NOTE: Last month’s column was about my weight problem. I’m happy to report that I lost seven and a half pounds in 30 days by cutting out most fats except for olive oil and getting three good workouts at the gym each week. I’ve also been bicycling around the island with Chef Espy from the Hunter House. That’s quite a workout in itself. I have 41 more pounds to go before I hit my target. I’ll keep you posted.

PNS

Several weeks ago on Tuesday I’d been to Savannah on business when I stopped for lunch at Jalapenos on Whitmarsh Island. The first course is always chips and salsa and it’s always excellent. But after the first chip a vile, bitter-metallic taste came to both sides of the back of my tongue. The sweet tea washed most of the bad taste away but the second chip brought it right back. I thought the cook must have been having a bad day or maybe the grease they fried the chips in had gone rancid. Then came the entrée which was the chicken and mushrooms in cream sauce that I love. Again, when the chicken hit the back of my mouth, that bitter taste came on so strongly that it overpowered the chicken and I couldn’t finish my meal. Then I knew the cook was not the one with the problem. I’d recently been sick with a head cold that ended up in my chest and took a month to get rid of. Maybe it had something to do with that I thought. Or maybe I was coming down with something else.

I came home and told wife Veronica what had happened then I didn’t think much more about it until supper time when I was reminded again. I was hungry because I didn’t eat my lunch and I was looking forward to the spaghetti with shrimp and marinara I’d made the day before. As soon as I started eating the bad taste was again on the back of my tongue as bitter as bile. Now really concerned I went to my computer and Googled “bitter taste in my mouth.” My research returned several possible causes i.e. acute mercury inhalation, necrotizing ulcerative gingivitis, anchovy poisoning, chemical poisoning, and oral cancer just to name a few. I didn’t think I suffered from any of those conditions so I was still at a loss. Maybe I’d finally succeeded in destroying my liver I thought. Perplexed I went back into the living room where Veronica was talking on the phone with daughter Christy. To Veronica’s surprise Christy had been experiencing the same trouble which for her started that morning at breakfast. Too curious I thought.

Being a part time amateur physician Veronica went to her computer and diagnosed us both with having post nasal drip. “Yea, sure,” I said to her. “Just like the time you diagnosed me with having gout.” She’d been wrong before. But she did discover something that sounded somewhat plausible even though it was far fetched. Lots of people, it seemed, were experiencing the problem a couple of days after eating pine nuts from China. Christy had Sunday dinner with us two days before—and we ate pine nuts with a broccoli dish. Misery loves company and I was relieved to learn I was not alone. But I remained skeptical about the pine nuts. Veronica, however, was convinced when she stumbled onto pinchmysalt.com and learned just how wide spread the malady had become. PNS (pine nut syndrome) she discovered was being experienced by thousands of folks all over the world. For the next seven days I suffered with it. Then on the eighth morning it was gone. I’d spent more than a miserable week with every bite of food tasting like a green persimmon. At last I could enjoy my food again, for a little while anyway.

Pine nuts, also known as pignoli, are edible seeds from the cones of certain pine trees. They are ivory colored with a sweet buttery flavor and best known for their use in pesto. Since Mediterranean cuisine has become more prevalent here in the states pine nuts are being consumed more and more. We’ve been using them for years and never had a problem. And being ever skeptical about Veronica’s medical skills I was still not convinced my trouble was caused by pine nuts. So, fool that I am, I bought another brand of pine nuts and popped a couple of hands full into my mouth. Sure enough, two days later, it was back with a vengeance. This time it lasted nine days before it finally dissipated. And that time will be the last time.

Veronica, as she is wont to do, went on a crusade to get the word out about PNS. She contacted the FDA several times and now we are told they are conducting a Class I investigation. From now own if a recipe calls for pine nuts we’ll be using almonds instead. They’re a lot cheaper too. But if you’re a skeptic with an adventurous spirit, and money is not an issue, you can buy a pound of pine nuts at Fresh Market for $26.99 plus tax.

