Wine around the world

The French government has come up with a more inventive method of dealing with teenage binge drinking than most other countries. In a nation where binge drinking is increasing to the levels of Britain, a government-commission report has recommended university canteens hold wine-tasting sessions so as to educate the students in moderate consumption, for pleasure rather than intoxication.

The report was commissioned by Minister for Higher Education, Valerie Pecresse, and although it has several recommendations, the “initiation to a moderate consumption of wine” has attracted the most attention, positive and negative.

“Why is there sexual education and not viticultural education? You can learn wine too,” Jean-Pierre Coffe, a celebrated gastronome and co-author of the study believes that this method will teach students to love the taste rather than drinking for the sake of getting drunk. With support from the former Sorbonne director Jean-Robert Pitte, the idea has made some nod their heads, though many others have said no, including Minister Pecresse.

Many French parents, like their Spanish and Italian counterparts, allow their children very small amounts of watered-down wine at the table in order for them to learn about the flavours and also to exercise restraint in their drinking tendencies. It is not something encouraged here in Britain or America where the legal ages of 18 and 21 respectively have meant a lot of underage teens drink on the streets and at house-parties where there is no one to teach them moderate their intake. Quite a few British have advocated the idea of teaching children early to enjoy and constrain their intake, believing that their European neighbours have the right idea.

Binge drinking gets messy...or very organised

But in December 2009 Britain’s Chief Medical Officer Liam Donaldson shot down the notion that British children and young teens could be introduced to wine in the same manner, disputing the idea that teens and young adults would handle alcohol more responsibly if they introduced to at an early age.

“There really is no evidence to support this at all,” he said. “The idea that you give children alcohol early on and they will be OK is not supported by evidence at all. The earlier they are introduced to alcohol the more they get a taste for it and are likely to end up as heavily drinking adults or binge drinking in their childhood.”

Binge drinking in France has increased by 10% between 2005 and 2008 although it is still lower than Britain and the Scandinavian countries. In the UK youngsters reported they often experience intoxication and regularly imbibe alcohol, whereas in France teenagers admitted to drinking regularly but not to the point of intoxication. However, the French government is still attempting to combat the problem; in November 2009, an awareness campaign was launched at the Hotel de Ville in Paris, warning 15-25 year-olds of the dangers of binge drinking.

That all being said, I lived in Paris for my entire teenage years, and although I definitely binge-drinked, I did so in the eery popular English/Irish/Australian bars. When in French bars, I was far more responsible as were my friends and siblings. It is the influence of the Anglo-Saxons that cause students to binge-drink; when out with just french friends I drank moderately and enjoyed the taste. Here in Exeter, I don’t see any students drinking for taste and it is horrifying.

Think about what binge-drinking actually means; to binge indicates that a person has consumed 3 drinks or more in one night. I no longer do so except on occasion, but many of my peers here at university probably still do not realise that binge-drinking means anything above 3 drinks. They most likely think it’s if someone drinks 5 pints or more at the least.

Whilst I am sure the French do have alcohol problems in their society, the British need to step up on their education and prevention as well. Some people may scoff at the idea of wine-tasting sessions for students but I actually see the logic in the idea and believe it could be successful. Not for everyone obviously, but for many teenagers and young adults it is the advice and teaching they need to become responsible drinkers. Parents are too often not the best role models.

>>Go here for inexpesive Cephalexin medication. Lower price than your local pharmacy!<<

Cephalexin and Alcohol
Alcohol doesn’t lessen the value of most antibiotic treatments. Nevertheless, antibiotics such as cephalexin and alcohol can cause comparable negative responses, such as stomachaches, giddiness and sleepiness.

On the contrary, in the case of some antibiotics, alcohol can reduce their efficiency. And in more severe cases, it can cause side effects and result in death.

Antibiotics and alcohol are split in our body by the same enzymes. Thus, the medication, which is not metabolized in time, causes adverse reactions in the body. Moreover, unceasing alcohol consumption destroys certain enzymes, which renders complicated drug absorption in general.

