After two weeks of unbridled holiday gorging in Texas, the month of reckoning is upon me – being sustained solely by a diet of Tex-Mex, barbecue, kolaches and Christmas cookies, my body hates it when I go on vacation.
But I’ve gone through the wilderness and have emerged ready for all things green, nutritious and light.
As a general policy, I try to eat pretty healthily in my day-to-day life, focusing on eating fresh, whole foods and preparing meals at home, managing portions (sometimes) and even counting calories when I’m feeling motivated. I do have a serious weakness for dessert that is managed some days better than others, but as a rule, I try to keep it together nutritionally.
That is, except for “special occasions.”
If Jason could eat grilled cheese sandwiches every day of his life, I think he might. This is not a criticism, mind you, just a statement of fact.
As someone who loves to experiment in the kitchen, this is problematic. My natural instinct is to fuss it up and fancify the sandwich, to treat it like an Iron Chef challenge. Premium fresh cheeses, sauteed onions, a gourmet spread, maybe the addition of fruit slices or bacon. Grilled cheese is a blank canvas! Time after time I try to concoct the perfect sandwich upgrade, presented with flourish and ceremony.
Jason always accepts these offerings without complaint, but after years of marriage, I’ve come to read the signals: what he really wants is just two slices of classic american cheese on buttered, toasted bread.
So Sunday wasn’t my best day for health consciousness.
There may have been some day drinking with friends, a few fistfuls of savory hand-pie from the Pasty Republic food truck, an unfettered gorging of pizza after said day drinking.
Then I *MIGHT* have accidentally stumbled upon some Girl Scout cookies of a questionable age somewhere in the dark nethers of my pantry. And did horrible, horrible things to them.
So basically, on an 80/20 diet, Sunday might’ve counted as my 20% for, like a few months.
I’m a summer baby. Born and bred (clap clap clap clap) deep in the heart of Texas, I grew up where the main seasons are summer and slightly less summer, so the antagonizingly pleasant weather here in Denver has always thrown me off-kilter a bit.
Only on rare occasions does it get oppressively hot, and it’s such a change from the banality of consistently perfect weather, that it’s a welcome change.
I like to go outside and soak in that heat like a snake on a rock on those days. Heat like that makes me want to eat like I should eat all year round – light and healthy, fresh, whole ingredients with minimal fussing.
It’s practically the only time I’ll eat a salad.