I’ve been trying to eat healthier
lately. Because I don’t want to die.
So far, I’m not sure it’s a fair
trade-off. There are days – sunny, late-summer days – when I can hear the rack
of ribs The Lovely Mrs. Taylor stuck in the freezer back in May calling to me.
“Mike,” they say. “You’re not fat.
Not at all! And if you are, it’s the beer that’s making you that way, not we
poor, nutritious ribs. All we want is to make you happy.”
They would, too. I know from past
experience that ribs make me very happy. So does steak. And burgers. Hell, even
a can of store-bought tamales can bring a smile to my face if I cover ‘em with
enough cheese.
But it’s the stuff I cook on the
grill that really makes my life worth living.
It’s more than just the food, it’s
the whole process. Firing up the coals, adding the apple wood or mesquite
chips, marinating the dead animal du jour,
the smoke, the sizzle, the obligatory beer between each critical step.
If you think I’m torturing you, think
what I’m doing to myself! I’m writing this while drinking my lunch. No, not in
the fun way (out of a martini glass), but from a “juicer” container. At the
moment, it holds a concoction of apple slices, peaches, blueberry yogurt, kale,
and ice, all whipped up to a consistency I’m sure my one-year-old granddaughter
Juniper would absolutely adore.
To me, it barely qualifies as food.
And what is kale, anyway? Until a few months ago, I’d never even heard of kale.
Turns out it’s some unholy marriage of lettuce and spinach that tastes a lot
like the stuff I mulch up with my riding mower every Sunday. If kale were the
only food in the world it would take me about 20 minutes to resort to cannibalism.
As to the guy who invented the juicer
machine, he’d be first on my human-centric menu. I mean, who decided food is
somehow healthier once it’s been turned into some sort of Soylent Green glop?
The apple, peaches, blueberry yogurt
and yes, even kale, that I put in the blender a half hour ago all looked like things
I might eat. I probably wouldn’t, but I might.
The stuff I’m actually eating now? Not so much.
Seriously, it has the exact same
consistency as the adhesive I used to put up the wallpaper in the guest room.
And about the same taste. I suppose anything that tastes that bad must be good
for you. If it’s not, then what’s the point?
So is it worth it? That’s the part
that’s impossible to know for sure.
Yeah, yeah, I’m feeling much
healthier since I started watching what I eat. I find it easier to exercise, I
have more energy. Life in general just seems better.
All that is great, but none if it is
enough to keep me from that rack of ribs in the freezer. Only the threat of an
early demise can do that.
I’m not a kid any more. My kids
aren’t even kids any more. And if I go on treating my body the way I’ve been
doing for the past 60 years plus change, the Grim Reaper is almost certain to
come knocking on my door long before I reach my target age of 120. After that?
No more ribs, no more burgers, no more beer. As I understand the afterlife
(which, believe it or not, is just about as well as anyone understands it
though there are those who claim otherwise) even kale is absent.
And speaking of the afterlife, if
there is one, I’m not sure that’s going to be such a great deal for me,
personally. My past is, um, checkered, and if one’s eternal destination is
determined even in part by merit, I’m in deep trouble.
So my best bet is to simply stay
alive as long as possible. Eating right might help with that.
Might.
That’s the word that makes it all so
tough. If I knew for sure I’d make it to 120 eating a healthy diet, I’d happily
choke down kale every day for the rest of my life. But I don’t know for sure,
do I?
It’s all a cosmic crap shoot and
there are no guarantees. The best we can do is play the odds and hope for the
best.
With that in mind, I think I’ll
defrost those ribs. I mean, ONE decent meal’s not gonna kill me. Right? I wish
I knew.
(616) 745-9530
No comments:
Post a Comment