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A Love Affair

I am not really sure where I picked up my love for food. It’s not like I was born into a family of chefs. I was brought up on bologna sandwiches, Steak-umms, and tuna casserole with toast. I have an aunt who takes great pride in what I have dubbed her “Buster Brown” pot roast. And my grandmother would always put too much thyme into everything.

Full disclosure: I was in my late twenties before I realized she put too much “thyme” into her food, and not too much “time” into her food. For years I thought if you didn’t get in and out of the kitchen as quickly as possible your meal would be a disaster and everyone would sit around the table admonishing you for using too much effort.

I may not know where I picked up my love for food (making it is a whole different story), but I can tell you when it started.

I was in high school when I developed an irrational obsession with cafeteria pizza. “Cardboard” is what most of my peers referred to it as. Turns out I liked cardboard and their loss was my gain.

I’d bet the ranch and say there is pizza on this tray.

Luckily for me, I had a metabolism that lived on the Autobahn. These days my metabolism prefers to take the slow lane on Rural Route 9. Although I can no longer eat what I want without repercussions, I still do so with abandon.

I’m always hungry. I wake up hungry. I usually go to bed hungry. Food is almost always on my mind. Right now, I am thinking about when I can eat again. And I just had dinner. In my mind, I am scouring my refrigerator because I’m too lazy to get up. And from the looks of it, a call to Uber Eats may be in order.

You know how you feel after a Thanksgiving meal and you declare you are so full you are never eating again and then don’t for at least another day? Not only does that not happen to me, I don’t understand it.

The only time I’m not hungry is when I have a stomach bug. And even then I’m thinking, “what cracker would go well with my ginger ale?”

The newest thing I do is cry over a really good meal. Most recently was just last month over a bowl of lobster bolognese. Let me repeat that: I cried over a bowl of pasta. I don’t even cry at Hallmark commercials.

Exactly like this. Except I’m not faking it.

I also have taken to moaning out loud when I eat food I highly enjoy. I just can’t help myself. It kind of pops out of my mouth like a burp ramped up on rocket fuel. It’s quite embarrassing.

So, there you have it. I like food and I cannot lie. From toast to caviar. There isn’t much I won’t turn away.

Except black licorice. Black licorice tastes like the deep recesses of Hell and Hell is where it should stay. Oh wait, black licorice isn’t really considered food, is it?

Never mind.

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Mo Choices Coming To a Blog Near You (umm, well, MY blog anyway)

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Leftovers from The Cookhouse in New Milford. It was great the first time, even better the second.

I’ve always had this interest in food. As in tasting it, eating it, devouring it. Please don’t be confused with me actually making it. No. I’ll leave that part to the experts.

For someone who loves food so much, it’s funny how I abhor the kitchen. In fact, I wouldn’t mind if it fell off the house and floated out to sea. Just as long as it leaves the fridge behind. I like the fridge.

Anyway, in case you haven’t figured it out, I like food. I mean, I didn’t get my chins and tummies by not liking it. DH calls me a foodie. Which is funny. Because like wine, I know nothing about it.

I’m no culinary expert by any stretch of the imagination (I lost count on all my fingers and toes how many times I’ve had to call my mom or someone to get me out of a cooking pickle. You know, like when I add so much salt to a recipe, I swear the Atlantic is sitting right there on my stovetop — I’m sensing an ocean theme here. Hmm. It’s a good thing I like seafood).

I can’t tell if there is white pepper or vanilla in a sauce (I’m that way with wine too. Please don’t put me to the test because I’ll fail miserably. Just hand me a glass of Cabernet dammit).

I’ve never taken a cooking class in my life. (Unless you count the time I watched a chef cook for me while I got drunk on the wine they served while I took notes on the little recipe sheets that went straight into the trash when I got home because umm, Beef Wellington? Really? What even is that? If I want to cook beef, I’ll shove it in a bun. But, it was good. That’s because I didn’t make it. Get my point?)

I don’t watch the Food Network because I can’t actually eat the food they make or have a desire to make it. But I did watch Julie & Julia. Twice. Does that count?

So why have a page dedicated to restaurant reviews if I don’t really know anything about food? Because I know how to eat it. How to appreciate it. How to savor it. I can tell if something sucks or if it’s the best thing since sliced bread (that’s a really stupid expression, don’t you think?).

I also like to eat different things. I will search the menu at a restaurant for something I’ve never tried before. I’m adventurous that way. I have tried everything from frogs legs to snails (yes frogs legs really do taste like chicken).

Most of the time it works in my favor. There really isn’t much I don’t like or won’t try (except chicken liver, anything veal and raisins. Oh, and caramel. I hate caramel. I know. Weird, right?)

When I see something on the menu that floats my boat, my eyes light up, and I jump up and down in my chair like a little kid getting ready to go for a ride on Magic Mountain. I promise you, the feeling for me is better than Christmas morning. Sometimes, dare I say, even better than sex. I said sometimes.

So, due to DH’s persistence, I have decided to have a page on my Momfeld blog dedicated to reviews of places I’ve eaten at. And I shall call this page “Mo Choices.” (DH came up with that…clever, isn’t it?).

I understand this really pretty much only benefits the local folk, but when I’m out and about traveling for one irish dance competition or another, on a college tour trip or family vacation, I’ll be sure to record my findings there.

So, stay tuned and check it out. I hope it helps you decide where to go next time a date night or girl’s night out is in order.

