Why can’t I stop eating treats? If I go for coffee, I have to have a cookie. If I go with my partner, we each get one. Big ol’ things, full of chocolate and sugar and butter and fun. Boy, they make me happy.
We used to just get one thing and split it. Before that, we got nothing at all. If we did, it was a special occasion, one we’d feel guilty about, and that we knew we wouldn’t be giving into again, for a long time.
So, what happened? Why am I sitting in the back patio of a coffeehouse, thinking about all the treats inside? Let’s face it; they aren’t even that good here. Kind of greasy and mealy at the same time. Plus, I already had a cookie. A big one. And, when I get home, I know I’ll be eating ice cream. Bowls of it. Lite ice cream, so bowls and bowls are OK, right? Healthy Choice, Grand Light. Reduced Fat. Sugar Free.
What about Skinny Cow? The half gallons and the ice cream sandwiches. Those sandwiches have become a staple in every gay man’s freezer, but what, exactly is with the whole Skinny Cow thing? Am I supposed to be flattered that my lust for desserts makes me a cow, but a skinny one?
Better than those No Pudge brownies that I buy by the dozen at Trader Joe’s. Just mix the powder with fat-free yogurt, and 30 minutes later, you have fat-free brownies. Well, you would, if you didn’t load the mix with chocolate and butterscotch chips. Anyway, the pink box has a cartoon image of a pig with a line through it. A pig, a cow —when I’m trying to feel good about what I’m eating. What’s next? A package of low-carb potato chips with the image of an obese man confined to a bed, pictured next to a bed stand with bottles of heart medication? Hasn’t anyone ever taken Marketing 101?
My partner says that I could fill up volumes, all about my eating habits. Or disorders. You choose. I think I’m somewhere in between. I don’t throw up or anything like that, and I certainly have no difficulty eating large quantities. I’m simply obsessed. Nothing a good OCD medication couldn’t help control.
But, if I reign in my food obsessions with meds, does that mean my other obsessive compulsive behaviors will also fall by the wayside? Will I no longer work out every morning, and on my break at lunch? It’s sort of a catch 22 kind of thing. I lose the extra snacks, but I also lose the will to work out. I’ll take in less, but what’s left on me gets softer?
Plus, what about all my other crazy obsessions that I know and love? Will I stop hanging up all my clothes? Washing all the dishes, instead of letting them sit in the sink? My house will become a pig sty, just so I can control my cookie and brownie intake.
No. I think I’ll just let things stay as they are. I like my treats. I can handle working out. Plus, my house is clean and organized.
So, here I sit. Thinking, thinking. Thinking about that biscotti, and how the top one, the one I would be served if I went in and ordered right now, is so much bigger than the others. If I don’t get it now, someone else will. If someone does, maybe I should get that chocolate cookie. I’d never seen that cookie before today. Like I said, the pastries here are just so-so, kind of heavy and pasty, but this new cookie … . You never know. Maybe this will be the great one. Maybe this will be the best most perfect happiest splendid cookie on the planet. If I don’t get it now, I may never have the chance again. It’ll be back to the greasy chocolate chip cookies, and the oatmeal raisin cookies that leave a big grease stain on your napkin. I’ll never know the bliss of that chocolate cookie.
And, you know what? The cookie will be lousy. We both know it will be. We both know how thick and lumpy it will be.
But, I want it.
Maybe I should stop typing. Maybe I should go inside, maybe—maybe I should look into medication. My partner would be so happy.
AIRLINE FOOD
OK, as I sit here, in a tiny plane, eating my Snaps brand pretzels, that are a replacement for the lunches the airlines used to serve, I wonder whatever happened to that explosion of great food that was to become commonplace in airports and on airlines. I even wrote about it about a year ago, touting the just-opened Potbelly at Midway airport, not to mention the proliferation of Starbuck’s kiosks at O’Hare.
Then came the announced food changes on the airplanes themselves. We would no longer be getting our free meals that we actually paid for in the ticket price in the first place. No, now we would have the opportunity to buy food, sold on the actual airplanes. How eliminating stale rubbery lunches would add to security is questionable, but no one was too upset. Really, it would almost be worth it to pay a few (or more) dollars to get an edible meal.
Well, I’ve flown a lot lately. Almost every week for the past month and a half, and I have yet to be on a plane where the flight attendants are forced to hawk boxed lunches from Chili’s or Bennigan’s. I never thought I’d want to eat Chili’s or Bennigan’s, but I at least want the chance to say yes or no. If the airline isn’t going to serve me my Chicken Kiev, then let me choose to buy the cheesy chili dog.
So, I should just grab some of the new food choices from the airport, right? Well, today, at the Syracuse airport, my choice was Au Bon Pain. Just Au Bon Pain. And this Au Bon Pain had a limited menu, some of which was sold out, even though the airport was mysteriously quiet. I settled for a bagel. Wrapped in carcinogenic plastic wrap, the year old bagel was $1.50, without cream cheese.
Across the way, the gift shop (magnets, mugs, and a few Orangemen items, picturing Syracuse University’s enigmatic fruit mascot), offered up candy bars (just a few), and small bags of chips. Remembering that there is a vending machine just beyond security, I went through the check point, and was faced with a selection of off-brand cookies, trail mix, and gum. Well, they say nuts are good for you. Never mind that the bag’s fat content—thank you chocolate chips—will take a month off the eater’s life. So I put my money in, and, well, nothing. Broken machine. No other choices.
And that is why I am now the crazy person, who brought along a lifetime’s supply of snacks, eating cold oatmeal out of an old fat-free Cool Whip container, alarming the guy next to me, who has noticeably pulled his arm off the armrest, and squeezed into the wall, huddling with his ESPN Magazine, as far away from the freakazoid as possible.
It wasn’t always oatmeal, but I’ve fallen into a convenient pattern of oatmeal in a throw-away container, carrot sticks and celery in a plastic bag, and maybe a bagel. I know, I know. Just buy the stupid bagel at a kiosk at the airport. Well, the bagel I bring from home is better, cheaper, and fresher.
I’ve tried other items, but the success rate has been low. One of the worst foods was broccoli. For an especially long flight, I brought a pound of raw, cut-up fiberrific broccoli. My partner scoffed, but somewhere over the Pacific, he needed a snack, and we dug in, crunching away, and attracting too much curiosity. I know. Broccoli. What’s the big deal, right? It is when your flight is 14 hours. The plane becomes a small town, with every person knowing the other’s business, and everybody wondering who the weirdo is, eating that entire raw broccoli.
Going to Vermont a couple weeks ago, I tried cooked broccoli in a disposable container. This was my biggest disappointment, which I am constantly reminded of by my partner, anytime I suggest bringing anything outside the ordinary. See, the cooked broccoli, the enclosed container, the warmer temperatures … . The broccoli was perfectly edible, and I did eat it, but only after we were outside of the terminal, in fresh air, where the strong stench could drift away from us, to asphyxiate unsuspecting passersby.
If only the airlines hadn’t stopped handing out the ‘free’ meals, those passing by would have been OK.