miracle, this happened:

And it was the perfect balance of crispy on the outside and juicy on the inside.

I've made this chicken twice now, and both times, it's been awesome. Here's how to do it:

Cayenne's Kick-Ass Roasted Chicken
Prep time: 10 minutes
Cook time: 1.5 hours

1 whole chicken (I buy mine already cleaned out -- no bag of innards)
A few sprigs of fresh rosemary
Salt or seasoned salt for rubbing (I like the Svaneti blend)
1-2 T melted butter (basically enough to cover the entire chicken)

Pre-heat oven to 450 degrees.

Put the chicken in a roasting dish. Stuff the cavity (seriously, that phrase never stops being funny) with the fresh rosemary. Rub the salt or seasoning blend all over the chicken, like you're helping it exfoliate. Then coat the whole bird with melted butter. Go big with this and paint it on like there's no tomorrow. (I'm a fan of using a basting brush.) You can never have too much butter.

Cook the chicken in the oven for 30 minutes at 450 degrees. Lower the heat to 350 degrees, and then cook the chicken for another hour. Remove the chicken from the oven and let it sit for about five minutes before serving.

Note: The best part about this recipe is how it keeps on giving. Save the drippings (another reason all that butter is so awesome) for gravy later. Use the leftover meat for chicken salad and chicken fried rice. And don't throw the bones away! You can turn those into stock and then make even more fantastic things like gluten-free matzo ball soup:

And since you're now saving so much money by eating so many home-cooked meals, you can treat yourself to this:

Mama loves a new toy.

goals for gluttony

It's early in the training cycle. And while I'm doing more swimming than I've ever done in my life, my bike trainer sessions have been easy and my running just barely exists. (Fact: I am so out of running shape that my quads get sore from testing shoes on a treadmill with zero incline. Also, I have yet to run longer than a collective five minutes in a workout. But at least I can run. Recovery is slow, but I'm grateful for it.)

My appetite, however, seems to think I'm in the final countdown for an A-race. This morning, while watching me dump yogurt and granola into a bowl in the breakroom, my co-worker announced: "You eat more than I do, and I'm twice your size."

I'm also already passing out at embarrassingly early hours. Last night I fell asleep on Salad Bar's couch at about, oh, 6:30. And the only reason I woke up was because he said dinner was ready.

If this is me now, just imagine the monster I'll be in six months: Drooling, with really bad hair, wielding a sleeping bag, a fork and a Garmin.

Why is this portion so small?!

And on that note, may I present the Annual List of 10 Places at Which I'd Like to Stuff My Face (and then possibly find a corner to sleep in afterward). As those five of you who actually read this blog know, instead of New Year's resolutions, I prefer to set Goals for Gluttony. You can find my previous attempts at eating my way through the year here, here, here, here, here and here. (Holy crap, I've been a hedonistic asshole for awhile now, haven't I? Also: I'm old.)

As I was saying: The List.

The Book Bindery: I've wanted to go ever since I read this article. And then my chef-triathlete friend had dinner there last month and confirmed it's worthy of the acclaim. And he said they were nice people, too, which is always a plus.

La Carta de Oaxaca: Belle likes it, so I figure I should go or else her dog will punch me in the face again and maybe this time he'll punch harder and I really will get a black eye or my eyeball will just completely fall out and roll across the floor. (Also, I really miss Mexican food.)

Canon: The cocktails are supposed to be nothing short of perfect. And the spirits selection is supposed to be legendary. And Sober January will be over very, very soon. Mama is thirsty.

Finnriver Farm & Cidery: On our first date, Salad Bar took me out for cider (because he found out about my whole no-gluten thing), and this was when I was pretty new to dry ciders and still kind of thought "cider" meant sweet like Hornsby's (which I used to drink by the six-pack in college, no joke), so I told him he could pick a cider for me, and the first cider he picked was the Finnriver Black Currant. (He also pronounced the word "currant" in a funny way, which I thought was endearing.) And my life changed forever. And I've enjoyed many Finnriver ciders since (big fan of the Forest Ginger) and have had many nice times with Salad Bar. So I'd like to go to the place where the cider is actually made. And maybe hug the people there.

Mt. Townsend Creamery: And since the birthplace of the life-changing cider is so close to the birthplace of one of my favorite local cheeses, I propose a full day of pack-it-all-in gluttony.

Monteillet Fromagerie: And speaking of cheese, if you ever see Monteillet goat cheese anywhere, cram it into your mouth immediately. Because it is incredible. And I want to visit the creamery and stay in Kyle MacLachlan's "Twin Peaks"-themed Airstream. (Yes, this exists, and it's only $50 a night.)

Miyabi 45th: Soba paradise. My wheat-sensitive stomach will hate me, but I'll gamble.

The bar at Canlis: Since I can't afford actual Canlis, sitting at the bar is the next best thing. In fact, sitting at the bar may even be better than actual Canlis because the people-watching is supposed to be amazing. I'm told it's like being at the bottom of the stairs when the teenage girl sweeps down in her prom dress. The entertainment potential seems endless.

Ramen Man: The quest to eat as much ramen as possible continues.

Il Corvo: Again, if I'm going to eat wheat, I'm going to go for the best. And Il Corvo's pasta is supposed to be the best.

ouch

Because this city has been completely overtaken by this stuff all weekend ...

... I thought I'd play it safe and not get beat up and take my red-and-gold ass to Belle's house for civilized game-watching with healthy snacks.

(See? We can all be friends!)

And even though the Niners lost (and yes, I was the only Niners fan there), the game was good, and we all had fun watching it (especially the part where Goodwin tried to run the ball and it was amazing and lumbering and hilarious) and eating salad and drinking root beer. (I know, right? We were sober and we ate vegetables! Hardcore.)

And I thought: Wow, football can be nice and polite with no shit-talking, hooray!

And then the dog decided to try to bite me in the face, and now my right eyelid is slightly swollen and my eyeball kind of hurts and I hope I put the ice bag on in time to keep a black eye at bay.

So much for not getting beat up today.

Also: This is why I have cats.