Billy

Billy Doniel is a published author and a gourmet cook. He and wife Veronica live on Tybee year round. You may contact Billy at theplumbline@comcast.net

FAT BOY BILLY

“Three months lumpy,” said the doctor. “That’s how long you’ve got to do somethin’ about your LDL cholesterol or you’ll be swallowin’ another expensive pill every mornin’. Your good cholesterol is phenominal. But the bad stuff will kill you.” Today, 18 January 2010 I began my fourth attempt at meaningful weight loss. I know you girls don’t much like to talk about your weight. “Vanity of vanities; all is vanity.” But I don’t care. So I’ll cut to the chase:

Age- 56
Sex- Male
Weight- 213.8
Height- 5’- 8”
LDL cholesterol- 130
HDL cholesterol- 89
Chest- 46
Waist- 48
Hips- 46
Bra size- 46 AAA

Most of the bad things that happened to me over the years were of my own doing. Some folks have medical conditions that cause their weight problems and they need to be given some slack. Not me. I am a fat boy because I chose to be a fat boy. I don’t have a disease, I am not a victim, and I wasn’t born that way. To evoke Invictus, “I am the master of my fate; I am the captain of my soul.”

I was a pudgy kid when I was small. By the time I turned 10 I was skinny and I stayed that way a long time. When I was 13 years old I thought I could impress the girls if I was heavier and maybe had some muscles. So I started lifting weights and ordered a box of “super weight-on wafers” I’d read about in a muscleman magazine. Every morning I’d drink a quart of chocolate milk and eat two packages of chocolate-covered cream-filled cup cakes. Lunch was usually fried chicken or something equally good for me (To see young Fat Boy Billy, Google “Bacon Is Good For Me” and watch the video) and usually followed by half a carton of ice cream. Supper was no different. And then came the late night snack. We had plenty to eat because my grandfather owned Bateman Food Stores in Macon. But nothing worked. The only thing I gained was a pimply face. I was a skinny kid until I was about forty-seven years old and my metabolism slowed appreciably. Then, in the words of my old friend Bill Sutlive, I had “filled out nicely.”

My first attempt at weight loss was in 2003 using the Adkins diet. That worked great until my penchant for pasta overwhelmed me and I decided to have a big plate of lasagna. My second try was 16 February 2004 when I weighed a mere 198. I bought a spiral note book, taped a profile of me and my fat belly on the inside cover, and started a calorie log. I’ve ultimately succeeded at most everything I’ve set my mind to do. Seven years ago I quit my three-pack a day cigarette habit—no pills, no patches, no gum. I just stopped smoking. I did because I decided to. I’d made half-hearted attempts several times before, but until I made up my mind and really decided, it was never going to happen. If I’m ever advised that I have a terminal illness I’ll start smoking again because I like it but that will be my choice. I am not addicted to nicotine. I am not a victim. I am the master of my fate; I am the captain of my soul. But resolving to rein in my unhealthy eating habits has proven to be more difficult than giving up smoking.

That day in February I consumed 1408 calories. I’d decided to keep my daily calorie intake below 1500. I bought “The Complete Book Of Food Counts” by Corinne T. Netzer to help me plan my meals. I liked my diet because I could eat whatever I pleased, in moderation of course. And it worked. On 17 March I weighed 179; in one month I’d lost 19 pounds. I rewarded myself by going to The Sugarshack and having a banana split. Thus began my upward spiral and by April I was back to 184.5. By 6 February 2006 I’d happily eaten my way to the pinnacle of my obesity. I weighed 215.5. Wife Veronica took another profile shot and I compared it to the one taped to the notebook. Not much difference there, I thought, just a little more gray in the beard and a little less hair on the head. I begrudgingly taped the new photo much difference there, I thought, just a little more gray in the beard and a little less hair on the head. I begrudgingly taped the new photo on the page next to the last log entry and so began my third attempt. It didn’t take long before I’d perpetrated another miserable failure.

