Monday, March 9, 2015

Lunch on Saturday

If you’ve been following my new(ish) Facebook page, you might have noticed that on Saturday, I once again wrote a post celebrating food. 

You guys, I never realized how much I loved writing about food until all of those status updates--some enhanced with pictures--were lined up, one after the other.

I promise that I am not one of those people who needs a pulley and lever system aided by a complete emergency medical team in order to get out of my bed—NOT that I’m judging if you or someone you know is.

Hey, I get it. I love food, too.  In fact, I’d call myself a foodie, but I think that’s too sophisticated of a word for someone whose favorite food splurges are chicken nuggets and Taco Bell chili cheese burritos (+ sour cream)—and, okay, sushi.

But I work out like a motha 5-6 days a week for my license to cheat, and honestly, I don’t eat that terribly.  Fried foods were ruined for me in college, when that was all we used to eat.  I remember clearly the night I stopped adoring them.  I had been gnawing on a chicken finger (poor chicken) and had paused to wash it down with a guzzle of my vodka tonic.  

And suddenly I came to a really sad realization, and I say “really sad” because everything I had known and loved about the culinary world up to that point in my life crumbled to pieces with it: All of this fried stuff tastes the same.  I could be eating a fried turd, really, and I wouldn’t know the difference.

After that, I didn’t eat much fried food.  And with anything else, I really do believe in moderation. I eat everything, but I don’t eat a shitload of everything. I’d like to say “unless I’m nursing a screaming hangover,” but I’m honest to a fault and that kind of sounds too cool for my current experience.  Because the only types of hangovers I get are those "mom hangovers," where we have full intentions of whooping it up with the hubs and a bunch of drinks on the couch on a Saturday night after the kids finally fall asleep, only to have 2 beers before falling into a deep, exhausted slumber ourselves.  The next day we might feel a little groggy, but it's nothing that our usual morning cup of coffee can't fix.

So rest assured, my eating habits aren’t horrible, but I like to chronicle them in a laughy way when they are.

The joke will be on me, however, when my calories burned cannot possibly continue to compete with calories consumed, and I begin my EBay search for a cheap pulley and lever system.

Until then, here’s an update on my Facebook post from Saturday:

A cup of coffee (2 creams, 2 sugars), chicken fingers and cheese balls (an extra side of ranch, please): the perfect "first meal back" for someone who spent all day yesterday riddled with the trots, right? Oh, good. That's what I figured.

And you know what?

Whatever it was—God heard my prayers and was with me that day; the stars aligned; I really do know my body and its signals—it was the first time in 24 hours that I didn’t shit my pants after eating more than 2 bites of something.



  1. I was hungry before I started reading this, but not anymore! Thanks, Shay - and I mean that. I have a dress I need to squeeze myself into on Saturday, so food is not my friend. At least not the kind I'd like to eat. Glad you're feeling better!

    1. Sorry. And you're welcome? (Oh, and thanks!)

  2. Your mom hangover is spot-on! Can't wait to vicariously experience more of your culinary adventures you big-shot foodie you! A regular Padma Lakshmi!