I think my hunger reflex is broken.

This is not to say that I don’t get hungry, but in thinking and meditating on my relationship with food, my body, and my weight, I’ve come to the uncomfortable realization that perhaps I don’t really, truly, know what it’s like to be hungry.   That perhaps what I consider to be, “hunger,” is really just a farcical symptom brought about by my mind and not my body — hence, I eat when I don’t need to, or more than I must when I do.

What does hunger feel like for YOU?   There’s different types that I feel, of course, and many I can identify, ranging in intensity from, “I’m bored” to “I’m going to pass out if you don’t get me something RIGHT NOW.”    But I’d say the typical hunger that I feel is neither of the two.

Just a snack?

When I generally feel hungry, the sensation starts in my mouth, which I think is a great part of the problem.    It’s hard to describe, but it’s like my mouth needs to eat — does that even make sense?   I can feel the sensations of biting, chewing, swallowing, and the tastes and flavors that come along with the process in my mouth.   Not physically, although sometimes it waters or otherwise, but mentally.    I have a mental sensation of needing to physically use a part of my body.   I guess that’s the best description.

That’s the typical hunger and the one that appears at “regular” mealtimes.    It’s what I typically act on, even if my stomach is not sending the, “Uhm…food, please?” message yet.    This may be very problematic.

If I let hunger go long enough, I eventually get to the pain-in-the-tummy sort, that kind of hunger where you feel EMPTY and the ache starts to be so bad that if you don’t do something about it, you’re sure something bad will happen.   It’s that crampy-style of hunger.    That for me is very rare, but I get it occasionally.    What’s even more disturbing is that if I ignore it long enough, it’ll go away, but that doesn’t mean that my body isn’t needing food, it’s just stopped complaining about it.   If I wait too long, I won’t feel hungry, but I’ll get lightheaded, dizzy, aches, etc. until I give in and eat.     How am I supposed to work with this when it isn’t consistent?

Here’s a big problem: I don’t know what’s normal.

That is, we as humans say, “I’m hungry!” but nobody really knows what that means.   I know for my friend Paul, his hunger is insane — when the man’s hungry, he’ll eat the varnish off woodwork.    But I don’t know what his hunger feels like vs. mine — and maybe mine’s not normal.    Maybe at every meal he feels like he’s going to keel over and die if he doesn’t eat Right.  Now.

I need to find out what’s normal.    But how?

Well, I’m hoping for one that you’ll comment and describe what your typical hunger feels like to you, the sort you have when you need to eat a meal on any regular day.   Does it hurt?   Ache?   Where do you feel it, in your belly, in your head, in your mouth?   What other sensations do you have, do you feel dizzy, like you’re going to pass out, or is that only when you get extremely hungry?   How fast does it go away when you finally eat?  What happens if you ignore it?

I’m hoping by exploring this topic that I can try to get a better hold on my own bodily sensations and what they truly mean vs. whatever my mind is concocting at the moment.   In this, maybe I can learn what my body really needs vs. what it just thinks it wants, which is a huge step towards doing the right things for it and me.      Thanks for playing along.

For a town like Charles City, nestled in the middle of northeastern Iowa and surrounded by nothing but corn fields and a few open highways, you’d hardly expect to see the name, “Bistro,” pop up and have any sort of significance.   After all, this is the land of Ma & Pop cafés and “family restaurants”.   Something as esoteric as a bistro would appear to be one of the former places mal-named.

Fortunately for all of us here, Three C Bistro is not an inappropriate moniker.

The outer building is fairly unimpressive, a leftover from the previous owner, but the inside has transformed nicely.   Muted browns, soft reds, blues, and greens surround the eating area, framed by wood and stonework and all in the style of Italian renaissance with some modern flairs.   The seating is generous booths or tables and chairs, neither of which are particularly unique but they fit within the styling around them.   A fountain on one side and muted lighting complete the scene.

I was sat in short order by an eager hostess and attended to by an attentive waiter.    It was lunch, so the menu was smaller; I shall have to stop by for an evening meal.    Basic, standard sandwiches and burgers abided, but there were also higher-style, higher-ticket items such as a Prime Rib sandwich and a crab salad.   Appetizers ran between $4 and $10 and entreés between $7 and $15.   The wine and beer selection were copious although being at work I will have to wait to try those.

