Yes, there will be chips and dip, but mostly, there will be meat! Today for our Super Bowl viewing, I have decided on a theme: MEAT.
We’re having meatballs, Buffalo chicken wings, honey barbecue chicken wings, barbecue ribs, teriyaki steak tips and chicken and apple sausage links.
One must protein-load to have adequate energy for Super Bowl (and Super Bowl commercial) participation. We should be all set.
As Americans, we know we overeat. A lot. We know we don’t eat the right foods either. We’re largely obese (forgive the pun) and we don’t exercise enough. And we know it’s not about eating. At least that’s what Dr. Phil says.
I can attest to that, based on my own personal experience of emotional eating (which would be met overwhelmingly by women everywhere with a resounding “Amen”) – but for me, this doesn’t apply to dinner. For me, dinner is a utilitarian meal. Left to my own devices, dinner is one meal at which I would eat exactly what I had a hankering for – and nothing more. Oh yeah – I’m a purist when it comes to emotional eating. I’m not about to muck up my emotional chip-gorging with USDA recommendations. It’s that little thinly sliced, perfectly fried crisp of vegetable that is a vessel for the salt and oil and that’s as close as I get to that section of the food triangle.
My husband did an amazing thing last night. He ate meat for dinner. Just meat. He had a leftover pork chop and some leftover barbecued chicken thighs. A little pig and poultry on a plate. Now, this is amazing because he always requires a plate of food that, although it wouldn’t meet the USDA recommended food triangle guidelines by quantities, it certainly must meet the requirements in substance. Protein, vegetable, starch, bread, blah, blah, blah. Throw in some dairy (ice cream) for dessert and “well-balanced” ain’t just a suggestion anymore.
I’m not capable of making a strong argument for my position on this topic, I know that. On paper (can I still call it paper if it’s a computer screen?), his preference for well-balanced variety is even backed by the government, for crying out loud. And we all know that the government knows best. But I hate vegetables. Too harsh. I don’t care for vegetables. Much better. Give me a plate of meat and I’m giddy. If that meat is mostly red (and with the faint whisper of a still-beating heart, all the better), I am positively fulfilled as a carnivorous top-of-the-food-chain mammal. And if Marty didn’t require that his beast be accompanied on the way down by plants and grains and roots and such, dinner for me would be a simple endeavor of throwing a hunk of meat on a grill (no pans to clean) for a scant moment or two and snarfing it down in about two and a half minutes. Rinse off my plate, fork and knife and I’m good to go.
That’s not to say there aren’t times when I just want a nice big bowl of Minute Rice or Kraft Mac n’ Cheese or Bush’s Baked Beans [out of the can]. And hey, a couple of times a year I might even microwave a bag of frozen corn or have a Caesar’s salad. My mom used to say I eat like clockwork – one thing at a time (and I did not like my food to touch). When it comes to dinner, if I had it my way, I’d still eat that way only it would just be one thing on my plate a day.
Marty is my USDA Food Triangle Enforcer. But last night he defected.
Evolution Happens . . . 