It’s a constant battle, isn’t it?
What we shove in our pie holes. You are what you eat, they say. If that’s the case, I’m the love child of a pizzeria and a cheese monger’s workshop. With KitKat lined up around the edge. That’s not to say I never, ever eat healthy, because I do. For instance, how I eat cheeseburgers.
If tomatoes come on them, I don’t ask for them to hold them. That’s practically salad.
Instead, I pull tomatoes out from between patty and bun, toss a dash of salt and pepper on them, and enjoy. I told a soccer dad just tonight that my favorite salad ever is a supreme pizza. Tomatoes, green pepper, onion, mushroom … I might as well be vegan.
I read on CRAVESAdventure a quote that stuck with me: I am about nurturing and nourishing my whole being for good health!
Whole. Being. That’s not an excuse to eat fried chicken and York peppermint patties for breakfast. Mostly, dinner I make will include a side of veggies. Not every pancake shall be pocked with chocolate chips. I’ll drink a glass of water between fill-ups of Coke Zero.
I don’t believe in diets.
Me and my fatty liver
After a medical exam in college revealed elevated enzyme levels in my blood, my doctor prodded around my abdomen for answers. He found them, tucked under my rib cage on the right: A fatty liver.
It sounds way more like it’s justified to blame my mom and refried beans for that.
It’s not. When was the last time you were able to target fat cells in your liver with exercise? Right. It was an unfortunate state for me. I read a book called The Liver Cleansing Diet, by Dr. Sandra Cabot. It’s all about reversing fatty liver! And it worked. Miserably so.
I looked svelte as a bulldog-shaped man could expect.
Yes, I fit in size 32s again.
I looked svelte. Svelte as a bulldog-shaped man could expect. I see it in pictures from that era. Know what was missing, though? Just little things. Joy. Fulfillment. Satisfaction. A place in this universe. (That one proves tough to attain, and it has nothing to do with diet.)
Long as I stuck to a diet that included almond milk and ratatouille, I kept that look. Sleek lines. Aerodynamic build. I looked … sick. My face reflected a life devoid of … cow milk and food with flavor. Eight weeks in, I quit the liver cleansing diet for good. (Sorry, Doc.)
Foodie daydreams: The Best
I’d lost weight, sure, but at what cost?
Ever peeked inside the daydreams of a foodie? Lord, have mercy. It’s a beautiful thing. I get it, though. A man can’t eat like a boy of 14 when he’s 44. And a half.
Today, I try to rely on my instincts, which tell me I need to move more to justify and battle what I’ve eaten – or dreamed of eating.
If I could only turn that into an app …