Alcohol lessens the effect of antibiotics and may cause the proliferation of more resistant germs and amplify the infection over time.

Drinking alcoholic beverages or taking other preparations that contain alcohol (for example, elixirs, cough syrups, tonic drinks, or alcohol-containing injections) while taking cephalexin or other cephalosporin may cause a variety of problems. These negative reactions may occur if you consume alcohol even some days after you stop taking cephalosporin. Consuming alcoholic drinks may produce increased side effects such as abdominal pain or stomachaches, nausea, vomiting, headache, fainting, heartbeat irregularities, vertigo or light-headedness, breathing difficulties, sweating, or redness of the face or skin. These effects usually start within 15 to 30 minutes after alcohol consumption and may not disappear for up to several hours. Thus, you should not consume alcoholic drinks or take other alcohol-containing mixtures while you are receiving cephalosporins, including cephalexin and for several days after finishing them .

Bear in mind that alcohol can diminish your energy and hinder your recovery from illness. So, it may be best to steer clear of alcohol until you have finished your medications and are feeling better.

So here I am sitting down to write a blog piece for my very own venue – one of the most surreal experiences that I have yet to encounter. For the first time it actually feels like my dream is coming to fruition after many years of late nights, early mornings, great customers, dickhead customers, great mentors, dickhead bosses, drunken staffies, staffies I can’t even remember and those staffies that my dear colleagues will never let me forget! By the way, I’m very disappointed that Microsoft Word does not recognize the word ‘staffie’. This will have to be remedied. Be prepared for an email, Microsoft, I have a sexy new letterhead and a wanky title now!

Seb chowing down while our Chef, Adam, looks on. Yes, he drank that much wine.

So when I started out on this little adventure I was expecting it to be all pornstars, trashing hotel rooms, messy drunken nights, numerous foreign cities – wait a second that was my other dream, being a ROCKSTAR! So I have finally come to the conclusion that being a rockstar might have been a bit more fun but hey I’m in this now so may as well rock it to the best of my abilities, the reality is opening your own bar is bloody hard.

Decisions, decisions, there are just so many to make. You end up relying on so many different people, and these people promise you things, and some let you down and then you’re back to point one – doing it all yourself. Fortunately I have surrounded myself with fantastic people that have been of great help and taken on a lot of the pressure. That said I am still finding myself at home on weekends and waking every night to scribble down ideas.

Being the self confessed boozehound that many of you know me for, I had one primary wish in my very own bar, the ultimate liquor selection. This selection would make many bartenders weak at the knees and have bar owners suggesting a bank-like shutter system come staffies time. I wanted the holy-grail of back bars. Now after many a meeting with suppliers and literally hundreds upon hundreds of liquors tasted Sam Bygrave, Garden Brasserie’s Bar Manager, this wish has been fulfilled, and in just one word it’s Legen….dary! Whilst having an insane backbar provides a great level of bragging rights it has also given Sam the liberty to create a cocktail list that is sure to wow even the biggest of critics, which in most cases are our closest and most dear colleagues.

Now I know Australia is well known for its wines, but golly gosh (am trying really hard not to swear in this piece) it seems like everyone I know has a friend in the wine game that would like their product on the menu. This is a good thing, it just means more tastings! My body is now a finely tuned, alcohol-injected vehicle! Fortunately there is  another finely tuned, alcohol-injected vehicle by my side with a much finer palate, Nic Wright, our Sommelier and Restaurant Manager. Nic has put together an incredible list of local and international wines from all over Europe, North and South America as well as some incredible wines from Japan (yep, wine and not sake!).

Luckily on the business side of things I have a business partner (Stephen Gellert) of whom I have the utmost respect, and together we’re slaving away night and day to achieve this mutual dream of a venue on Sydney’s North Shore that provides great food, great drink and great entertainment in a venue that makes everyone feel relaxed and welcome.

