Baby, you can drive my carbs
I realized this the other day when I offered a co-worker some pita chips and he declined, saying, “I had a bad night last night.”
“What do you mean, a bad night?” I asked.
“Carbs,” he intoned, funereally.
You know a dieting craze has gone too far when otherwise normal people have to turn down pita chips — which come in about a notch and a half above cardboard in most industry taste tests — like they’re the most decadent indulgence since someone coined the term “Death by Chocolate.” Even crazier is that they have to do so because they’ve gone hog-wild and actually eaten some bread, previously best known for being served to poorly behaved prisoners.
Then there’s Burger King’s decision to offer Whoppers without the bun, with the flame-boiled patty lying prostrate in a plastic salad dish among the lettuce and tomatoes, like a giant, deformed cucumber slice. Or low-carb beer, which from the commercials I gather is to keep you from gaining weight when you’re swimming while intoxicated.
The capper has got to be the latest trend, “Pizza in a Bucket.” I don’t know about you, but when I think of a healthful diet, I don’t picture myself with my face buried in a pail of melted cheese. OK, I do, but it’s wrong.
Well, I for one am tired of shopping for pasta and Italian bread and getting incredulous looks from people pushing carriages filled with bacon. Avoiding them might help you lose weight, but I would argue that things like french fries and hamburgers with buns fulfill a basic human need. Beyond the need to turn ourselves obese, I mean.
Case in point: A new book called “Meals to Die For,” by a Texas prison chef who prepared 220 final meals for death-row prisoners, relates that the most requested last meal by far is french fries, followed closely by hamburgers — real hamburgers, surrounded on two sides by bread. And presumably chewed very sloooooowly.
(Incidentally, the Texas Department of Criminal Justice used to list last-meal requests on its Web site, until it started receiving complaints that doing so was in “poor taste,” according to the Los Angeles Times. Apparently the fact that they were executing people left and right was not considered the least bit gauche.)
Of course, I’m not saying we should take all our culinary cues from condemned prisoners. Particularly the man who, according to the book, ordered 24 soft shell tacos, six enchiladas, six tostadas, two whole onions, five jalapenos, two cheeseburgers, one chocolate shake and one quart of milk. Then when they pulled the switch, the prison exploded.
But it seems to me that if people confronted by the harsh face of their own mortality feel a pressing need to request starches, that’s pretty telling. Maybe we shouldn’t be denying ourselves these things on a daily basis. It’s only a matter of time before people start to snap in the bread aisle, consuming entire 8-packs of Freihoffer’s weiner buns before they can be subdued by security.
In fact, the more I think about it, the more this whole Atkins thing sounds like a big practical joke. I wouldn’t have been surprised if the late Dr. Atkins’ last words had been “Just kidding!”— after all, if God had wanted us to live without pasta and bread, he would never have invented Italy.
That said, I should note that in the interest of compromise, I am willing to make certain concessions. The pita chips can go.