Yes, I have heard all of the pro-veg appeals. I know that the grain fed to livestock could feed the thirty million people who starve to death, and I still eat meat. I know about the meat industrial complex's effect on the rainforest, global warming, et al., and I still eat meat. I have seen chickens being scalded alive in those PETA videos, and yes, I still eat meat. (Call me apathetic and heartless if you like, but with all fairness, whenever I find a wounded bird or squirrel in my yard I drive 40 miles to take it to the wildlife refuge. That must count for SOMETHING.)
What are my favorite meats? I like veal, lamb, and roasted baby pig. All are nice and tender. Foie gras has its place on my bucket list. I also like eggs (hard cooked, so as not to remind me that they once housed a chicken fetus), cheese (mild, sharp, bitter, sweet, hard, creamy, old, smelly, moldy, wormy), butter, chocolate ganache, Guinness on draft, tempura with soy sauce, Camel Lights, dark roast, gnocchi, buttermilk cornbread, and anything with a buttercrumb topping. I could definitely take better care of myself.
You see, I'm from Birmingham, Alabama. I'm a native, and in my adult life I've never lived further than 400 miles away. Southerners are the most obese and unhealthiest in the nation as a whole, and this fact is generally chalked up as a result of poverty and insufficient education. That's just not true. We simply have the finest cuisine in the nation, and our epicurean culture hinges on three simple tenets: One, it is okay to use lard; two, everything is better fried; and three, it's vegetarian as long as there's not a bone in the vicinity.
In addition to my Southern heritage, my mother's family is Greek-Italian. Mediterranean food has a reputation for being among the healthiest in the world, but that's if you don't simmer your sauce with a pork shoulder for three days as my grandma does. (Oh, the thought makes me hungry.)
In spite of my rednecky attitude towards food, you may be surprised at how bohemian I really am. Hey, I spent four years at a small liberal arts college known for its deadheads and homosexual theater majors. And my idea of the perfect evening involves nothing more than curling up with a cup of tea and a Margaret Atwood novel. And maybe a big plate of bacon. In the same vein, my diet may not be as unhealthy as possible- I do believe I am one of the few Americans who actually does eat four servings of vegetables a day. To me, nothing accompanies a nice medium-well T-bone quite like a side of steamed zucchini. Except for the occasional Subway, Chick-Fil-A, and drunken 3 a.m. "Let's go to Krystals!", I don't eat fast food (I actually threw up after my last visit to McDonald's). And you will never find me ordering anything that comes with an "it's free if you can finish it" clause.
But lately, I feel that my body has been telling me something. Something similar to, "Nicole, it's time you eased up a little." I have been tired, I've had headaches, I've been struck with depression. As far as my health goes, I'm good as far as I know. I am twenty-nine years old, never any health problems to speak of, and at last check my cholesterol and blood pressure were perfect. I do have a family history of cancer, and my grandmother was a severe diabetic. Needless to say those are pitfalls I'd like to avoid.
My weight is something I have struggled with my entire life. As of writing I am 5'7" and 165 pounds. Several times I have tried to lose weight, and have never succeeded on a diet; while I make a effort not to gain any more, I've pretty much given up on losing. As long as I can buy my clothes in the Misses' section, and as long as I keep getting looked at whenever I wear something strappy, I'm good. (Here's the part where I add that if I DID somehow lose twenty or so pounds I definitely would not be displeased.)
So what am I going to do? For two months, starting on January 1st, I am giving up meat, dairy, eggs, alcohol, sugar, and anything non-organic. That'll mean learning to cook tofu. That'll mean learning to like the way soy cheese doesn't completely melt all the way. That'll mean driving all the way to Whole Foods to get groceries. That'll mean one of the greatest personal test of my life.
Sixteen days to go. Wish me luck.
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