Monday, March 2, 2015

Feast Days Shouldn't Last

I am addicted to comfort food.  Chicken fricassee and shepherd's pie were my childhood favorites.  I love warm, white bread, pasta anything, and the savory smells of Thanksgiving.  I think such food is especially comforting when I don't have to make it and my kitchen remains clean. Laziness mixed with butter and starch is an unhealthy combination.

I am also "of a certain age." I can no longer eat like I am twenty and expect the scale to congratulate me in the morning.  In fact, my husband has connected our scale to our computer so it can show "trends."  I hate trends.

But, praise the Lord, I also possess an annoying amount of vanity.  Things can only progress so far before I take action.  I have been doing this tango with the scales for ten years now and it works for me.  Seasons of eat, drink, and be merry are often followed by seasons of settle-down-now Susan.

I am in such a season now.  Drinking smoothies with hemp, eating mini peppers, consuming vast quantities of expensive berries: these choices make me feel wonderful and energetic and somewhat self-disciplined.

But sometimes, you just gotta have decadent feast days.

Last night, it was double date night at a smokehouse.  I walked in and the room smelled like sizzling fat.   The menu only offered meals that were warm, gooey, and happy.  And so after a week of perfect eating, I ordered a salmon dish (salmon's good, right?) nesting on a bed of fettuccine with butter and pesto sauce.  It was perfection.

By some miracle, I only ate half of my entree and brought the rest home.  Well done, Susan! And I feel like today I have stumbled on a secret that will help me for the rest of my life.... I opened my mouth and I promised the left-overs to my daughter.

I am alone today.  My refrigerator is stocked with healthy options which I tell myself I am utterly sick of eating.  And there is that little box.... but I gave my word.... it will make her happy.... it will make me happy.... The struggle is real, folks.  But sharing that bit of pasta with my fellow comfort-food addict daughter will actually double the pleasure.  We will talk about how marvelous it is together. She knows that I understand my other children wouldn't have liked it as well.  That I chose her to promise it to.

So half the calories, twice the enjoyment.  And I will have taught my daughter a healthy principle for all her life - don't feast alone.  Share rich moments and exercise self-control the rest of the time.

 A recipe for no regrets.  

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