Service was quick, uncomplicated, and in short order I had my Reuben with a side of fries.   I always love to get a Reuben at a new location because how they prepare this simple and yet classic sandwich says a lot about their style and approach.    This one was very decent — the swirled rye was fresh and tasty with a slight toast, the corned beef generous and flavorful, the sauerkraut wasn’t nearly as tart as I liked but went fine nonetheless.

The only complaint I derived from it was that the Thousand Island dressing was served on the side and not as a part of the sandwich which, in my eyes, violates the principle of a Reuben.   I was annoyed that I had to spend good-quality eating time spreading sauce on a sandwich that just should have had it.    That being said, the dressing was very nice and went well with the rest.

The fries were large, with skins and seasoned salt, cooked perfectly.  The unsweetened iced tea I had was unremarkable and was probably from a mix, although it was hard to say definitively.    A second arrived before I even finished the first, however, so that’s a huge point in my book.

They have wireless Internet! I cannot emphasize enough how much I value that and how much I think businesses would benefit from providing it.   A simple network but it worked well; thank you!

The check arrived for a bit over $10, it was quickly processed, and I left.    But I shall be back — well done, Three C!  I think you may have actually brought a real, excellent bistro to Iowa.

Rating: 4.5 sammiches out of 5

Three C Bistro
510 Hildreth St
Charles City, IA 50616
641-228-3544
Facebook: Three C Bistro

I felt like I was going to throw up the entire way home.

I don’t consider myself a food snob; I eat equally well at a fine restaurant as your neighborhood fast food joint because I understand that there are a multitude of reasons why you might choose either one.   There is a time and place for thick, heavy, greasy burgers and a perfect setting for filet mignon with a white wine reduction and asparagus.

This, however, was completely off the scale for me.

In reality, I should have been tipped off by the fact that no good place would label themselves as partaking in multiple, unrelated pursuits in their name as Ryan’s Grill, Buffet & Bakery on Collins Road in Cedar Rapids, IA, but I figured it was probably akin to Bonanza which, while they do indeed serve steak, could not be readily considered to be a steak joint.   Rather, they are a buffet joint that just happens to have sliced and grilled dead steer inside.    They smartly leave this out of their name, however, so one is not misled; you believe you are attending a Bonanza of something.    Exactly what, of course, varies by the night.

Upon entering, I was greeted by a girl who seemed infinitely disappointed that the cash register was not an iPad and struggled to figure out how to ring up one meal + drink for me.   I do suppose this is because, from looking around, she was used to a mom and dad with at least a dozen children in tow, so I’m sure the math was daunting.   Nonetheless, I got approved to descend upon the goods and chose a table.

The first plate off the stack still had food on it.    Had I been a person of delicate character, I might have stopped right there, but I’m realistic — I understand this happens in busy places.   I set it aside, grabbed the second, and went to the islands of steaming goods to pick my wares.

If it takes me more than once around a buffet serving bar to fill up my plate, there’s a problem.   This one took THREE times around before I finally selected a few things I felt brave enough to try:   a horribly over-baked and depressed salmon fillet, some boasted chicken, and mashed potatoes.   I delicately skipped past the dish marked, “beef tips”, which looked like everything out of the reject bucket doused in a slurry of brown gravy.

I ate the first plate and sipped on the brown water that was labeled as being iced tea but bore no resemblance thereof.   Nothing was remarkable, that’s for sure.   About halfway through, in the middle of a mouthful, a teenage boy in an ill-fitted apron suddenly appeared at my elbow and loudly asked, “Do you want a DINNER ROLL?”, while staring off into space.   Shocked, I blinked, swallowed, and said, “uh, no, I’ll be OK, thanks” and he was gone before I finished.

I went for a second plate of grub, by this point feeling a bit off, but figuring it was just hunger.   I grabbed a plate — and it was soiled.   So was the next one.   And the next.   And the next.   Five dirty plates into that stack and I switched stacks.    The next wasn’t dirty, it was greasy, like it had been rinsed in lard.   The entire stack was.     Third stack:  first one was dirty, second was clean AND didn’t feel slick, so I took it.    Got a spoonful of mashed potatoes on it and looked down to see this greasy, fingery smear across the opposite side of the plate.   I stopped, stared for a bit, and then proceeded to put a few more pieces of food (if you can call it that) on my plate and shuffle miserably back to my seat.