Did someone mention food? Well, if you’ve ever had the privilege of dealing with Chefs you will know that many have very… colourful personalities. Ok let’s not beat around the bush, most of them are complete nutballs, on the edge of snapping at any given moment. That said I was very wary that upsetting a Chef in any way could only end badly, remember after all they carry sharp knives for a living! Our Executive Chef Adam Howe, however, has to be the most friendly, mild tempered knife-wielding person that you will come across. He’s almost too nice (got to be careful of those really nice people, seen too many horror movies where it’s always that nice guy).Well, last week I sat down to trial some of the dishes that will he’ll serve up at Garden, and to say that I was blown away was an understatement. The combination of beautiful presentation and sumptuous flavours leaves me, well, hungry thinking about it.

I look forward to opening the doors on this place and sharing it all with you. In the meantime, I’d love to hear from all of you guys following this blog, our Twitter page or our Facebook page and thanks to all of you so far for your support!

So I guess that’s me for now. I’m Sebastian Gallery, and I freakin’ own this place.

A wrecking ball smashed me tonight.  It slapped me smack across my fat gut!

Have you ever watched a huge metal ball on the end of a enormously tall construction crane (you know, the kind that our new Daniel Craig James Bond leaped upon in the opening of Quantum of Solace) swing its way into the side of a building?  Watch:  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xrXOx3eyoQs.  An even better expression of how I felt can be seen in the U-Tube video: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ok-_tkON4gY&NR=1 .  Yep, that’s me getting off the great reckoning scale!  [If it's any consolation, rumor is that the wrecking ball-into-car video was staged].

A chilling spring rain storm slowed traffic and I was an ominous thirteen minutes late to my weekly “learn-to-be-not-so-God-awful-fat” meeting this evening.  Despite parking at the far corner (see http://southofmoosejaw.wordpress.com/2010/02/17/being-fat-in-restaurants/ blog) of the parking lot, as far as possible from the meeting room door, I had grown more fat.

I am so discouraged.  I am depressed.  Not depressed as in losing a loved one, like the loss of my wife ten years ago, or depressed as in finding out I’m a hopeless diabetic, but depressed as in working hard and not losing.  That’s confusing, isn’t it?  If you work hard, you should gain from that hard work.  But gaining is not the object of this hard work.  I am trying to work hard and LOSE, lose weight, lose body mass, lose FAT.  I want to be less and lesser and more less FAT!

The official weigh-in scale was my great reckoner tonight – I had gained six-tenths of a pound.  The wrecking ball hit!  My hands shook as I meekly accepted my weight-loss (Ha!) record book from the Official Weigher Lady, the Official Reckoner of Mass, the Reckoner of Hard Work, the Reckoner of Learning, the Reckoner of Depression.  I struggled to get my shoes on; I forced myself to “Sit down!” and stay at the meeting.  I wanted to run (sic – What?  Me run?) out of the building.  I wanted to go home, curl up in bed and cry.

I didn’t.  I sat down, one of three men in the mass of women, I the most massive of all.  I opened my weight-loss record book and stared at the figures.  I did the calculations again, twice, in my head – maybe the Lady Reckoner had made a mistake.  Nope!  Not even our famed Master Smudge’s (check out our quirky professor at http://southofmoosejaw.wordpress.com/2010/03/05/smudges-stats-001b/) Statistics Course could smooth the weight gain figures.  I was the fat dope!

For two weeks in a row I have gained more fat-ness.  Ugh!  Oh God, but I feel so ugh-ly sometimes.  Ugh!!

“The world is like a wrecking ball to us fatties.”  That’s what my Weight-Loss Leader Lady told us tonight (paraphrased).  I was smacked square in the gut by it – right smack dab in the middle of my expansive huge wide bulging gut.

God?  What is the lesson in all this?

