Hey there, time traveller!
This article was published 4/2/2014 (901 days ago), so information in it may no longer be current.
I started out 2014 under the impression it was the year of the snake, therefore I felt the need to slither out of my heavy overcoat of chocolate and nachos and switch to healthier habits.
What? It’s the year of the horse? Well then, I should feel much more comfortable.
But no! I will make the effort! So I dove at the magazine basket and rescued the South Beach diet book from under the Company’s Coming dessert book. I flattened the pages that got curled by the crush of empty popcorn bowls and wiped the dollop of salsa off of the cover. And then I did something I’ve never done before — I read it.
As added leverage, I convinced son and husband that it would be in their best interest to join me. They know that incurring my wrath at such a vulnerable time of my life could result in a complete meltdown requiring them to, heaven forbid, cook for themselves!
So, armed with the greenest and leanest of grocery lists, I headed off to the store with my semi-solid resolve and a quarter for the cart. I spent the bulk of my time in the produce department where I knew I couldn’t go wrong (what the heck is Kai-lan?) and elsewhere I read nutritional information on label after label. I swear I was there for three hours.
At home, I unloaded the car and put it all away. The meat drawer is now a second vegetable drawer, the bottom shelf is now a vegetable and fruit shelf and every other shelf hosts at least one green item that didn’t make it into the designated areas.
Once cooking begins, I am in my element. I spritz olive oil with wild abandon as I caramelize onions and wilt spinach. The aroma of a well-grilled chicken breast wafts seductively towards the garage as my men arrive home for dinner. They smile and commend me for a job well done and then I overhear one ask the other, "Do we have to eat spinach?"
I believe the red hot lightning bolts coming from my eyes ensured that all plates were empty by the end of dinner.
Three weeks into the project, son has lost 15 pound, hubby has lost 17 and I have lost five.
Five lousy pounds! Excuse me while I slither under the covers and take solace in a slice of cheesecake.
Cher Hebert is a community correspondent for East St. Paul. She can be contacted at email@example.com