As I sit here at the computer this morning, my still ample-size stomach is growling away like Ol’ Yeller at the end of the movie just before they shot him.
I’m hungry. I’m also angry.
For some reason, the Atkins experiment has become the Atkins discouragement.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m not giving up on losing weight but after four months of going without potatoes, bread, pasta, starchy vegetables, milk, sugar or ice cream, I’m not seeing the kind of results that others who’ve been on this diet love to brag about; “Yup,” they’ll say. “Dropped 35 pounds in six weeks on Atkins.” “Feel and look great. Bought a whole bunch of new slim-fitting clothes. The wife can’t keep her hands off me.”
Horse Hockey!
My knees still hurt. I’ve only managed to get from 3X to 2X, my golf pals still snicker at the site of me in shorts and Linda is perfectly content maintaining a proper ten-foot pole touching distance.
Things are about to get worse too.
I’ve been dreading it for a long time and now it’s here: SWEET CORN season!
Next to sanctification by grace, fresh-from-the-field sweet corn is God’s greatest gift to mankind. But it’s obviously off-limits to me this year and that’s why my gut is gurgling and that’s why I’m so ticked-off.
Driving past those stands along 10th street without stopping to buy a dozen golden ears is as difficult for me as a junkie sitting at a table piled high with cocaine and not plopping his head down for a deep sniff.
Usually by this time, Hokeness has a semi trailer parked next to their vegetable stand. It arrives every morning and is stacked with 12 thousand ears of the best sweet corn I’ve ever tasted for only a dollar a dozen..provided you buy some other vegetable from them.But the truck has been conspicuously absent this year.Turns out this season’s crop near Adrian was damaged by hail and had to be replanted. Shipments won’t start arriving until the middle of August.
I suppose it shouldn’t make any difference to me anyway since corn is absolutely taboo on Atkins. But I’m feeling weak.
Instead of thinking how nice it would be to jam my carcass into size 40 relax-fit pants again, it’s the vision of biting into a buttery, salty-sweet, perfectly cooked ear of corn with long full rows of creamy kernels, that now fills my head.
Out..out damn thought.
The kitchen smells of sausage and creamed cauliflower. Yum.
