I am enjoying eating healthily.
I am enjoying eating healthily.
I am. I am enjoying it loads. It’s fucking great. Mmmmm.
The more you say it, apparently, the more true it is.
Actually, it is true. A bit. Alright, so yes, I *did* used to enjoy my morning yoghurt-coated flapjack, but the day I realised that my bag was immesurably lighter Once I took the flapjack out, and that I was, essentially, feeding myself something the size, weight and consistency of chewable breezeblock was the day that little morning tradition ended. Also I had been increasingly suspicious that the ‘yoghurt’ was in fact a slab of lard and sugar, mainly lard.
That was one of the starters in one of the resturaunts in Berlin ‘Slab of lard served with Spreewald pickles’. No sugar. Sugar, I can only imagine, would have simply ruined the dish.
But no, this morning, it was some kind of supermarket chewy bar for morning cudding. Mmmm. Reasonably yummy and yet – there’s always an ‘and yet’ – why do they always make these things so horrifically sweet?
Why do they assume that just because you’ve reached for something on the ‘healthy option’ shelf, it means that you’re a sugar-addled lard-arse trying to wean yourself off a diet of intravenous Sherbert Dib-Dabs and Golden Syrup suppositories by ingesting artificial sweeteners just as fast as they get pumped out?
I want nice things, savoury things, that just happen to be good for you AND taste nice? – is that too much to ask?
So I sit here with the nice things that I do have, the mixtures of seeds and nuts and some mini crispbread biscuits made by Dr Karg, which is not so much a brand as the noise you make if you risk trying to eat one without a lot of liquid nearby. And then someone hands me a cactus flavoured sugarfree pastille, and quite surprisingly I manage to keep it down, and it’s really quite lovely.
And I think about my lunch, proudly: a sandwich that not only contained hummous and serious vegetables (broccoli, for one) but was contained in a wrap that was in itself green. And fucking organic. And I think about the fact that when I go home, I’ll have something homecooked with also lots of vegetables, and then for pudding I’ll have greek yoghurt, possibly with some honey and a sprinkling of crushed hazelnuts.
And then my mate emails and asks if I want to go to the pub. And that just sounds like loads more fun, frankly. Or a bit more fun, anyway.
Because there’s no two ways about it, unhealthy things just are more fun than healthy things. They’re more fun, and they taste nicer. I’ve often sat on a saturday night, trying to be good, and dunked my dippables in ‘low fat’ dips, before giving up, forlorn, and wondering how good pure ‘fat’ must taste if the exclusion of it can make things taste so virulently bland.
What they need, see, is to find a way of separating out the ‘nice’, and maybe putting it in a little bottle, or something. They seem to be working very hard at separating out the ‘good for you’ and putting it in a little bottle – the advertisment break on television seem to be full of people trying to sell me wee bottles of things claiming to be macro-bionic or mirco-cosminic or something, which all sound mildly convincing, apart from the one made by Flora, which, lets face, it, looks like it might be a small bottle of liquid margerine.
Soft spread companies shouldn’t really branch out, I think, unless it’s into engineering or lubricants.
Anyway. They should work on the ‘little bottle of nice’, thing. That way, you could eat all the things that were good for you and healthy and stuff most of the time – because you should, and it’s actually quite nice when you get used to it, but you could just have a shot of ‘nice’ every now and again when you needed some actual flavour in your life.
It would be just like the little bottle of ‘good for you’, except enjoyable.
They could make a snappy name for it too.
Or if that’s taken, maybe ‘cider’.