maggiethecat

Would it help if I said it was hellish for three weeks and THEN it was amazingly easy? I'm not saying I was never tempted again. Heck I even smoked a cigarette or two a few years later (and it made me dizzy and nauseated, so I didn't do it again). But after those initial three weeks, it became doable. I had to relearn what to do with my smoking hand when I was on the phone (cigarette and the phone go together very well), after a meal (perfect time to smoke, no?), while putting off the next thing on my list (yeah, I'll do it after this cigarette), while having a drink (alcohol, soda, it all required a cig), first thing in the morning. Etc., etc., etc. Really, I know you're suffering. I know it's painful, and terrible and hard. But you can do it!!!! ← Yes, Patti, that might help. A little. Maybe. I love your list of things the smoking hand has to forget, then relearn, especially the fun it was to put something off until after the smoke was finished. I was back to the job, back to the cold and got hit with a few very unpleasant things at work. I ate half a pound of carrot sticks and twenty sugar-free Lifesavers, but man, I missed my drive-home-from-work smoke! I pulled out a yoga tape from sheer desperation, because I could feel myself melting down. It helped. A lot. I'm stuffing peppers for dinner, and preparing to pull out needle and thread and replace every missing button on every garment in the house. (For the first time ever, as a project at least!) And I think I've earned a martini. Welcome to the party, Toasted. Dave, you OK, Babe? Brooks? Matt? Susan and Marlene: Group hug?

My daily check-in. Four hours in the air, 80 degrees in LA, 28 in Chicago. A martini with the smoker and I didn't smoke. That was hard, but I survived. Haven't had a cigarette in five days. I got tremendous support in LA: "Margaret, you're doing Great!" from recent quitter son-in-law. "Mom, I'm soooo proud of you! You haven't acted crabby -- I almost forgot you were a smoker! You are a really stong woman" and other really heartwarming stuff. I can almost, almost see a future as a non-smoker. A peaceful, productive non-smoker -- in my dreams! Daughter came home for lunch and made me a turkey/cheddar panini and a microgreen/citrus salad for lunch. A good homemade burger and a glass of wine for dinner. It's back to the grind tomorrow. Send me strengthening waves, please, as I'm transmitting right now to Marlene, Susan and Dave. And Matt and Brooks.

Good Morning, fellow-travellers -- the dawn of my fifth day of being a non-smoker. It's also the day I leave sunny Los Angeles and get a plane back to job, cold weather, and a smoking spouse. Reality. Marlene: I'm really interested in what effect the hypnotist will have; I know you'll keep us posted. Off to pack. Good luck to us all today, and let's ease up on the guilt. We're really trying hard and accomplishing much!

Marlene, Susan and Dave: If I weren't still so full from quail salad, tournedos, and berry tart at the Ranch House in magical Ojai, CA, (it was Shangri-La in "Lost Horizon) I would lick the screen. My friends, you have done some beautiful, serious cooking. Haven't had a cigarette. Yet.

Day three dawns, and I haven't had a cigarette. Getting outta Dodge and quitting outside my real life was a good move I think: hopefully by the time I go home I'll have even more confidence and resolve. I try to compare it to a really bad romantic experience: the person who's promised you all that joy, a lifetime of fidelity. etc. tells you he or she has decided to kick you to the curb. The pain is severe, but eventually you train yourself not to think of the creep, and when you do, with loathing, not longing. My daughter insists that quitting smoking is a head game and she's right. At about five o'clock I get depressed and get a short , sharp, painful craving. I remind myself that I got through it yesterday, so I will today. I have been spotted sniffing the inside of my purse, the receptacle of five years worth of cigarettes. Tobacco doesn't smell bad to me yet, folks. I'm pathetic, but it works for a minute or two. I've been eating well, but I don't think that I've eaten more than usual. Coffee for breakfast, lunch in Culver City, at teatime, some amazing macarons from a bakery called Boule on La Cienega north of the Beverley Center. We decided to go to a movie tonight -- distraction is another good idea -- so we hit the Trader Joe's at Third and La Brea and bought every pate, cheese and bottle of wine that caught our fancy. This took awhile folks. In my experience, this TJs is always a zoo, but at six o'clock on a Friday night? Cheerful bedlam! I'm enjoying checking in. Keep up the good work, and bon courage to us all!