I sat.

I stared.

My stomach imitated a Quaker on acid.

About this time a roughly 250-p0und 12-year-old girl a few tables away threw a meltdown hissy fit over the fact that her father wouldn’t let her have a 3rd bowl of ice cream.    My stomach lurched, I grabbed my ticket, and I left in a hurry.    The rest of the way home (2.5 hours), my innards did flip-flops and I cursed driving past Panera.

There are probably a few good uses for a place like Ryan’s:     Revenge comes to mind.   Perhaps social experiments in 3rd-world hygiene.    There’s a good chance it’d work better than waterboarding in torture camps.

If, however, you like organs to be intact and non-hemorrhaging at the end of your meal, I highly recommend you avoid stopping at Ryan’s of Cedar Rapids.

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Michael Ruhlman may just be a culinary hero of mine, but he may very well be a food prophet for the world; one that wanders in the desolation of modernized convenience and manufactured foods to bring a few simple stone tablets declaring that truth in cooking is found best in methods performed in your own kitchen, by your own two hands, because food and the way we approach it matters.

To such ends that I partake of the words of the seer and do my best to explore new-found worlds, I took it upon myself this past week to use his recipe to create my own corned beef. I figured I had little to lose, ultimately, and potentially a lot to gain from the experience. Plus, I’ve always been fond of soaking meat in brines of all sorts because they transform under the pressures of salt and time into new creations.

Two chuck roasts — chosen because they were significantly cheaper than a full brisket and I figured it’s best to ensure I was successful first — were soaked in the prescribed brine solution for six days. I procured some pink salt (sodium nitrite) from an online source for the most-essential preservative portion of the brine and to ensure a good, solid red color throughout.

Six days in the fridge, covered in brine, anchored to the bottom of a pan with a heavy plate. It was a long time to wait and hope that I was creating a marvel and not a fuzzy mold farm. Cooking with old methods like this is most definitely an effort in faith.

Last night I extracted the meat from its bath and rinsed it thoroughly, noting that the feel of it had changed from a pliable, meaty feel to a more solid, waxy touch. The two chunks were then dropped into my large cast iron pot (which you may have when you pry it from my cold, dead hands), covered in water, spices, and a mirepoix, and set to simmer on the stove for about 3 hours.

In the meantime, I busied myself making cabbage to go along, since it seemed like the proper accompaniment to such an iconic meal. Rendered bacon fat and water steamed up a head and a half of cabbage, sprinkled with thyme. I then tossed the bacon back in and sautéed it until the chopped leaves were translucent and golden. A bit of salt here, pepper there, and it was ready to go.

Extracting the corned beef from the pot and slicing it into manageable chunks was nothing less than equivalent to Christmas morning and the promise of untold wonders to be revealed. As the first slices fell away from my knife’s bold statement, this brilliant red, flaky meat burst into view, sending my spirits soaring. As all good chefs do, a personal sample was quick to follow.

When it’s so damned good, it makes me giggle in happiness. And I was a ball of laughter.

I made quick work of the rest, laid it on a suitable platter, piled another high with the cabbage, and with some included buttered fresh bread, the meal was complete. All ate and were satisfied.

To know that I was able to take something that’s been done for years and to make it work in my own kitchen was simply amazing and horribly fulfilling at the same time. If you have the means and the drive, I sincerely hope you will give this a shot — you will be forever grateful that you connected with your food in such an intimate way.

After six days of soaking in brine; note the paler, waxy appearance.

Corned Beef, in pot and ready to cook, pre-water/spices.

The prepared pot with corned beef (hidden), water, spices, and mirepoix.

Cabbage with Bacon, plated and ready to serve.

Corned Beef, plated and ready to serve

Last Monday I had the opportunity to go view the barbershop singing documentary, American Harmony, at the newly-restored Northwood Theatre in Northwood, IA, and then afterward head a block down the street to the Worth Brewing Company, whose clever slogan is, “If It’s Not Hand Crafted, It’s Not Worth Brewing.”    With the sweet chords of barbershop ringing through my head, I was eager to sit down for a brew with a few with my fellow singing enthusiasts and grab some droughts.