I worked hard this week to lose weight.  The week before I had hog-trough binged a number of times; the reckoner scale showed me what I had known and expected – a gain of four-tenths of a pound.  But this week, I had been careful!  Nearly every meal had been on track.  Each meal was planned and, for the most part, I, too, was on plan.  No pig outs like the prior week.  At the local grocery store, I said “No!” to the fresh-baked aroma-filling-the-air cake donuts.  This week as I cooked, I measured proportions.  Why, last night, I said “No!” to eating a second helping – I emptied the pan of food onto my dish, looked at it, picked up my fork to chow down, then dropped my fork into the sink, walked to the kitchen garbage can and – shame on me! – dumped my dish of second-helping food out.

I was proud of myself.  I wasn’t hungry; I wanted to eat that second helping because I didn’t want to “waste food.”  That was a sin in our home growing up!  My folks lived through the Great U.S. Depression and regularly had no food in their home.

I threw that good food away.  No, I did NOT castigate myself that I was starving some poor Ethiopian child because I threw it away – how ridiculous and stupid to think that tripe rubbish!

I had won a victory last night by tossing that second helping away!  I had said, “No thank you, Mr. SMJ.  I am not hungry; I do not need to eat that left-over food remaining in the pan.  And, it is NOT going into “Tupperware” and onto the shelf in my fridge, aching to be snacked on during the mid-night movie.  No!

I told myself “NO!” to eating!  How awesome!

As a result, I was anticipating at least one kilogram of weight loss tonight!

Smash!  The wrecking ball of the world showed up in my mail!  On the way home from my “We-Wanna-Learn-to-be-Less-and-Less-Fat” meeting (“W L-cubed F” meeting), I stopped at the mailbox and got my mail.  There was a letter from my bank – they congratulated me for being in deeper debt!  They had raised my credit card limit, plus they were giving me double points for debt purchases for the next 2 months!  My, what a deal!  What generosity!  What thoughtfulness!

But the wrecking ball was the final line at the bottom of that letter:  “P.S. Be sure to take advantage of your added buying power to dine out between this and that date.  With double points, you’ll reach the rewards you want even faster!”

OMG!  Don’t they know fat people?  How incredibly insensitive!  Where are the politically insensitive Fat-Police?  999.  Arrest them!  Fat people go out to dine?  At a restaurant?  That’s how we fat ones are to gain our rewards?  OMG!

That’s why I pack my own lunch to work – I can’t trust myself in the company cafeteria.

I’m sorry, but I have not adequately learned how to do that yet.  I am not able to say “No” to the red-and-white checkered basket of fresh-baked Mom’s-kitchen bread with its tubs of garlic butter.  No, I am not ready for the restaurant yet.  A time will come, though, a time of reckoning for the restaurant and our cafeteria.

So, here I am.  I’m on Week 10 of my weight-loss learning program.  Fatter than before, I am. But I am more willing than ever and eagerly wanting to learn a better eating lifestyle.

Yes, I got more fat!  And you know what?  I’ll be dam*ed if I console myself by gorging on food!  No solace food!  I just won’t!  I refuse to demolition myself on food.

At home and in lieu of kicking the cat, I sought some sage (oops! No food puns, please!) wise advice.  My long-time Bud and I chatted.  I calmed down.  I took the bad with all the good that was happening: my clothes were looser, I was feeling better – more energetic, my desire to exercise was increasing, I actually had lost more than ten pounds thus far, and my confidence in my ability “to do this” was growing (with inverse proportion to my gradual weight loss).  I did not crave a double-pepperoni extra-large pizza with a six of Labatt Blue.  All in all, things on the weight-loss side were indeed improving.

“So, SMJ, what’s the bottom line?” my Bud asked me.  ”What’s for supper, Big Guy?”

Supper was a lettuce salad light on the non-fat salad dressing, spritzed with lemon juice and heavily doused with Mexican salsa, a small bone-less pork chop steamed in onions & peppers plus one-half cup of Van Camps Pork & Beans, the latter added for odiferous effect.

