It turns out I’m completely full of crap. After all my talk about organic this and sustainable that, I’m just a big glutton destined to be a future pity contestant on The Biggest Loser.
This weekend I went on a little outdoor excursion and when I reached civilization again, it was necessary to refuel. After eating two days of freeze-dried crap, I deserved, nay required, real food. While on the return trail, I had fantasies of poaching some wild salmon with chopped fresh tomatoes or defrosting a grass-fed ribeye. But once we got to the parking lot, hunger overwhelmed me and I manhandled our caravan to the nearest Black Bear Diner, one of a growing chain of restaurants on the West Coast. They specialize in comfort food in large quantities and do it well. So well that we decided that they must be owned by the same foreign conglomerate that started The Cheesecake Factory and P.F. Chang’s – just one more cog in the international conspiracy to make Americans even more obese.
But what could I do about it? Once my eyes settled on the menu, I couldn't help but focus on the appetizer sampler platter, the one with the quesadillas, chili cheese nachos, garlic fries, chicken tenders (yes, chicken), and onion rings. What wasn’t deep fried was covered in cheese. Wait, everything was deep fried and covered in cheese. Anyhow, the point is, the seductiveness of their offerings eclipsed my political correctness. When the platter arrived, I took the prison posture where I protected my plate with my left hand while shoveling food into my mouth with the right. It was impressive. But what earned me true hypocrite/glutton status was my ordering a side of macaroni and cheese on top of the appetizers. Who cares that it was mediocre? My calories per dollar ratio was off the charts.
Thus, I feel it’s my responsibility to blog this great shame. All my talk of boycotting poultry means nothing. And I’m sure there was nothing on that plate that didn’t involve genetically modified crops and/or high fructose corn syrup. So you should stop reading this blog, toot sweet. I can’t be trusted.
Last night I was feeling rather peckish and lazy so I defrosted some spaghetti and meatballs I had made a couple months back. It was an icy lump that was enough for two meals but I couldn’t well portion it out without a hacksaw so I reheated the whole thing in a pot. Long story short, I ate the entire thing (covered in cheese) in one sitting and complained of stomach pains the rest of the night. It was one of those not-so-rare moments where food made me feel bad about myself.
For those guilty times I turn to This Is Why You’re Fat, a collection of reader-submitted photographs of disgusting foods. When you read about The Tobias (a grilled beef sandwich topped with fried pepperoni, salami, provolone cheese, fried onions, tomato and special sauce), suddenly a double helping of spaghetti and meatballs doesn’t seem so bad. Most of the featured dishes are various fast foods stuffed in a bun or on a pizza:
The Potluck BurgerA burger with sliced hot dogs, potato salad, mac and cheese, tomato, ketchup, mustard and mayonnaise.
But every so often there is an inspired entry:
Breakfast CakeTwo layers of egg, sausage, bacon, cheese quiche with country gravy in between, topped with gravy icing garnished with bacon bits.
I’m sad to admit that I’ve eaten more than one of the featured items on multiple occasions. I refuse to say which ones.
I know I mentioned them in the previous entry but the Planet Money team just podcasted on the Fancy Food Show. This blog isn’t really meant to pimp out other websites but that’s apparently what today is about. Slow news day, I guess. The podcast is one of their rare food-centric episodes and it's humorous and informative (and I promise, it’s the last time I’ll mention them or NPR for the rest of the year).
Lastly, a brief tomato update: All the plants are flourishing, though many of the fruit are afflicted with blossom end rot, a condition that blackens the ends of tomatoes. It’s due to a calcium deficiency so I tossed in a couple Tums into the water. Very scientific of me, I know. The Sweet 100s have been producing consistently, truly living up to their name. A handful a day of super-sweet little tomatoes. The big ‘uns have been slow to mature but I picked the first pretty one yesterday.
This Early Girl has a date with the inside of a grilled cheese sandwich
Tons of Big Boys and Romas to follow.
It turns out I’m completely full of crap. After all my talk about organic this and sustainable that, I’m just a big glutton destined to be a future pity contestant on The Biggest Loser.
This weekend I went on a little outdoor excursion and when I reached civilization again, it was necessary to refuel. After eating two days of freeze-dried crap, I deserved, nay required, real food. While on the return trail, I had fantasies of poaching some wild salmon with chopped fresh tomatoes or defrosting a grass-fed ribeye. But once we got to the parking lot, hunger overwhelmed me and I manhandled our caravan to the nearest Black Bear Diner, one of a growing chain of restaurants on the West Coast. They specialize in comfort food in large quantities and do it well. So well that we decided that they must be owned by the same foreign conglomerate that started The Cheesecake Factory and P.F. Chang’s – just one more cog in the international conspiracy to make Americans even more obese.
But what could I do about it? Once my eyes settled on the menu, I couldn't help but focus on the appetizer sampler platter, the one with the quesadillas, chili cheese nachos, garlic fries, chicken tenders (yes, chicken), and onion rings. What wasn’t deep fried was covered in cheese. Wait, everything was deep fried and covered in cheese. Anyhow, the point is, the seductiveness of their offerings eclipsed my political correctness. When the platter arrived, I took the prison posture where I protected my plate with my left hand while shoveling food into my mouth with the right. It was impressive. But what earned me true hypocrite/glutton status was my ordering a side of macaroni and cheese on top of the appetizers. Who cares that it was mediocre? My calories per dollar ratio was off the charts.
Thus, I feel it’s my responsibility to blog this great shame. All my talk of boycotting poultry means nothing. And I’m sure there was nothing on that plate that didn’t involve genetically modified crops and/or high fructose corn syrup. So you should stop reading this blog, toot sweet. I can’t be trusted.
