Balancing Act

Mike is a traveling man this week so I don't have his weight loss to report yet. I've deducted only my melted sticks of butter and will update his meltage when he returns soon. Total loss for me is about 11.5 lbs. as we speak. It's been about 7 weeks since our kick off, and hey, I kinda like this pace. It's a pace I can live with. And I think it sets the pace for long term healthy (or health-IER) eating.

Okay, that's a lie. Sort of. Because I continue to fret a bit about how I will manage my ravenous appetite in the future. I refuse to say that I will never eat my favorite yummies again; apple pie, tacos, buttermilk pancakes ... I'm hardly scratching the surface. My long-time buddy and wonderful writer, Mary-Jo Murphy, recently wrote an interesting article* about the evolution of the human desire for more and more fattening foods, from caveman to current man. Mary-Jo includes an adorable story which so illustrates my ideal future. Here 'tis:

I once heard a story about a woman who was trying desperately to lose weight.
At the same restaurant where she would sometimes eat, was another woman.
While one would order salads the other always indulged in a hamburger, fries
and a shake. She was annoyingly skinny, clearly a mutation of the evolutionary
process. One day the weight-conscious woman confronted the gorger, "I'm starving
myself to lose weight. Every time I see you in here, you're eating like this! How
do you stay so slim?"
"Well," she dipped her fry in ketchup, "I only do this once a week. It's my reward
for eating healthfully the other six days."

Please, oh please, let this be me. If I could just indulge in a burger and fries once a week I would be eternally grateful.

I'm also reading a delightful book right now, A Homemade Life, by a young and fetching Molly Wizenberg. It's a collection of the most deee-vine! recipes ever, and the hilarious and moving stories which inspired them. I mean, I am nearly swooning as I read about Blueberry-Raspberry Pound Cake, Dutch Baby Pancakes With Lemon & Sugar, and Custard Filled Corn Bread. (There are also plenty of healthy entrees & side dishes with far fewer calories, but I, with my dessert-driven palate, have dog-eared the above.) So why am I reading a book about this irresistible food while I am in the throes of a weight loss effort, you may ask? I sort of think this book landed in my hands at this time for a reason, because as I read through it, I realize that Molly approaches her passion for food with such respect and balance. It seems that her veggie-happy Roasted Eggplant Ratatouille makes her just as weak in the knees as her Fresh Ginger Cake With Caramelized Pears. But chances are her pantry isn't lined with ginger cakes. As would be my preference. And I notice that Molly tends to be perfectly content with a scrumptious but light meal of small portions. Hmmm. Odd. Perhaps there is something to this frightening concept.

Is there hope for me? Can I be the slim lady who eats the hamburger and fries once a week? Can I adopt Molly Wizenberg's approach to delicious food, both sinfully divine and healthfully divine? Because, despite her penchant for some gosh-darn creamy, buttery, sweet desserts, the photo on her book jacket depicts her as a mere waif of a girl. Is moderation achievable?

Molly? Are you out there? Care to weigh in on this?


* Mary-Jo Murphy's article, You Go To My Head, was published in the August 2009 issue of the Ojai & Ventura (CA) THE VIEW. http://ojaiandventuraview.com/

P.S. Molly Wizenberg is also the creator of the award winning blog, Orangette, which I highly recommend to all you foodies out there.

Lost and Found

Okay, apparently on Thursday night I gained 2 lbs. while I was sleeping! What is that about? I'd lost 2 lbs. throughout week, which is good, but when I stepped onto the scale Friday morning there it was again, despite all efforts to stick with the plan. The good news? It's gone again. Lost and found ... and lost again. All is well.

Mike is doing great, btw, and lost almost 3 lbs. last week. (Lest you think this blog is all about me. No, no.) He's sticking with his salads, avoiding the ever-present donuts at work, and eating his Japanese Natto, a sticky, gooey fermented soybean concoction he seems to enjoy, oddly enough. But we'll feature Natto in another blog entry. Now, back to me.

So on Friday I was put to the restaurant test. I went out to lunch with friends Barb & Debbie to celebrate Debbie's birthday at Sandra Bullock's wonderful little place called Bess Bistro. This is where I fought my first battle with the menu. I went in armed with the idea that I would order a salad, which is quite unlike me. Salad is a nice side dish but does not qualify as an entree, in my opinion. A hamburger is an entree. Hey, I'm just sayin' ....

So I study the various salads on the left hand side of the menu and I think the Chopped Cobb Salad seems acceptable. Bacon, avocado, bleu cheese ... not too diet-y. But my eye wanders to the right hand side of the menu where the real entrees reside. Just looking, just looking. "Hmm," I say nonchalantly, "an interesting selection." Crepes, a panini, and oh dear ... a Bess Burger. But no, the salad it is and I close the menu.

We chat and wait for the waiter but soon I find that my menu is open again. And there are those crepes again, a fancy chicken pot pie, and oh my .. even a gourmet grilled cheese. But no, the salad. That's what I'll have and the menu closes and I slide it away. Moments later, again with the menu! The girls are talking and I'm nodding and responding but what I'm really thinking is ... holy crap, this menu is sparring with me!

And as a little side note here, it may have been at this point when, much to my surprise, I burp right in the middle of a sentence, as if it were a syllable in a word. It just escapes without warning, like ... "I should have a salad but the hambur-BURP-ger sounds heavenly." I think I finish the sentence hoping the ladies don't notice, but no. We have a good giggle over it.

Finally the waiter appears and I still don't have any idea what's going to come out of my mouth when it's my turn to order.

"And for you, ma'am?"
"I'll have the Cobb Salad," I blurt.
This is a tiny victory.

Over the years I've lost control and have fed my lumberjack appetite and teenager cravings. Dining out always means I "treat" myself to tacos, burgers, big juicy steaks and loaded baked potatoes. Especially since we moved out to the country 4 years ago, miles away from restaurants, going into town to eat is like a big deal. (Wooo-hooo, Paw ... hitch up the team, we're a-goin' ta town fer fancy vittles!) But this first week of the butter plan, and particularly my first dining out experience has shown me that the hamburper doesn't have to call the shots. I can do that. Yep, it's just a tiny victory but I felt oddly empowered with those few words, so foreign to my tongue: "I'll have the salad." Now that I have this win under my belt, maybe next time I'll be able to skip the menu battle altogether.

I may have lost power and control over the years, but I think I might, just might be on the brink of (burp)... finding it again.