Taste Test: Sports Drinks

Gatorade Alternatives

After my lousy 17-mile training run, I conceded that maybe I need a little more than water to keep me going.  But I can’t bring myself to drink Gatorade.  Don’t know why.  Maybe it’s the color.

So I started looking around for an alternative, something that offered replenishment, something that’s flavor wouldn’t make me gag.

Online, I found a recipe for a homemade sports drink–basically water with a splash of orange juice, a spoon of sugar and a pinch of salt.  It was drinkable if not wildly delicious.

Then I found two more options at a grocery store–coconut water and a natural sports drink.  I gave them a try this morning, after a run.

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My So-Called Life in France

Bastille Market

Paris Market Vendor

Apparently every Julia, Kiki, and Carrie longs to live the French life, so many of us it’s getting kind of silly.  A few years ago, I became a cliche (in yet another way) and started renting an apartment in Paris for a couple of weeks at a time.  One of my favorite parts is that I can buy food, come home, and cook it.

It’s an education.  Where to shop.  When to shop.  The unwritten rules of shopping.  The option of buying a single egg.  The store that’s dedicated solely to frozen food.

Malva Pudding, Baby

Baby on Board

Ah, Peachtree City, Georgia–a suburban vision that includes miles of golf cart trails and a dedicated community of golf cart drivers.

Yes, that’s a baby riding shotgun, zooming along to dinner no doubt, as was I, on a variation of Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride.

At least he’s strapped into a cart seat.

I did not know before arriving that Peachtree City was golf cartcentric.  Nor did I realize I’d be sampling South African influenced cuisine.  When my host coasted to a stop in front of the Georgia Shrimp Co., I thought Forrest Gump not Ladysmith Black Mambazo.

Local in Dallas

The Bar at Local

When an assignment had me toiling in the land of J.R. Ewing, I looked for an escape.  A little googling turned up the restaurant Local, which no surprise, specializes in using locally-grown ingredients.  It’s in Deep Ellum, next to a butcher shop, away from highrises.  As escape plans go, this one was coming together rather effortlessly.

Perhaps I should have thought it was too easy, that danger might be lurking.  At the restaurant, I backed across the bar to photograph a wider view of the place.  I was grabbed from behind in a bear of a clutch.