They’re nice enough to not call me that to my face, but I see the roll of the eyes, the shrug of their shoulders.
I don’t want to be self-righteous about eating healthy, and god knows I don’t use those two words together:
After the report of how bad bacon and other processed meats are for our bodies (as if we hadn’t figured that out already), I have to bite my tongue when my granddaughter eats none of her salad during a recent mom/daughter/granddaughter lunch out, but asks for a second serving of bacon.
Bacon! I can’t contain my shudders. Then I hand her one of my cucumber slices.
My 4-year-old grandson barely eats enough to sustain a life. Yet he plays outside for hours in the frigid temps, cheeks rosy, mouth curved in a total state of happiness, until his fingers turn purple. Then, he skips into his parents’ house and asks for a cookie.
Soup first, I want to demand. Then, cookie.
But he reaches into the jar and munches on a treat packed with massive amounts of sugar.
So when my guy and I go out for dinner, he knows better than to order, say, a cheeseburger with bacon, extra cheese, and onion rings on top.
No, at our favorite pub last Friday, we order the swordfish special with spinach and potato.
The fish tastes fine, a little dry without the sauce (too creamy). But we moan in ecstasy over the potato, which needs no butter or sour cream because it tastes so good on its own.
I guess out loud: “It’s boiled halfway, then baked with sea salt?”
Two minutes later, a tall 30-something stalk of a man races over to our table, his blonde hair topped with a large white chef’s hat. “You have a question about the potato?” he asks.
Proudly, I tell him I’ve guessed the secret to his deliciously healthy potato side.
The chef turns beet red. “Um. Noooo. The Idaho baked potato is cut in half, lightly fried in a pan until it’s crispy brown, then we add heaping tablespoons of bacon fat in the pan and cook it some more.”
“Oh my,” I say. “That doesn’t sound very healthy. And here we ordered the FISH DISH.”
“The fish is low fat,” Mr. High Hat agrees. “The potato is sure not healthy, but it’s damn good.”
He struts back to his kitchen, and I warn my man, “Don’t say a thing to our grandkids!”
Then I sneak in the last bite of potato.
Thanks to Google Images.