Pounds For Chemo

Well, today is the big day. I have decided to embark on a twelve week challenge with some lovely ladies I met over the course of the past year. A challenge of what, you ask? Losing weight, of course! What else could an over weight woman such as myself possibly compete in? The challenge is fairly informal. We are simply a group of women competing to see who can make the most impressive transformation in her physique over the course of 12 weeks. At the end of the challenge, the winner is chosen by vote from a group of fellow clean eaters. That winner not only gets bragging rights, but also has the pleasure of selecting a charity to which the “losers” must each donate $20. The charity I have chosen is St. Jude. I admire the fact that they never turn a child away from cancer treatment, regardless of a family’s inability to cover the expenses. I could not think of a more deserving cause to donate to, and I am really hoping I can pull through for those babies. On the side, I have also been able to convince a few co workers to pledge money for each pound that I lose. The highest pledge so far is $5 per pound. When I say that out loud, it makes me feel like an expensive piece of poultry.
My day so far has gone as well as anyone could expect from a woman who has never been fit in her life. I packed too little food, drudged through my 30 minute elliptical workout, and I am now suffering from a hypoglycemia-induced headache. People will always say:” You didn’t put the weight on overnight, so you can’t possibly expect it to come off that quickly.” And I get that. I am not looking to lose 10 pounds in 48 hours by eating cookies and drinking laxative juice. I want to eat well, work out, and enjoy the challenge. But it isn’t so enjoyable to me right now as I sit here waiting for Advil to kick in. Perhaps I was a little overzealous in the gym. It’s difficult not to be. I am terrified of failing. I have to report my weight and measurements weekly, and I am sure a week without a change will probably devastate me to the point of quitting.
To anyone reading this blog (and I am pretty sure no one is, but just in case), feel free to join my cause. I will report the changes in my weight and measurements regularly. At the end of these 12 weeks, you can make a donation based on the amount per pound that you pledge. A fellow contestant gave me some information on the American Cancer Society that I was not aware of previously, so I am asking that you make a choice between the two organizations. Of course, I am still pulling for St. Jude, but the American Cancer Society’s contribution to cancer research is pretty darned impressive, so I can’t leave them out. When the time comes, I will post the addresses to which you can mail checks, as well as the websites that you can visit to make your donations via credit or debit card. Until then, I am out of here. Never eat chili from a vending machine. The gastrointestinal effects can be extremely unpleasant. Oh, well. You have to make mistakes in order to learn from them, right? Tune in next time for more tips on how not to be successful in a 12 week challenge.

Man 1, Food 0

Coming from a place whose diversity in food offerings is as wide as can possibly be, I found Orlando’s dining scene to be a terrible disappointment. Of course, there is always someone who raves about how “you just have to try pizza at such and such a place, it’s just like New York style pizza”, but I stopped getting my hopes up. No, there is no New York style pizza here in Orlando. The Italian food all seems to revolve around canned tomato paste. And don’t even get me started on French cuisine. I can’t tell you what I wouldn’t give for a croissant that wasn’t purchased in bulk at Sam’s Club and then passed off as homemade. Thankfully, there are a few places worthy of a repeat visit. One of those places I discovered on the last day of 2009 was Toojay’s Deli.

I believe in giving credit where credit is due and let me tell you, Toojays earned my utmost respect last Thursday. My husband and I had an afternoon to spend without children, so we decided to stop in for lunch. The atmosphere was nothing fancy. Each wall was lined with decent sized booths and a row of tables was arranged in the middle of the floor. We were seated at a table by a waitress I later found out was from Long Island. I opened up the menu and was impressed by the selections, but was hesitant that this establishment could deliver on the promises it made in the descriptions of each dish. I was in the mood for something sandwich-y, so I ordered a bagel with lox and cream cheese. I figured there was no way to screw up something as simple as lox. My husband was intrigued by a sandwich known as the Jay-normous, which boasted one and a half pounds of corned beef and pastrami. I snickered to myself when he actually placed the order for it, knowing we would end up bringing home something to feed to the birds. The manager came over and paid his respects to the man brave enough to attempt consumption of the largest sandwich they made. He was friendly, asking if we were from New York. Apparently my order gave me away.

My bagel arrived the way it would from a true deli: lightly toasted with red onion, tomato, and lettuce on the side, accompanied by a fresh fruit salad. I began to let my guard down a bit. The last time I had lox was at a Jewish deli in Buffalo. My Toojays bagel unexpectedly gave it a run for its money. When the server placed my husband’s plate in front of him, the gasps around the room were audible. This monster of a sandwich truly did contain the meat that the menu promised it would. The corned beef and pastrami were layered neatly between two hand-cut slices of rye bread. Each half was held together by a steak knife, for surely no toothpick was up to the task. Hubby licked his lips as he prepared for the epic battle of man versus food. He offered me a slice of pastrami before he got started. I closed my eyes and could imagine myself at Buffalo’s Golden Corner, the last place I enjoyed a slice of deli meat so intensely. Much to my surprise, my husband finished the sandwich along with its accompaniments of coleslaw and steak fries in 10 minutes. He never even bothered to ask for mayo, it was just that flavorful. He was disappointed to find that there was no free t-shirt or bumper sticker for his victory, but raved about the sandwich to the manager, who offered to buy our dessert. My banana cake arrived on a chilled plate garnished with swirls of chocolate and caramel sauce. The cake was filled with layers of banana cream and topped with a ganache frosting. Hubby’s Killer Chocolate arrived in a similar manner, topped with freshly homemade whipped cream. I was so head over heals in love at this point, that I would have been willing to sign a contract promising never to visit another deli in the city.

We gratefully paid our bill and left a generous tip for the server, vowing to come back as soon as possible. For the hour that I sat in Toojays, I forgot that I was in Orlando. I underestimated their ability to deliver culinary greatness, and was proven wrong a thousand times over. I am still on a quest for an edible plate of lasagna, but my search for a quality sandwich has ended.