Tag Archives: Cincy

An Update on the Quit

In the last 3 weeks, I have not smoked 400 cigarettes.

Back in the day, it didn’t seem like much: 20 a day, but then I wasn’t keeping track of them past the daily intake. Pack a day? What’s that? That’s average for most people. No sweat. If I went over, like a night out on the town (read: closing a bar with drinking/smoking buddies) when I would push 2 packs in one day… yeah, I would mentally beat myself up: I shouldn’t have smoked THAT many in one day.

But, when one stops to think about the total over an extended period of time, it’s ridiculous! 400 in 20 days! A pack a day for 20 days doesn’t sound that bad, but 400 cigs in the same time frame? Hell, just the thought of smoking 400 cigarettes over ANY time frame… 400! Oy vey!

What hurts even more: if I had not fallen off the wagon in ’07, I would have saved over $15,000 by now. My Scirocco would have been running this whole time and I would have relished driving it every weekend, including to the last 6 Cincy’s and I would never have felt the shame of parking on the KIA side and getting that look from Daun (“Another year at the Scirocco get-together without the Scirocco?”). We would have hardwood floors (or a cheaper laminate alternative ;) ). Hell, we might even have a paved and heated driveway! (Who am I kidding? We probably would have pissed it away elsewhere, but the Scirocco could have been running!!!)

But still… 15 grand. And to add to that, here’s an even scarier number: 43,829. That’s number of cigarettes that I smoked since falling off the wagon (assuming pack/day for the last 6 years). ~44K cigs.

Incredible numbers and things to think about. And I would spend more time thinking about it if I wanted to live in the past on past mistakes. I don’t want to do that. Instead, I will think of the now and the future.

Now: three weeks in, I’m breathing easier than I have in about 4 years, but I know I’m not out of the woods. I still have cravings, albeit minor ones. I also know that since it took me 26+ years to walk this deep into the woods, it just might take 26+ years to find my way back to where I was. As they say on quitnet.com, 3 miles in is 3 miles out. Fortunately, I’ve already started to feel the health benefits and that’s enough to keep me going.

I made it farther than this in ’07, but this time I am not going to falter. I will walk the path. I will make it out of the woods. For…

I am done.

I am quit.

I am Mike and I am awesome.

¡Mike en Fuego!

Tonight, for a random reason, I logged in to a Gmail account that I don’t really use anymore. It was originally used for one purpose: to send and receive emails from a VW Scirocco mailing list. The list died a few years ago and since then I’ve only checked it a couple times each year. Usually, it’s because it occurs to me “Oh yeah, I still have that account. I’ll see what crap’s come in.” It’s mostly spam and rarely anything from any of the people I knew on the list; most of them are on FB or VWVortex anyway, so we don’t need the list to stay in touch.

Tonight, I logged in and was greeted with an email from “El T”. I had not spoken to him since last year’s Cincy (the anual trip to Scirocco “mecca”). Over 10 months. The email was only 9 days old. In it, El T said “I found something online that you’ve been looking for… for you it would unlock a serious gastronomical mystery!!” I hit the link and there it was: the cookbook from the owner of a dead Baltimore restaurant. When this place was open and I was working in Fell’s Point, I ate there 3 times a week. I always got the same order. I loved their hot sauces. I was never one for the hottest of hots, so I always got the one below it, which was pretty potent, but not too much. One day, by accident, they gave me the hottest. I was sweating profusely when I finished my lunch, but I knew that I was in love. Diablo was now my go-to sauce. Over time, I got used to it and it wasn’t quite as hellish as that first time, but still made me sweat.

One of the reasons I loved it as much as I did was that it had flavor. In my opinion, most truly hot sauces are just hot. While I like hot, I’ve never been into hot for the sake of hot. I like hot, but I don’t want it to override the flavor of what I’m eating. Diablo was just the sauce for which I had been searching all my life, even though I didn’t know I had been looking. It was super hot, but it had so much flavor behind it.

As I was a regular, I hounded the employees for the recipe. They wouldn’t give it to me even though I was on good terms with them and we had a mutual friend: El T. You see, he worked there before I discovered the place. Once I knew that, I would use his name to try to get the recipe. It still was kept from me. While they would let me bring in one large empty ketchup bottle on occasion and fill it with Diablo for a nominal fee, they wouldn’t give up the recipe. One day, towards the end of my year working in Fell’s Point, one of the cooks (and he actually looked over his shoulder before committing anything to paper) gave me an ingredient list, but no proportions. No real recipe. I think I still have it somewhere. But without proper proportions or the rest of the recipe, I never put it to use. I also now see that it was an incomplete list to boot.

About 2 years after I stopped working down there, I went by one day for lunch as I happened to be in the area. The place was gone. Closed down and the owner moved out of town. And my personal bottle at home had run out a year before (it keeps VERY well in the ‘fridge). I was distraught! I was beside myself with sadness. Never again would I taste the wonder of El Diablo.

About 6 months after that, I ran into the cook who gave me the list of ingredients. Or most of the list. He was working at a pizza joint across the street. After talking to him, he claimed he knew the full recipe but couldn’t remember it off the top of his head. I gave him my contact info and begged him to help me. I never heard from him. From time to time, I would occasionally see him around the area. I once even offered him $20 to save me. He never came through.

Tonight, El T came through. I’ve known this man for over 6 years. Once he moved away from the area (to MI and now DE), I only saw him for less than 48 hours over one weekend in early June each year. Cincy. While we are rarely in contact, we are always friends. We always have each others backs. At one Cincy, years ago, he was working on his car, on a not-quite-level section of lawn. Using a widow-maker car jack. He was slightly intoxicated. We all were. I quickly got his attention and made him sit up. While I distracted him, peppering him with questions and inane conversation, I silently directed others to place a thick piece of plywood under the jack and to put chocks behind the wheels and some other wood next to the jack to serve as a “jack-stand”. Then I let him return to his labors feeling all the better knowing that the car would not crush him if worst came to worst.

After seeing El T’s email tonight, I think his debt to me is paid in full. I like to think I saved his life that day (me and my ego). I think he saved mine tonight.

Thank you, El T. I will always be in your debt and I will always love your “Swedish” accent. ;)

¡VIVA EL DIABLO!