April and Sarah Go on a Diet: Mythical Nourishment and Mortal Imaginations

March 24, 2010 at 9:04 am | Posted in Around Boston, In The Kitchen | 4 Comments
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Other than hallucinations, crumb cravings and oat incidents, April and I have weathered our new “healthy eating plan” well, and have made it through week four without seriously injuring anyone.

Awesome...

During these long, calorie-deprived weeks, I’m fairly certain that our sense of smell has become much keener. Take, for example, our commute home yesterday: as we speed-walked (sped-walked? That can’t be right!) past the Domino’s in Boston’s West End, the scent of pizza wafted into our noses. We nearly stopped (pedestrian) traffic as we came to a screeching halt in front of the pizzeria… And yes, my boot CAN make screeching halts. The aroma of freshly baked dough tickled our noses as the sweet yet slightly acidic tomato sauce and salty, oily scent of melting cheese tantalized us. We gazed longingly toward the pizza shop that, just two months ago during P.D. (Pre-Diet, as that era is called), wouldn’t have given us pause, and wondered if heaven might smell just like that.

As we continued our commute, my erudite friend and I began discussing Ambrosia, sustenance of the Greek gods (and we may also have discussed the more plebeian version of ambrosia – the coconut, fruit cocktail and marshmallow “salad” that April craved when she was preggers but which turns my stomach… That’s not the point… You know how we get distracted… Focus, dear reader(s)).

We may even have expressed our hope that heaven includes an all you can eat gourmet cafeteria that specializes in pizza, chocolate cake, honey roasted peanut butter, milk shakes, nachos, ice cream, beer, cookies, spiced nuts, etc. (Are you there G-d? It’s me, Booty).

Anyway, the heightened sense of smell sounds like a delightful bonus to our slightly more svelte figures, right? Unfortunately our super-sensitive shmekkers also pick up the unpleasant scents, too. For example, walking through a certain neighborhood that shall be left unnamed (but rhymes with seekin’ thrill), we are occasionally accosted by a scent that can only be described as “fish diapers.” Yes, if baby fish ate other fish and wore diapers, that’s what it would smell like on garbage day on seekin’ thrill. Which seems to occur more than once a week. Shudder.

At least the fish diaper smell curbs our appetites!

Here’s to continued success – and nose plugs – in the D.D. (during diet) era!

~Sarah

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4 Comments »

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  1. I hope you don’t really have a scale that insults you like that…

    • Well, it DOES insult me, but not quit as blatantly. And my toes rarely look that polished 😉

  2. Sometimes I wish my scale would be more blunt. Rather than routinely and passive-agressively sitting on the same old number :). Still, I have no fish diapers to confront in my life, so I guess I shouldn’t complain.

    • Hahaha! Brooke, you’re right, these passive-aggressive scales are evil! But we’ll show them… (mwahahahahaha). XO


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