Forbidden and Hidden

Yesterday's New York Times Magazine featured an article entitled "Forbidden Nonfruit," in which Joshua Yaffa describes his childhood filled with health food and abstinence from burgers leading to sugar overdoses at friends' homes followed by pizza with ranch dressing, beer and late-night cheese steaks in college. I couldn't help but see more than a bit of myself in his story -- especially as I also described last August the 1X/year sugar cereal treat that we were allowed on our birthdays as well as how our dad hid junk food from our mom. Uncanny? Or do thousands of us have similar stories of well intentioned parents?

Where the similarities end is that this author is now filling bags with spinach at the local supermarket yet I'm still a hardcore cheeseburger, chocolate cake, Smarties girl.

Which explains why I'm back on Weight Watchers for the 100th time this decade. Welcome to 2009 -- the year of cutting back. Again.

Can't Spell Bruegger's without Rue

I have to moan momentarily about being on a diet. Mainly because I want to eat . . .

Thank God for Weight Watchers which helps me to control my intake. By calculating my points for the day, I can better ensure I don't overeat. However, calculating my points after eating can be downright shocking.

Case in point:
Breakfast today = coffee, bagel and peanut butter
Lunch today = grapes and a La Yogurt probiotic, nonfat yogurt
Dinner today = none because I have no points remaining

Bruegger's sucks. More points in one whole wheat bagel than in a McDonald's Egg McMuffin. More points than two pieces of pepperoni pizza at Chuck E. Cheese. More points than chocolate ice cream at Haagen Dazs. I could have had chocolate raspberry cake at Starbucks instead.

Or almost four glasses of wine. Four.

Sure, wine has no protein but it would help me to forget that I'm STARVING.

The New Food Pyramid

When I was little, we were allowed to pick out one box of sugar cereal as a big treat on our birthdays. Meanwhile, my mom (the nutritionist) stashed Hershey’s kisses in her bedroom. I didn’t find out for years.

My dad, on the other hand, would buy Ho Hos for us at the grocery store and attempt to hide them so my mom wouldn’t find out.

With her grandkids, the rules have become much more relaxed.

A few weeks ago, “Did you know that Grannie lets us drink Coke for breakfast?”

Breakfast at Grannie’s home this past Saturday morning: bacon, ice cream and Skittles.

Can’t be any worse than PopTarts at our house – just more fun. Now if they can just convince her to invest in the $400 Wii Fit, they’ll never want to come home.

Hence the threatening note to Grannie from Son #2, “By a Wii or elese” (sic).

Today's tactics seem much more menacing than they were when I was younger, no? We employed more guilt during negotiations than fear. We utilized the explicit, "If you loved me, you would buy me a pony" comment or its implied lack-of-love equivalent, "All of my friends are allowed to have phones in their rooms."

So far, none of these approaches appears to work. I'm just grateful that my mom continues to love and take care of them even though their parents apparently haven't taught them any manners . . .

My Health Comes First

My dad used to have the 45 of a catchy little tune entitled The Drinking Man's Diet which contained the lyrics:

Drink, drink, everyone drink
It's not as bad as we used to think
With every Manhattan
Your stomach will flatten
So drink, drink, drink!

I was singing this on my way to work this morning after I heard the DJ on the radio state that although resveratrol is found naturally in red wine, "the dose you're getting with your nightly glass is probably nowhere near enough to make a difference."

Well then, time to polish off the bottle! My vision might get blurry but, for now, I can still read between the lines . . .

Second Chances

Many moons ago, one of my girlfriends slept with some random guy, told us all how horrible it was, and then went and did it again. When we asked her why on earth she would do that to herself, she responded, “I just wanted to be sure.” Yeah, okay.

With that response in mind, I went out to dinner with two friends last week to, you guessed it, my much maligned new restaurant: Tasteology. And I’m thrilled to report that we had an absolute blast. Yep, you read that right.

For a multitude of reasons, the entire experience shifted enormously for me. The barren cafeteria-like seating now is flanked by potted “plants” (they’re actually bamboo-like sticks artistically placed but my lame description doesn’t do it justice – they really do warm the place up!) and, more importantly, you no longer have to order at the counter. There is now tableside wait service and Ben, our server, was as sweet as could be. In addition, they’ve added an organic wine bar (where the walk-up counter used to be), there are jazz bands scheduled to play throughout the week, and the side room is slated to become an art gallery. Honestly, it is not-so-gradually taking shape into a fabulous place to spend an evening out.

The night we dined there, the restaurant was hosting a “Culinary Smackdown” where two teams of local high school kids were competing in an Iron Chef-like competition. As such, the atmosphere was light and festive. If only we could have sampled their creations! And our food? I daresay it was good. I, of course, being risk-averse, ordered one of the dishes that the owner said was his favorite (i.e., the Southern Charm) and it was delicious. Mind you, at 12 points on Weight Watchers it’s much healthier than the calamari I had at JoJo the week before but also 2X what I should have ingested on my diet. Next time, I plan to share! My girlfriends’ meals were also good but one felt hers, the Panang Panache flatbread, was way too small (i.e., the calories appear to be in the peanut sauce that’s drizzled over the top) and the other thought hers wasn’t nearly as good as ours (i.e., the Sizzology – which was the best meal we had at our table last time oddly enough).

But the best part of the evening was when the owner stopped by to chat and treated us all to a glass of wine. He was a hysterical combination of extreme politeness (i.e., taking notes on all of our “ideas”), self-deprecating humor (“I can’t do that; I’m much too tired”), and complete honesty. He shared some of the many challenges they faced upon opening and how they promptly dealt with them. And he talked about how he takes all of his customer feedback, both good and bad, to heart. He is attempting to perfect the model before expanding/franchising too quickly and, in my opinion, he’s doing a fantastic job.

With that said, I actually look forward to going there again. Yikes. What’s next? Armageddon hungry.

Ummmmmmmmm Bread

Among other things, like teaching restaurant and hotel management, my mom (a.k.a. Grannie Annie) is a nutritionist, menu planner and certified dietitian.

When I was a teenager (and the drinking age was still 18), my girlfriends and I were budding alcoholics. Night after night we would head out, with our fake IDs, to those bars in walking distance. Later, still with our fake IDs, we would hit the dive bars in the next town over.

As we left, my mom would always say, "Think of all of those extra calories. Instead of a beer, you could have a slice of bread." Huh? We would all crack up. Methinks she was missing the point!

For this reason, I could not help but think of her when I read the recent restaurant opening in New York magazine: Fat Annie's Truck Stop. Hello! Frito Lay pie and beer? It has my name written all over it!