And if one of my local readers finds something or knows of a place you think I might like, please share! (This does not include Chick-Fil-A because I’ve already tried it and well, does the fact that I have 42 containers of their sauce in the veggie crisper of my fridge say anything?)

Bon appetit, happy eating or whatever!

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How I Am Getting Healthy

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Mr. Martian enjoys my elliptical more than I do, I’m afraid to say

I posted today on my Facebook page that I lost 8 pounds.  One of my followers wanted me to share how I am doing it.  Basically for me, it’s a life change.  Not a diet.  Besides having high cholesterol and suffering from reflux, I am at the stage in my life where if I don’t start taking care of myself, the kid will have a problem on her hands.  I don’t want to be her problem. I would like to control what I can.  And I would like to enjoy my Golden Years when the time comes.  With my hubby.  Who is healthy.

Let me start by saying that I am a foodie.  A major foodie.  There isn’t a food I won’t try and there isn’t much I don’t like.  I’ll even eat it if it falls on the floor, has a little mold or is a bit past the expiration date.  Remember, I hate throwing food away.  And I’m gross.

I don’t believe in fad diets.  I’ve tried them all from cabbage soup to Atkins.  And then only to have every pound plus some jump back on me within a few short weeks.  Although it took me months to lose it.  I believe it’s a conspiracy.

So here’s what I am doing.  I cut a lot of fat from my diet.  I try to eat at least my daily allowance of fruits and vegetables.  I am eating a healthy snack that I enjoy in between my meals so I’m not starving when lunch and dinner comes along.  I LOVE me my carbs but they had to be reduced.  Reduced, not cut.  I am not into depriving myself of All Things I Love. That doesn’t work for me.  Like I said, I am a foodie.  Depriving a foodie is like depriving a fish of water.  Not a good outcome.

I don’t put a crapload of food on my plate like I used to.  I had a really bad habit of eating way beyond the point of being full.  You know that feeling where you just can’t move?  It’s completely unnecessary.  I haven’t done that in over 2 months and I couldn’t be better.  And I never need to reach for my bottle of Tums anymore.  Ever.

I abhor exercise, so I chose something I know I can do and stick with.  I walk 3 miles 4-5 times a week.  Fast walking.  With some hills.  I plug my earphones into my iPhone and go to town.  Before I know it, it’s 45 minutes later and I feel great.  It’s completely invigorating.  If it’s crappy outside, I try to get on my elliptical for 30 minutes.  I hate it.  It’s boring and there is no fresh air.  But at least I’m moving.  No more excuses.  I have grown tired of excuses.

I will be happy if I could lose another 8-10 pounds.  But I know my limits.  I will never have that 120 pound body ever again and I am at peace with it.  I will not lose weight that I know isn’t realistic for me.  I don’t need to look like a super model.  The point here is to get healthy.  Besides DH likes me with curves.  And who am I to deprive him?

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The Hungry Lion

African Lion Roaring Animal ModelI have been pretty good the last 2.5 weeks.  Actually, I have been really good.  Exercising pretty much every day, not drinking wine, making healthy choices (mostly).  But this week I am having some troubles because I am experiencing a bit of PMS.  I know you understand.  I tried to explain it to DH and although he tries to be sympathetic, he just doesn’t get it.  The urge to eat is so strong.  It doesn’t come from hunger.  It comes from this evil, dark place deep within.

I don’t like to call my journey a “diet.”  I like to refer to it as getting healthy.  Changing my habits.  Exchanging the bad for good.  I’m hoping to trick my brain into enjoying and preferring a salad for lunch over a ham sandwich with a side of chips.  When I lose this extra weight, I do not intend to fall back into my bad habits again.  Of course, I will allow myself a burger and fries.  But only sometimes.  I know if I completely deprive myself, I’m just setting myself up for failure.  It’s like telling a lion he can’t have meat anymore.  I am a carnivore.  I need my fix.  That’s just the way it is.

Yesterday evening my brother paid us a surprise visit.  He lives in North Carolina and I usually only see him once a year.  So it was a really great surprise.  The plan for dinner was a healthy meal with whole wheat pasta, peas and kale. My brother is also a carnivore.  And I knew that just wasn’t going to cut it.  So, I went to the store and bought some steaks, baking potatoes and beer.  While I was there, I picked up a bag of freshly made sour cream and onion potato chips.  I had the kid with me and her 14 year old self wanted them.  Two things to never do when going food shopping:  bring a teenager and go hungry.  I broke the two cardinal rules of grocery shopping in one day.  Shame on me.

While I was making the salad, I partook in the activity of having a chip.  Or 2.  Or 3. What could it hurt?  At dinner, I made myself a sweet potato instead of a baked potato which would have otherwise been slathered in butter and sour cream, had a small piece of steak and a big salad. That part went well.  But bro was having a beer.  Who am I to make him drink alone?  He was a guest in my home after all.  So I asked DH to make me a cocktail.  Then another.  And another.

I even said to him that I would regret this in the morning.  And I did.  I’m afraid to step on the scale.  Well, I’m not going to step on the scale because it will make me angry.  It just tears my ass knowing that those 3 chips (ok maybe 7, not to mention the cocktails) most likely added a pound or possibly more.

I guess I will just have to double up on the workouts and eat really, really sensibly for the rest of the week.  The worst week of the month in a woman’s life.  No cocktail, no chips, no piece of chocolate, no steak.  None of it for me.  But that lion in me is not happy.  Roar.  Why couldn’t I be a goat?