Over the next few posts or so, I'll be writing about the 2011 "to do"s, about what I've learned about how they get done one and what I've learned about how they sometimes don't. I'm starting with:
1) Eat every meal with an imaginary French friend, the one with the body I want to have.
Here's why this was number one:
|There is still entirely too much me.|
There's a little bit too much Flynn
No. It's not hideous, and no one is going to have to cut a hole in the wall to get me to the E.R., but there's still just way too much of it. All of it. The sentence above painted a picture of how I wanted to eat but this imaginary French woman has become a figment of my future self. As proof that I'm only moderately insane, this figment doesn't have a name but if any of you have a suggestion, I'd love to be address her a with fewer words than "My imaginary French friend" Until then, on a whim, as I'm typing this, I decided to call her/it, not Ima, but Emma, because, coming from Texas, and knowing too many jokes involving Hogg, Johnson and Shammgod, I don't think any one should be named Ima, even an Ima Ginery person. Ironically, "Emma" is old French for entire and universal, which is how I've begun to eat.
I quoted a friend of mine once before who said, "I don't understand people who eat with only one sense."
|Only eat good butter on good bread.|
Pink sea salt desirable, but only slightly necessary.
The first of the year I began to do that and it's true, when you give yourself permission to eat anything you want, at first, you will eat a lot of crap. Then one day, you stop. You think,
"I'm sick of really good macaroni and cheese with huge chunks of softening brie swimming in a sludge of three cows worth of butter fat. And yeah yeah, there's a chocolate cake in the fridge. Ugg. You know, I'd really like some greens. Ohhh.. and some really good fish, just crispy broiled on the outside and almost sushi on the inside."
You eat that. You feel full. The next day you feel like you've put down a cinder block and you feel like taking a walk. The day after that, you think,
|Sutros at The Cliff House: Amuse bouche.. and mine was|
yukon gold in a pillow of romanesco.
punctuation provided by
spring onion aeoli.
But you opt for the vegetable enchiladas instead of the cheese tube with the beans-o-lard and you opt out of the chips. By the way, good salsa, eaten shamelessly by the spoon, is. awe.some. Yes, the waiters will stare, but by this time Emma has taught you that the staring waiters are slightly turned on by the decadence of what you're doing. And if they're not, well, they need a hug, not that they'll get one from you. Emma's taught you that most men are not worthy of physical contact. Even the polite kind.
Do this enough, and you'll sit in a window seat, happily sipping a glass of wine while you eat a few spoonfuls of something amazing and when you're done, you'll be more than ready for a paseo to the ocean.
|post palate pleasing paseo path.|