We had to head off to Culver City before you'd had time to reply to my plea, but we did hit one of the places on your list: Bistro de L'Hermitage. The high point was the whole steamed artichoke starter, which is kind of sad. My magret salad was short on the magret, my pan-fried sanddabs were likely frozen tilapia, and my daughter's lamb stew was tasty, but miniscule in portion size. The service was pleasant, but my daughter was half-way through her artichoke before I had a chance to remind the waitress that she's forgotten my salad. Two kir royales, no coffee or dessert, tax and tip, a hundred bucks. Most of us cook this stuff better at home, trust me. But, it wasn't teribble, and we had fun sitting outside and chatting about the next place Honor had planned on my tour: Surfas! Hands down, the best cooking supply/fooderie combo shop I've every been to, and I've hit many the restaurant supply joint in many the town. Surfas is a treasure. On the way out of town my daughter pointed out Versailles and sang its praises. I'll be heading back to Culver City next trip -- more galleries to visit, Versailles on the list, and a pilgrimage to Surfas. Thanks guys, for all your suggestions. We're off to Ojai tomorrow. Does anyone have a favorite restaurant there?

Daughter and I will be checking out the gallery scene in Culver City in a few hours. She's got a couple of lunch recs from a co-worker at the LA Phil, but hey! I'm signed onto eGullet, the best on-the-fly source of resto info around. What's good in Culver City?

Courage, mes amis! Maybe it was the patch, maybe the change of scene, but I made it through yesterday smoke-free. But there were so many little rituals I missed, chief among them the great hit of a cigarette after a four hour flight (spent surrounded by the Chambre de Commerce of Aix-en-Provence. I was their informal translator by the chance of seat selection!) Medicure, pedicure, did lunch, walked and walked and walked. Considered mugging a little old lady for her Virginia Slim. Felt terminially depressed, went back to my daughter's apartment and grabbed a nap. When she returned from work we each had a couple of fingers of Woodford Reserve and headed to out on Sunset for some amazing Mexican. Of course, I am lucky in having what amounts to a personal trainer/shrink/one -woman rooting section attached by the hip. Honor has been incredible--when she says "I'm so proud of you Mom. You'll see, it will get better! -- I can almost believe her! I'm having my wakeup cuppo Joe. Gee, what do you think is missing from this picture? OK, let me change my patch and prepare to hit a yoga class down the street, followed by lunch and some serious gallery-hopping. I'm thinking bout you guys!

Creepy, Dave. I had that dinner, almost exactly, last night but with b sprouts instead of kale. Yours is prettier, tho. You and Marlene and Susan have been inspirational today. Good night, dear people and sweet dreams.

Sure, Cali dear. But I was trying to present the idea of a national chocolatier. (Try Laura's Butterscotch lollipops)

Fine effort from all and lovely shortribs, Marlene. (Your Babehood: converted rice is for the birds. In fact, would it be OK to put it in a birdfeeder?) Archie, did you survive the commute? I'm thinking of keeping a bag of pretzels in the car -- slightly salty, low-fat, and well, sometimes a pretzel isn't only a pretzel. Maybe it's a piss-poor Marlboro Light. Thanks for the heads-up on the sleepiness. Bacause vacations are rare in my crummy life, I don't want to sleep away five days in LA, and I'm hoping the patch will help. (I'm using it not just to prevent suicide/homicide/severing of family relations, but because two studly smokers at work both quit recently doing the patch thing. One gained twenty pounds, the other is 5'10"/135 and couldn't gain an ounce if he were rubbed in duck fat, forcefed whipped cream and tied up and inactive for three weeks. Damn those with lucky metabolisms!) My mother was a 2 1/2 (CDN 25 ct.) pack smoker and ten years ago fell into a coma --not smoking related--for the worst three weeks of my life. That was detoxing "the easy way" and she hasn't smoked since. But she gave me this advice Sunday night: Watch the chockkies! "I had a piece of Laura Secord for every cigarette I smoked in a day, gained thirty pounds and became diabetic." She advised me to lay in a supply of sugar-free hard candy, wrapped. Altho, in the realm of confectionery they suck ass, the little unwrapping ritual is satisfying. I bought three bags of individually-wrapped Lifesavers last night, and they're not that awful. We're doing the Asian thing tonight; pulled out the deep fat fryer for some straight-up Chino-American Sweet and Sour Pork, with an asparagus side-dish. Forget blanching: cut in slimmish diagonal pieces, stir fry. then cook through in the sauce -- garlic, soy, 5 spice, and chicken stock. California Dreamin'. Hurray for Hollywood, where I'll try to emulate the natives and do crunches when I'm jonesing. Or yoga. Or pedicures. Or In-and-Out-Burger. Or Korean BBQ. Or French Dips at Phillipe's. Or french fries at the Polo Lounge. Or tacos from the joint at Sunset and Vermont, easy walking distance. Pray for me. Edit for gringos: Laura Secord is a Canadian chain similar to Fanny Mae or See's.