So today I began my current endeavor by getting out my Fat Boy Log Book and making the beginning entry. Yesterday was Sunday. Gary and Sue Bentley came for lunch and to enjoy with us my last fat-laden meal I plan to eat for the foreseeable future. I have the original recipe for Fettuccine Alfredo and I decided to try it out on the Bentleys. The dish was created in Italy around the turn of the last century by restaurateur Alfredo Di Lelio and involves a pound of fettuccini, a half pound of butter and a half pound of Parmigiano Reggiano cheese. We also had chicken with asparagus sauce which includes a pint of heavy cream reduced to a half cup.

As I was taking my last bite of fettuccini a pain hit me in the lower abdomen that was so intense I thought I would faint. The next several hours found me in the bathroom with a cold towel on my forehead. Much of that time was spent writhing around on the floor in a cold sweat praying for mercy. I guess I went into fat overload and my body was trying to tell me something about healthy eating. I was unable to attend the first annual Tybee Times party that night because of my indiscretion. This time around I’m not going on a strict low calorie regimen. I’ll just try to lay off the fat and sugar so much and start a regular exercise program. Maybe it’ll work. Maybe the fourth time is a charm. I’ll keep you posted.

Bill

Cotton Harrison’s Camp and Chief Kickapoo Stew
1962, like all years I guess, was a mixed bag. To quote Mister Dickens “It was the best of times; it was the worst of times.” And for a wide-eyed nine year old boy growing up in Macon, Georgia, the times were explosive: The first James Bond movie “Dr. No” hit the big screen and “The Beverly Hillbillies” hit the little one. Elvis sang “Can’t Help Falling In Love” and Neil Sedaka crooned “Breaking Up Is Hard To Do.” NASA launched Telstar, the world’s first commercial communications satellite, and Lt. Col. John H. Glenn was the first man to orbit the earth. Sunny Liston and Floyd Patterson fought for the Heavy-weight Championship Of The World and Marilyn Monroe died of a drug overdose. Soviet Premier Nikita Krushchev decided it was a good idea to deploy ballistic missiles in Cuba, taking us to the brink of nuclear war, and I got to go to summer camp.

It was 1948 when Mercer University athletic coach Cotton Harrison founded his camp for boys on the outskirts of Macon. Some years later girls cabins were added and the camp went co-ed. Cotton and his family lived in the main lodge that doubled as the dining hall for campers and staff. There were four boy’s cabins where kids were housed according to their age and two girls cabins, one larger than the rest, sleeping up to twenty. There was a spring fed three-acre lake with a sandy bottom where many children learned to swim. Up on the hill Cotton had constructed a huge open shed for arts and crafts and for shelter on rainy days. We campers could choose from a host of activities including horseback riding, archery, riflery, swimming, golf, tennis, nature studies, and arts and crafts. We fished, played horseshoes, badminton, and capture the flag. And we had all sorts of night-time activities. Kids and counselors would entertain each other with skits on stunt night and on Other nights we went trail riding on the horses and on real hot nights everyone would go swimming. “We tried to give the campers more than they paid for,” says Linda Harrison Cox, Cotton’s daughter and former camp counselor. “Every child got to ride a horse everyday and we didn’t charge extra for it.”

When the dinner bell rang we’d all head to the lodge for a meal you wouldn’t expect at a camp for kids. Before we sat down, Cotton, Mrs. Harrison, or one of the counselors led us in singing “Praise God From Whom All Blessings Flow.” And Sunday morning we’d have Sunday school. Mrs. Mattie Lee Moore was the head cook and boy could she ever whip up a fine plate of vittles. She’d make meat loaf smothered in her special tomato sauce, chicken pie, homemade rolls, and a birthday cake for any child who had a birthday during camp. For the children who’d hunted berries the night before she’d make pies. And if you caught a fish she’d fry it up for you. Our iced tea came in tin cups and you could have your fill of food and drink—as much as you wanted. But everyone’s favorite was Chief Kickapoo Stew.

