Moderation sucks, but it’s better than not saving babies
Something triggered a dream memory this morning as I was half asleep. I dreamt about dreaming an older dream I’ve had on occasion. It’s a tsunami dream. Earthquake. Then you’re on the beach when the water sucks back into the powerbase of the tsunami that’s building somewhere far off shore. In my dream, I’m on that beach surrounded by a bunch of other beach goers when I see the water suck back into itself. And in a moment, I know what’s about to happen.
No one else on the beach seems to know, and all I can do is yell “Tsunami!” and hope that people follow my running feet inland. In the dream, I also have a child with me, about one year old. I’m completely unaware if it’s my child or if it’s a child that I just grabbed or if he’s a cousin who is with me or whatever. I just know I have to grab this child and run. And then there’s the run itself – barefoot along a beach of deep sand that slows me down. Then I get to the asphalt which is hot and grainy on my bare feet, which also slows me down.
This morning, there was one thing different. I was so completely out of shape that I couldn’t maintain any kind of speed. I’d have to stop to catch my breath. The weight of my body dragged me into a slow motion Chariots of Fire style run, minus rippling muscles. Well, there was rippling. But I’ll leave that one to your imagination. I remember thinking, “it’s a body well suited to cushioning a sleeping baby, but not for saving its life.”
And right about then, I woke up and decided that I needed to cut back on the wine, the red meat, simple carbs, and the cheese. Every meal will have greens of some kind. Pasta and white rice will be treats, not the norm.
I say this after having bought my $3 pasta maker AND two cloth sacks of special Spanish paella rice from Nicole’s.
The cheese part kind of rips me up a little because I also just bought the most delectable triple cream Spanish cheese at Nicole’s Gourmet Imports sale. It was like eating creamy fat pudding, which sounds bad until you spread it on a piece of fresh-baked French bread and layer small batch-cured salami on it. Even SJ had some. Twice. And he’s not a cheese fan.
Then of course David Lebovitz greets me this morning with the following entry:
“And one of the most fabulous things about Paris are the fromageries. I love, love, love the cheese shops and my dream has always been to work in one. (Although after my experience working at the fish market, l might want to rethink that.)
Each time I visit a fromagerie, I see something new on the straw-lined shelf, and can’t help bringing home a wonderful specimen of cheese. Money or matière grasse (fat percentage) is no object.”
Oh, a pox upon you, David, for such awesomely written cheese prose. He then goes on to describe a bread crumb toasted chevre that makes me cringe. Because?
Because I remember back when I dropped a lot of weight back in the 90’s. And it was largely because I was so militant about my cheese and simple carb intake. I ordered salads with cheese removed. I refused the cheese girl with her whirling cheese crank, ready to rain lacy, tasty, cream-colored parm upon my food. I walked by the cheese tables and bins at stores without a glance or a sample. Rice was always brown. Pasta, if I ever had it, was whole wheat (so were my tortillas…ugh). It was all that and the fact that I had started running a few miles every other day that brought me down to fighting shape in record time. Cheese. Wine. Rice. Pasta. I loves it. I loves it bad.
The sad truth behind being a gustatory explorer is that often times the most delicious, most sensual, most explosive food experiences are also the ones that make your belly its own continent. So. More healthy soups and salads. Creative use of vegetables to create a better mouthfeel to attempt to compensate for the lack of delicious fat. More motion – that cross training devil machine at the gym WILL become my bitch. And maybe even the return of those god damn sit-ups I used to do. Ugh.
Thankfully, a lot of the food writing I do is about local markets, not restaurants. So I’ll get to aim things at veggie creativity a bit more. I won’t ENTIRELY give up on my loves. Just push them to the side a little more. And soup weather is coming – I foresee roasted veggie stock making many appearances.