I Am What I Chew

devil dog is more like it

Bagel Dog, I wish I’d never met you.  You are cheap ($2.50) convenenient (60 seconds in the microwave) and delish (split open and add some Grey Poupon).

Trouble is, you’re 570 calories (without the mustard) and I can’t afford that.

And so, my love, ours must be a one-time thing.  You were juicy and satisfying in the moment, but our encounter must not be repeated, for as much as I love you, I know you’re no good for me.

Now, get along, little doggie.

i do loves me some pig parts

So, after I met with my nutritionist (the lovely Nancy Bennett) in San Francisco, I walked a few blocks to the Ferry Building, which is in the shadow of the Bay Bridge. Yes, you can catch a ferry there, but most people go there to partake in the foodie experience.

Want gluten-free bread?  Organic pomegranates? Overpriced–er, I mean gourmet–chocolates? No prob. There’s a wine bar and a tea place, and if you are feeling a quart low, a fancy olive oil joint.

Of course, being the Midwest girl that I am, it was the lure of “tasty salted pig parts” that stopped me in my tracks.

I came, I inhaled, I took a photo.  But I did not eat the pig.

Instead, I got a glass of iced green tea and sat in the sunshine and looked at the Bay. It was a good day.

these are the devil's own wafers

Sweets are not on my food plan, so when the little cookie-pushers in the green berets came to the door, I rebuffed them with a “Thanks, we already bought some.”

Then, Keeper called my bluff and demanded some Trefoils or Samoas or even some of those Lemon Creme Thingies. I had to admit I was lying.

it wasn’t over. We were accosted outside the supermarket this weekend and we gave into the chocolaty temptation known as Thin Mints.  It is 4 days later and there are still a few left in that single box of succulent wafers, but only because of my white-knuckled willpower.

My aqua fitness teacher asked if I had ever had them frozen.”They’re scrumptious!” she declared.

No, I haven’t.  I don’t need them to be more delectable.  I need them to be way LESS yummy.

Girl Scouts, be gone! And take your overpriced boxes of sugary goodness with you!

canned dessert or medical condition?

Although I’m more open to new foods than I used to be (hello, rutabagas!) there are some things I refuse to put in my mouth.

Leave it to those silly British, who call Fries “chips” and chips “crisps.”

Instead of calling a sponge pudding with raisins a “sponge pudding with raisins” they dubbed it “spotted dick.” This, of course, is hilarious to us Americans, who will giggle uncontrollably at the mention of any anatomical reference.

Not only does it have a terrible name, but it’s made with shredded suet.

That’s right, beef fat.

I’ll pass.

what does this look like to you?

I’m always looking for ways to make myself love unfamiliar vegetables.  I don’t like to say “no” until I’ve tried at least different ways of fixing them.

So, I dug out a recipe that combined two vegetables on my list of Least Palatable Foods: bok choy and beets.

I followed the instructions to roast the beets in a foil packet in the oven with some olive oil and garlic.  When I removed the packet 40 minutes later, not only were the beets still hard, but the packet broke open and leaked all over the counter.

The recipe said to cook them and rub off the skins with a paper towel.  I stood there with beet blood all over my fingers, pot holders and countertops and thought, “Uh, no.”

I ended up sautéing the bok choy in olive oil with garlic and sea salt.  Put some feta cheese on top. Yummy.

The beets went in the garbage.  I don’t care how good they are for me – any veggie that makes my kitchen look like a murder scene is on the list called “Not Worth It.”

I’ve been slowly slipping off the wagon.  First it was pizza, then it was Taco Bell, then the mother of all fast food: a quarter pounder with cheese and large fries.

Yesterday, I woke up feeling like total crap and for some reason, I didn’t make the connection between the junk I was eating and the junky way I felt.

Hey, we all need to keep re-learning the same stuff, right?

So, last night I downloaded “SuperSize Me” from Netflix.  I sat horrified as the story unfolded about what happened to the filmmaker’s body when he embarked on a month-long McBinge — eating nothing but McDonald’s, three times a day.

The person lolling about on the couch, too tired and depressed to get up and go to bed, was instantly recognizable.  It was me.

The scariest part of the movie talked about addiction.  The high-fat diet actually makes you crave more of the greasy stuff and provides a high when consuming it. Worse, McDonald’s knows it.  It’s engineered that way.

After nearly destroying his health, the hero goes back to his organic vegan lifestyle (his girlfriend is a chef).  It takes months to lose the weight (25 pounds) and the ill effects (high cholesterol, liver damage, vitamin deficiency) that came with his 30-day McDiet.

What he willingly did to himself, I (and millions of others) unconsciously do to our bodies every day.

I will never again see the golden arches as the gateway to fun.  Beyond them lies the grave.

where's the bacon? In my tummy-tum-tum.

Sometimes a girl has to have some meat.  Preferably, the highly processed kind that’s mostly fat and is laden with nitrates. Or nitrites.  Or whatever.

Such a day was today, and I took myself to the Omelet House, which was deserted at 10 am except for people speaking Albanian and Japanese.  I hunkered down with my breakfast while reading Hugh MacLeod’s “Ignore Everyone” and scarfed down the bacon, the English muffin, a couple forkfuls of hashbrowns, and some eggs.

I’ve been paying for it ever since.  After two months on a new regime of mostly veggies, my body can’t digest animal fat and simple carbs.  But, oh, what a nice, salty, crunchy plate of edible sin it was.