by gansie
Enjoy your weekly fix of Liz Lemon singing, crying and dancing about her love of food.
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by gansie
I’m a 1950s housewife these days. I’m writing (unemployed-ish) and therefore find my schedule fairly flexible. Bennett signed up for a work training in Cleveland, but since he would finish by 4pm and we have our friend Heather living there now, I decided to jump along for the Midwestern vacation. I know that’s what my grandmother (housewife) would do when my grandfather traveled for work.
On vacation I rarely think about choosing healthy foods. Fuck it, right? I’m on vacation. But my aunt said something during last Thanksgiving that (unfortunately?) stuck with me. It’s easy to think of a special reason to turn to treats—birthdays, anniversaries, vacations, holidays, break-ups, fights, good days, bad days—so soon every day there can be an explanation to eat dessert or go for that second helping.
So for my second lunch in Cleveland, where the first screamed indulgence, I chose a light dish at Lucky’s Cafe. Something I could be proud of: yogurt with berries and house-made granola. Heather oozed with excitement after I placed the order and my worries of a boring meal on vacation soon diminished. (Heather, by the way, keeps an eating-in-Cleveland blog.)
We sat outside on a wooden picnic table, under an umbrella and next to the restaurant’s large garden.
Then the yogurt came and holy shit.
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by gansie
It’s better than the pill, Amanda tells me. I believe her because she knows about food, she loves slimy, oily fish and she’s really pretty. Her slight Southern accent punctuates the truth: eating actual fish is much more beneficial than swallowing a supplement.
Earlier this year I learned about my elevated cholesterol. I started on fish oil pills immediately. But I also tried to eat foods that would lower my level, not just avoid foods known to perk it up. I dined on oatmeal and lentils through the winter, filling my hunger but leaving plenty of dough in my now very-empty bank account.
But that was winter. I can no longer allow the stove top to fire up my kitchen for a full 45 minutes.That’s when I found Amanda at a backyard party, proclaiming the joys and healthful uses of tiny fish.
I lunched at DC’s Estadio, ordering a decidedly oily sandwich of sardines. Sardines, butter and thinly shaved onions. And suddenly I didn’t feel so terrible, so old, so holy-fuck-I’m-30. I found a legitimate reason to order fishy sandwiches. I will, I will, I will lower my cholesterol deliciously.
by gansie
