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It was an amazing day in Los Angeles on Sunday. I watched a piece on ESPN and saw where a dome in Minneapolis crashed in because too much snow had fallen on the roof. I guess this is where I’m supposed to feel guilty about living in southern California. Eff that, that is why I moved here 20 years ago. Let me give you a brief history lesson. Back in the late 1980s the Cajun craze hit Los Angeles. Just about every restaurant was trying to blacken anything and everything. They started hiring New Orleans chefs. That’s when one of my childhood buddies, Big Daddy Callahan, got paid copius amounts of money to move to L.A. to cook. I might add that Big Daddy might be one of the best chefs I’ve ever known. I’m not just saying that. He’s that good. As kids, he whipped up stuff Emeril would dream of making. It’s not just me that thinks this. The whole world does. He’s been the executive chef at some of the finest establishments in the world, like the Watergate Hotel in Washington. But I digress. Because Big Daddy moved to L.A., I would go out to visit him. I would leave cold rainy weather in New Orleans during January and stay with Big Daddy in the San Fernando Valley. Every day I would ride a bike, run or hang out on the beach. Sunday was like one of those days. When I woke up, I knew it was going to be special. Instead of taking my car to one of my morning clients, I took my motorcycle. Even though it’s not as fuel efficient, I took the long way to each of my other clients. I wanted to soak in as much of the day as I could. At 2 p.m. I found myself at the shooting range in the Angeles National Forest. I usually take several guns with me. On this day, I took one. It was a Remington .270 model 700 bolt action. It’s the least accurate gun I own, partially because it’s old and has been shot a lot. My grandmother gave it to me when I was 15 as a Christmas gift. I bagged a lot of game with that gun over the years. Once I left the shooting range, it was back to work to see my evening clients. For most people, Sunday is a day of rest. Not for me. It’s just another day to work. I told you that to tell you this. As I left the Angeles National Forest, my throat got dry and started to burn. That’s a down side when you live in a dry place like L.A. on a day like today. So just before I wrote this piece I had a 12 ounce soda. It was a Vernors Ginger Soda. It went down so well. It cured my scratchy throat problem. That soda got me thinking. I don’t drink many sodas. Never have. If I drink anything with bubbles, it’s usually Pelligrino water. Sometimes I’ll have a Guinness beer. But that’s about it. When it comes to quenching thirst, I’m a water guy. That’s what the blog is about today…good old H2O. Most of my readers are health conscious. They go to the gym, hit a spin class from time to time and some hardcore people do ultra events like triathlons and so far. They are generally interested in their health and their body is a temple. They want to be at the peak of their athleticism. But all too often these same folks will do anything to quench their thirst. Anything but drink water. In my opinion, most sports drinks are not only as bad as sodas…they’re worse. They’re chock full of sugar, artificial colors and loaded with chemicals to stay stable. The next time you need a “sports drink” use the best sports drink on the planet…water. If it’s extremely hot where you are and you’re exercising, add an electrolyte. Some of my favorites: Salt stick, lava salt, nuun and e-caps.
