There I was, on a Saturday evening, watching yet another curling game on television (see my earlier post, Hurry, Hurry Hard to read about how much time Canadians spend watching curling games). Our lives are extremely exciting.
After the second end of the game I realized that I was peckish and
wanted needed something to sustain me throughout the remaining eight ends of the match. What to eat, what to eat, what to eat?
I considered my options: a fairly-healthy toasted whole-wheat English muffin with a bit of butter and a spoonful of strawberry jam; a fairly-unhealthy plate of nachos covered with mozzarella cheese, salsa, and sour cream; or a REALLY-unhealthy Canadian dish called poutine, a concoction of piping-hot french fries sprinkled with mozzarella cheese (or cheese curds) and gravy, and
soaked drizzled with ketchup.
Hmmm. Home alone, on a Saturday night, with french fries and gravy in my freezer and mozzarella cheese in my refrigerator’s cheese-bin…
My decision made, I went upstairs to my kitchen, turned the oven on to 450 degrees, spread the frozen fries out on a baking sheet, and immersed the small container of gravy in a stainless-steel bowl of hot water. Then I returned to the curling game until the oven beeped to indicate that it was ready for my fries.
Back upstairs I hobbled (my knees were really hurting me), placed the fries in the oven, transferred the gravy from its plastic storage container to a glass dish and popped the dish into the microwave to finish defrosting. Then it was back downstairs again to watch another end of the game-in-progress.
Fifteen minutes later I hobbled back upstairs and flipped the fries, grated a
giant tiny amount of mozzarella cheese, and finished heating the gravy. By the time I completed these last tasks my fries were cooked, so I piled them onto a plate, covered them with cheese and gravy, added a bit of salt, and took the concoction, along with a fork and a bottle of ketchup, downstairs.
Barely halfway through my very rich meal, I stopped, unable to fork another bite into my mouth. I pushed the plate away and began to question my
sanity decision-making skills.
Why did I do this to myself? Where was my head? Did I really think that my slow, uncomfortable treks up and down the stairs would burn enough calories to make my
terrible questionable choice of a late-evening supper okay? Obviously my excitement at watching another game of curling had dulled my Spidey-senses and now I would have to pay the price.
After the curling game ended (Canadian women won against the US, by the way), I dragged my uncomfortable, bloated body upstairs to bed. Visions of whales and elephants and other large mammals danced in my head; kindred spirits of mine, I was sure.
Today I woke up a reformed woman.
No more late-evening poutine for me. No sirree. Only an apple, perhaps, or a clementine, or worst-case scenario, a lightly toasted whole-wheat English muffin lightly brushed with low-fat butter (is there such a thing as low-fat butter?), and a smidgen of strawberry jam.
My resolve is formidable.
But thank goodness it’s still early enough in the day (only 5:30 pm local time), that my late-evening resolution won’t be brought into play when I chose my supper.
I considered my options; a healthy spinach salad with cucumber, tomato, white onion, and low-fat dressing, or nachos with melted mozzarella cheese, salsa, and sour cream.
Easy-peasy. I just have to hobble upstairs to turn the oven on to preheat, and while it does, I’ll watch the first end of the current curling game (Canada vs China).