Even though I grew fatter the past fortnight, I am learning to eat better “South of Moose Jaw”

smj

I’m taking a five-minute break from my 24/7 work life just for you!

Ladies, wonderful news! Getting wasted is good for your waistline! But only if you’re a loosey goosey lightweight. Researchers at Brigham and Women’s Hospital in Boston found that women who drink 15 to 30 grams a day, or up to two drinks, are 30% less likely to be overweight or obese. Does it still count if you bank your drinks and have them all on Saturday? Click here to read the LA Times’ take on this study.

I love Ben McKenzie, or maybe I’m still in love with Ryan Atwood (remember The O.C.?). Either way, I’ve been teary eyed since his latest gig ”Southland” was dropped from NBC. Now it’s on TNT Tuesdays at 10 p.m. – waaaaaay past my bedtime – but since I’m up tonight I get to watch it. Back to my point…Ben was on Ellen talking about being pantsless. Click here for the clip.

“There’s no need for me to try the scarf on too, Mother. I think you’ll find they tend to come in one size fits all.” She responds with the guilt-trip frown yet again – always a guaranteed winner – and with a sigh I pick the stripey scarf up off of the table and wrap it around my neck. With the navy blue suit and tie and the sky blue long-sleeved shirt on; cuff-links, tie pin and Dad’s old Timex adding to my discomfort; I feel like I’m being wrapped for Christmas.

She smiles, heads over from the sofa and pecks me on the cheek. For all my affectations of cool I can’t help blushing slightly from the look of pride in her eyes. “You look wonderful, dear. They’ll be desperate to hire you looking this handsome.” She beams at me, then turns to the brand new boyfriend, the latest in a long list: “And thanks for finding the time to take him shopping, Herm. It means a lot.”

“Oh, it was nothing Barb.” I hate Herman and his stupid name. The only thing more lame is when she calls him “Herm”, or he thinks he can call my mother “Barb”. Anyway, “Herm” got recessioned and is living off redundancy pay. It’s not like he’d had anything better to do than drive me into town.

**

I’d done my best to make his time with me as unpleasant as these squeaky wing tips, and I think I succeeded.

I start by sitting in the back seat in the car, directly behind him. He looks somewhat bemused, but doesn’t say anything; he wants to get all buddy-buddy with me, you see. I kick the back of his seat four or five times before he asks me to please and thank you kindly if it’s not too much trouble put my feet down. I stop, but I scowl at him in the rear-view mirror till I catch his eye, then I look away, stare out of the window.

He tries to engage me in conversation, asks how cool it is to be 18 now. Have I got a girlfriend? I should practice safe sex. Have I started drinking yet? I give him a look of total disbelief, utter disdain. I tell him, “If you must know, I’m too busy for girls right now. I’m working on my fantasy novel and I’ve got to focus on my art. And yes, I’m pretty fond of cider, what’s it to you Herm?”

He says he likes cider too, “Kopparberg on ice is scrumptious.” Scrumptious? I let him know that alco-pop shit is for fags. That shuts him up and he looks like a hurt puppy. He doesn’t try starting a new conversation until we’re in the department store, so I get a few minutes of respite from his brown-nosing. All quiet except for the anaemic hum of his Volvo engine, plus the usual inane yapping on the radio – but at least the volume’s low.

When we get there I slam my door hard enough to piss him off and then go back to texting my friends. There’s the smooth, reassuring sound of well-lubricated sliding doors as we enter, I follow him onto the escalator heading up to Men’s Clothes and see out the corner of my eye that he’s fidgeting the whole time.

A minute later he tries to break the ice for a second time by offering to buy me a football jersey. I tell him he can’t buy my obedience, certainly not that cheap. I also tell him football’s for grunts and queers. I outgrew that shit last summer. We head over to the formalwear in silence. I put my phone away and look around, the place is deserted. To be expected on a Monday morning, when proper grown-ups – not like Herman – are at work.