Once every session Cotton stood before the assembly at supper time and wove his tale about the meal we were going to have. He had an imposing stature. He sat tall in the saddle and stood tall before the boys and girls who revered him for the forthright and pious man we knew him to be. He was long and lean with a ruddy complexion and a shock of white hair. His smile told he cared for us, and in the best of ways, that smile said we were family. His eyes narrowed as he verbally painted his Indian friend and blood-brother Chief Kickapoo who lived somewhere in the woods nearby. Earlier that day, said Cotton, the Chief gave him a bag of game he’d hunted and killed. There was some raccoon, a rabbit, a piece of deer meat, and a rattlesnake in that bag and Cotton gave it to Mattie to make the stew. Every eye trained on Cotton and the only sound you heard was his voice as we sat mesmerized at the prospect. And the stew was wonderful—like nothing you’d ever tasted.

Several years back my wife Veronica moved her church membership to Chapel By The Sea here on Tybee. One day after church she came home and said she’d “met the nicest lady from Macon named Linda Cox.” Linda moved to Tybee with husband Jay in 1980 and taught school here at St. Michaels many years. I’d often spoke with Veronica about my three great summers at Cotton Harrison’s Camp but it took a while for her to make the connection. When she realized Linda was Cotton’s daughter, and then told me, I was elated. After nearly fifty-years I would reconnect with my old friend and mentor. I guess the first thing I asked Linda was if she knew how to make Chief Kickapoo Stew. She gave a sly look and smiled. “Yes I do,” she said. “But it’s not going to taste like you remember. You won’t
like it.”

The recipe called for one onion, one green bell pepper, two pounds of ground beef, two cans condensed vegetable soup, salt and pepper. It didn’t sound like much of a recipe to me but my next stop was Tybee Market. Much to my chagrin Linda was right. The stuff was the antithesis of what I’d remembered nearly half a century. Why was it so good back then and so bad now? “It’s because of Daddy,” she said. “He just made it seem so exotic and so wonderful with his story. But you didn’t know what was really in it. It wasn’t really exotic or wonderful at all.”
Well, here’s my take on Chief Kickapoo Stew that’s as good as the memory I’ve carried all these years.

(Editor’s comment: Billy’s recipe is written out in detail below – please, try it and let us know how you like it!)

RECIPE for “CHIEF KICKAPOO STEW”
(Revisited)

4 chicken leg quarters, about three and a half pounds
1 pound chopped smoked pork (from your favorite barbeque joint,  or make your own, no sauce)
1 ½ pounds very lean ground beef
3 ½ cups chopped onion
2 -1 pound cans creamed sweet corn
1 -1 pound can whole kernel sweet corn
2 -14 ½ oz. cans diced tomatoes with juice
1 -14 oz. bottle ketchup
3 teaspoons salt
1 teaspoon black pepper
¼ teaspoon cayenne pepper
½ teaspoon Tabasco sauce
1 tablespoon Worcestershire sauce

Put the chicken in a pot and cover it with 1 inch of cold water. Bring to a boil and boil gently for ten minutes. Take the pot off heat and let stand forty-five minutes. Remove the chicken from the pot and reserve four cups of the stock.

Pour the stock into a large, heavy pot (not aluminum.) Place the onion and ground beef in the stock and bring it to the boil, breaking up the beef as you go. Turn down the heat and simmer until the meat is no longer pink.

Meanwhile when the chicken is cool enough to handle, remove it from the bone, discard the skin, and chop. You can use a food processor but don’t over process. Add the chopped chicken and pork to the pot. Add all other ingredients. Bring to a boil, reduce the heat to very low and simmer an hour or so. Adjust seasonings. Stir frequently because this stew burns easily. It freezes well.

Bon appetit!
Billy

Billy Doniel is a published author and a gourmet cook. He and wife Veronica live on Tybee year round. You may contact Billy at theplumbline@comcast.net