There haven't been any posts over at The Longleaf Bar and Grill lately. Perhaps it's a natural asceticism that follows the richness of holiday foods, a leaning toward the dry after a season of juice. I have always been a carnivorous woman, but lately, the smell of steak or rare roast tenderloin makes me nauseous, and therefore, it has disappeared from our plates. Pork, long a staple, has, at least temporarily, lost its sensual allure. Chicken, too, seems just too much. This won't last, of course. It's not a political statement, and I am personally healthy as a young horse. Meanwhile, writing about food is temporarily – excuse the expression – off the table, too.
I'm not wasting away either, so I must be eating something. Oh, yes, I am, and well. Muesli with soy milk, sesame ginger tempeh on baby salad greens, veggie pizza with red and yellow peppers, onion and shitaki mushrooms, roasted beets. Oh, lots and lots of roasted beets, my new love. Oranges, so fragrant I cry at their beauty. I stand at the cutting board and inhale. Deep breathing over a fresh cut orange is the way to go. Trust me on this.
Coffee is still king in my kitchen, but Japanese green tea has become queen. And my treadmill, walking and free weight work has become more routine and more rigorous. Are you sensing a theme here?
I know we will all die – oops, sorry, there I go again talking about that – so avoiding death isn't the point. But it sure would be nice to live to be very, very old and not be sick and then just die. With a younger brother on the ailing list, and our annual physicals fast approaching, I have found diet and exercise religion again, as I do over and over again. They say some preachers are especially good at talking about sin because they know so much about it. That's me.
When I was a child, there either was or I imagined, a radio evangelist named "Brother Al." He preached purple prose over the air waves. His voice would rise to a hysterical high, thin screech, and then drop theatrically way down into a low, growly whisper. Fabulous stuff. He was a master. At the finale, he would tell the audience to put their hand on the radio, pray about what was worrying them, and then send Brother Al a dollar and their prayers would be answered.
Brother Al, old buddy. Call me if you read this. Maybe we can make a deal.