Gluttony’s B*tch

My love of food is wholly unrequited.

I would stalk food if I thought for a minute it would love me back. I would follow it home from school and sit in the tree outside its house. If it dropped something from its backpack, I would pick it up, take it home, and sleep with it under my pillow. I would be the creepy stalker that stares at the window from the sidewalk, hoping to catch a glimpse of food maybe stepping out of the shower, or just hanging out watching TV.

(Scarily, this is sounding a lot like something that happened to me in high school, so now I’ll have to move on from my stalker routine and on to something else. I’m starting to creep myself out.)

I love watching cooking shows. I love trying to make the food I see on TV. I love everything about cooking: the act of cooking, the presentation, and the eating. Oh, the eating! (Not so much the dishes, though. I am not a domestic goddess in any way, shape, or form)

Unfortunately, as much as I love it, food doesn’t love me back.

Gluttony, my favorite sin, has broken up with me. It doesn’t return my calls or answer the phone anymore. The things I can actually eat are things that are *gasp!* good for me. Yes, I’m looking at you, kale. I like you kale, but I don’t like like you. Let’s just be friends.

As I sit here and eat homemade kale chips (because, let’s face it, the store-bought ones taste like horse manure), I reminisce about the good old days when gluttony and I had a really great relationship. Honestly, homemade kale chips simply don’t compare to, oh, say, a really decadent chocolate cupcake. Really, truly and honestly.

Homemade kale chips vs. brussels sprouts–that’s a contest (like Mathlete vs. Spelling Bee winner. It seems like a fair fight). Kale vs. Cupcake? Hardly. That’s like pitting the president of German Club (hey, I resemble that remark) against the captain of the cheerleading squad. Kale wouldn’t even last one round against Cupcake. Kale would get her azz handed to her and be forgotten by the next day.

So, as I sit here and watch Cupcake Wars and Barefoot Contessa and fight the temptation to get up and lick the television set, here’s what I have to say:

Food, you suck. (love me, love me, love me.)



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