I go with the blue because it’s my favourite colour. Herman says it’s a good choice, I just shrug. It takes a while to get a suit that properly matches my body shape. I’m still pretty short, waiting on that last growth spurt, and my arms are short and my shoulders are rather narrow, but I’m kind of filling out a bit around the waist and it’s hard to get the right suit. In the end I go for a suit with longer legs and sleeves than I need because I can always ask my mother to shorten it for me.

I think I’m gaining the weight because I’ve been drinking cider a lot. I’ve been reading Hemingway and Bukowski a lot and they drank loads and were really cool writers. I think chicks were really into them too. Plus I know I won’t get fat because I’ve got my growth spurt coming. My face has got a bit chubbier too, but I’m growing a beard to counteract that. I’ll look really rugged. My father had a beard the last time I saw him, before he went off to find himself. He left me his books, though: thousands of them. Some really good ones too, and most are unread so I can sell them on Ebay when I need drinking money.

I get Herman to pay so I can keep the money my mother gave me. He insists on buying me one of the stupid Harry Potter scarves on sale by the counter. I need to buy myself a drink or two before the inevitable living room fashion show she’ll put me through this evening. It’s only a call centre job, but she’s really stoked about this assessment day. I bet everyone else turns up in their skinny jeans and plimsolls. I’ll look so uncool. Still, nearly a year since I quit the daily brainwashing sessions, so I kind of owe it to her to at least try something. If I get the job I’ll stick it out for a few weeks, at least the training period.

Herman drops me off outside The Golden Swan, I tell him to drop the clothes off at the house, wrongly assuming he won’t be there when I get back. I light a cig and take a few deep drags as I look up and down the street: not much to see. I drop it on the ground, crush it underfoot, and make my way into The Swan.

Can one drink make you smaller? According to a study that appears in this week’s Archives of Internal Medicine, light to moderate amounts of alcohol may help you gain less weight. Sounds too good to be true, right?

Intuition tells me that drinking alcohol can lead to weight gain because you end up taking in more calories than you burn (as well as the fact that those calories are carbohydrates). However, in over 19,000 women (aged 39 and older) with a normal body mass index (i.e. 18.5 to 25), women who reported not drinking any alcohol had the most weight gain over approximately 13 years. What’s more, women who reported drinking about 40 grams of alcohol daily were less likely to become overweight or obese. Women drinking less than 30 grams a day had a 30% lower risk of becoming overweight or obese than women who did not drink at all. In this study, the link between alcohol intake and overweight or obesity was seen for red or white wine, beer or liquor. The strongest association was seen for red wine.

In a separate analysis, the researchers also observed an association between declines in the amount of weight, increases in alcohol intake and older age. Comparatively, the magnitude of the weight gain was smaller in older versus younger women!

Importantly, the results seen in the study remained even after researchers made adjustments for lifestyle, clinical and dietary factors such as physical activity, the presence of chronic disease and consumption of other beverages (e.g. coffee, soft drinks, tea).

Granted, 40 grams is about 1.4 ounces or about half of a normal 5 ounce glass of wine. That may not meet the craving for a glass of wine. However, perhaps the larger take-away message is that a little wine can go a long way towards staving off weight gain. My RD friends might disagree but it’s an interesting ponder.

What do you think? Can one drink (or a half a drink) make you smaller?

Wow!

I wonder if Jerry is right.

At the bar, maybe alcohol is a factor + sex drive = hook ups.

But what about at the coffee shops?

I don’t see too many mickies pulling out at Starbucks, do you?

I remember thinking how back in the 1930’s when the Bowery was a place were you could get a bed for 15¢ and a pastrami sandwich for 20¢ this would never happen. If you fell asleep with 40¢ in your hand, you woke up empty handed!

All Photos © Matt Weber