Amazing! What a coincidence! I stopped at Walgreens last night and laid in a week's supply of the patch! Tomorrow will be my first official smoke-free day since a cute guy offered me a cigarette at McGill. So add me to Brooks as fellow-traveller. I am not going cold-turkey because I'm going to LA tomorrow for a visit with my daughter (anti-smoking zealot) and son-in-law (recent quitter.) I do not want to ruin a rare vacation by pulling a Linda Blair -- you know: head-spinning and projectile vomiting. And because the routine will be different, I'll avoid the commute and smoke routine Dave mentioned. Now off for my last post-lunch smoke.

Amen, Sister.

Well, at least you're honest, unlike that Shaw guy who lies like an Aubusson. I have no fault to find with any of these suggestions except for Steven's drivel. Comfort me with apples, salad or Perrier indeed. Caviar and a spoon would answer the purpose, but if you can afford it, you don't need it! From hard experience I've decided to save cocktails for happy times, and drink a bottle of a nice white all by myself for bad times -- easier on the head when you have to face up to crap reality tomorrow. If there is some kind of culinary harmonic convergence --some cold poached salmon, buttered baguette, mayo on the side and a handful of really good fresh cherries, followed by a bubblebath with the last glass of Vouvray (or Gallo French Columbard) and a Carl Hiassen or Georgette Heyer, life will look brighter. Otherwise it's unnatural acts with pasta, bacon, cream, gorgonzola and whatever music will make you sob so hard you'll step from your bath into bed and slip into sleep. Um, sex with or without a partner helps, but please don't take this observation as an invitation to highjack this thread off-topic. I'm turning my pot roast and sauce and root veg from last night into pot pie -- I froze some puff pastry. And I have a new Carl Hiassen and a clean bathtub. Could be worse.

All interesting ideas, CT, and may be useful for a different Smackdown. But for this one, no TV, no time travel and no mingling of the fictional and the dead.

I can SWAG a grocery bill, but I'm fortunate in that I don't shop at chain grocery stores -- ever. OK, Whole Paycheck three times a year, but that's for two items and I have burned the prices into my brain long before checkout. I find that the independents hire better checkers: the kids at Caputos, Vallis, Bobacks or the Supermercado have to be seriously on the ball concerning the wonderworld of produce or "strange" meat. It's because the customers are very price-aware -- no yuppies here! Immigrants and first gen folks, my fellow shoppers aren't rubes at the cash register.

103,310, including one for me: The Epicurian by Charles Ranfoher, in CD format.

You got it , Genny. Dead or fictional.

Right -- no replies from eGullet members, excepting yourself writing as a contemporary of your blogger, or another character from a work of fiction. Hamlet: I planned to make a big batch of buttercookies this afternoon, only to find that I was almost out of flour. Swung by my buddy Laertes's crib and he lent me five flagons of flour. I'm off to fire up the oven. Polonius: Sweet Prince, you really need to be better organized. Haven't I told you time and time again to neither a borrower nor a lender be? Anyway, are you using currants? You can do much, much better, but that's the general idea.

My late lamented Neopolitan Nonna-in-Law always called radishes "redishes." I do too. She had it right.

My sweet little sister Julie has a couple of excuses because she's a)Downs b)almost deaf. But her malapropism for Chinese Food is Shiny Boots, and that's gone into the family lexicon.

Ducky, your open-faced cheese sandwich was a standard Saturday lunch when I was growing up. We kids loved it, and I do still. My mother called it a "Cheese Dream." When she used crumpets instead of bread, and added bacon it was a "Cheese Dream Supreme." IKEAs in Chicagoland have the restaurant with the meatballs and smoked salmon and such, but also a snack bar that sells hotdogs and frozen yoghurt.

In the early days of eGullet their was a subset of members called SSBs, an acronym for Smug Scientific Bastards. Come out, come out, wherever you are, to comfirm or debunk this amazing tip I received from my mother, via my brother. Seems Mummy had made a Turkey Curry after Christmas and tipped in waaaaay too much hot stuff--not sure if it was cayenne, red pepper flakes, whatever. Even in her gastronomically adventuresome household, it proved too hot to eat with any pleasure. She froze the leftovers, figuring she'd do some doctoring with coconut milk to make it edible for my brother and his family when they paid a New Year's visit. She explained all this to my brother as she groped for the coconut milk at the back of the pantry. Ian (Caterer) said: "Chill, Mum. Freezing spicy hot food takes the edge off. It will be fine." And he was right. No fiddling necessary. Has anyone experienced this phenomenon? If real, why?

I'm confused. Until I read this I thought I understood. Can you explain again? ← Sorry for the confusion, Linda. I just wanted folks to know that this won't function like our stellar blog series from real live eGullet members, where you'd post your Marilyn Monroe breakfast menu (coffee, Valium) and wait for eGulls to chime in on your thread. You get to reply as Joe DiMaggio, recommending bacon and eggs.

Post your entries here, please. Great blog!