Worth Brewing (@WorthBrewing on Twitter) is situated in the middle of a block of downtown Northwood, an idyllic small-town stop only 7 miles to the east of Interstate 35 located so far north in Iowa that if you sneeze, Minnesota feels the breeze.   Despite the economic times hurting small business owners across the country, Northwood seems to be holding its own in terms of a good selection of small shops and services lining the streets.

The brewery takes its name from the county, Worth, and is owned and run by husband-and-wife team Peter Ausenhus and Margaret Bishop.   Peter has been known for years to be a famous brewmaster and beer judge, winning many contests and working professionally with the well-respected Summit Brewing Company of St. Paul, MN  (one of my top-10 favorite brew companies, hands-down).     Now he is handily carving himself out a niche in pretty Northwood and making a good job of it, too.

From the men's room door...

The tap room itself is only open three days a week but offers its patrons a beautiful, cozy, dark hardwood-lined room with plentiful yet simple wood tables and chairs and a big screen TV from which to catch a game or the news.    The lighting is subdued and calming and the environment is very welcoming and comfortable.    I did not get a chance to talk to either of the owners due to the busy nature of the evening, but they appeared friendly and service was quick and easy.

Brews that I had were in the $3.10 to $3.75 range for a pint which seemed fairly reasonable, although perhaps a bit on the high side depending on which beer you had.   But given that a comparable beer in any store would run you at least in the $1.75 to $2 range it didn’t seem too terrible given the quality and presentation.    Growlers were $12 for any selection on the current menu.

Had I had the time and a place to crawl to and sleep, I would have happily tried everything on the menu; alas, being that I live an hour south of Northwood, I only had the time and liver to try three selections:

Oatmeal Stout — Because I am such a huge lover of dark and thick beers, my first selection was this oh-so-typical stout, arriving in my glass with a healthy head and lovely color.    The nose of it was warm and inviting, hinting perfectly on the edge of roasted grain mixed with just the right amount of hop to balance.   The mouthfeel was soft and creamy but not so think that you would mistake it for a shake.   The flavors mixed very well, the dark malty wintery barley being controlled but not killed by the hops.    If I had twenty of these beers in a row, they would be twenty too few.   By far my favorite selection on the menu.

Dillon Clock Stopper – Next over my tongue was this lager that didn’t really win me over in any categories and yet was nonetheless pleasant.   Light and flavorful, it had a very sweet kick aftertaste that set me off from the first swallow and distracted me through most of the glass.   That being said, it was light enough to keep the sweet from being a downtrodden effect and I did enjoy the glass, but I guess I was looking for more hop-offset than what I got.   There are a great many people out there, however, that would adore this beer if you don’t like straight-up bitter hops.

I.P.A.

India Pale Ale – The last beer to grace my throat was the IPA.   Having been through a rigourous course in IPAs, courtesy of my former collegiate roommates, I’ve had a few and a few more and then a few gallons more IPA in my life and can work my way around the room with one, if you get my drift.    Worth’s version of this brewing standard was a pleasant surprise; it’s so easy to get these zippy ales wrong and they successfully dodged the bullet.   Strong in hops with a nice biting aftertaste, the Worth IPA was simply a lovely glass of beer to drink.   I would have easily gone for more hoppy but it had a great balance and I really can’t complain at all.

Conclusion

So there you have it — Worth Brewing Company in a nutshell.   All in all, if you have the time to stop by and enjoy their warm atmosphere, happy customers, and worthwhile brews, I highly recommend it.   It’s only 7 miles from the Interstate and if you come early enough, you can enjoy some of the (seemingly) plentiful downtown shopping.   If you come later, stop in at the Northwood Theatre which has been restored to near-perfect moviewatching conditions and is a great place to catch a show.   Neither its screen nor the bubbly liquid happiness that awaits you just a block away will leave you disappointed.

Worth Brewing Company
826 Central Ave.
Northwood, IA 50459
641-324-9899

www.worthbrewing.com

Wednesday 5-9pm; Friday 5-11pm, Saturday Noon to 11pm