Stop Mocking Me

A few months ago, I started a new eating plan; I hate to say “diet” because that implies there is only a goal of weight loss and at some point a return to normal eating. Right now, how I am eating is my new normal. I made changes because I gained weight over the past year, and I wasn’t happy about it. I missed some of my clothes, and I missed feeling good about myself. My friend JR had also gained some weight, about half a pound or so, (why do I surround myself with skinny people with body dysmorphic syndrome?), so we decided to support each other on our way to healthier eating and hopefully some weight loss.

Our eating plan is pretty strict, in the sense that we do cut out an entire food group, and I don’t mean cookies. No dairy. No wheat. No sugar or sugar substitutes. No caffeine. No alcohol. No refined or processed or artificial anything. Lean proteins, lots of veggies, some fruit, and whole grains like brown rice and quinoa are all allowed. Our only real cheat is a daily piece of dark chocolate, which is full of antioxidants and also preventative. It prevents homicide.

We started out strong, eschewing sweet fruits and evil cheese and waist thickening bread. When we noticed results, we felt all self righteous and full of will power. But the constant munching on horse fodder got old, and JR and I began a quest for food that qualified as healthy but still felt like real food, or better yet, junk food. Brown rice cakes gave way to rice chips. Peanut butter switched to almond butter. Have you had a soy chicken nugget? It’s got the same greasy, stringy quality of a real chicken nugget, only it’s soy! How cool is that?

If you think about it, eating a soy chicken nugget defeats the whole purpose of what JR and I were trying to do, which was to eat healthy whole foods, real foods, instead of processed ones. Last time I checked, nuggets of soy protein, engineered to taste and feel like chicken, don’t grow on trees. But they taste good, and they are not made of beaks and wing tips. Therefore, we like them.

One day, I was eating my lunch when my sister LM called for a little midday chit-chat. LM knew of my new eating habits, but until our conversation, did not know how far things had evolved.

“What’s up?” I asked her, my mouth full of food.

“Not much. What’s for lunch?” she asked me.

“I’m having mock chicken salad in hydroponic lettuce leaves with organic tomato slices. I am making the switch to mostly organic food,” I told her proudly.

“What the hell is wrong with you? Hydroponic lettuce leaves? Did you get them at Epcot?”

“Hardy har har har,” I said. “I got it at Earthfare, if you must know. They are delicious, and my mock chicken salad is nestled happily inside its little lettuce blankets. With pillows of tomato slices. It’s very restful, my lunch.”

“And what the hell is ‘mock’ chicken salad, anyway? Is it making fun of you?”

“Yes,” I said. “It’s saying, ‘Do you really need to eat that much for lunch? Maybe one less scoop of salad would be a good idea.”

LM laughed, so I continued. “’Why bother?’ it said. ‘You look ridiculous in that shirt, by the way. And what did you do to your hair? None of your friends really like you. They are just pretending. Do you really think eating like this is going to make you lose weight? You might as well be eating a donut pizza.”

LM snorted. “What an insulting lunch!”

“I know, right? ‘And you’re still fat!’” We both cracked up.

“But seriously, what makes it mock?”LM asked.

“Maybe it’s dissatisfied with how things turned out. Or it’s got a bad attitude.”

“Or it’s spoiled?” LM said.

“God, I hope not,” I replied. “Nah, it’s some sort of soy thing. Mock chicken. Not mocking.”

“Well, what’s wrong with chicken?” she asked.

“Nothing is. But I like the mock chicken salad better.”

I do. It’s stringy like chicken salad, with the right balance of parsley to celery and very little mayo, so it’s not all wet and sloppy like messy sex. I like Earthfare’s salad much better than Whole Food’s mock chicken salad. Theirs is cut into strips, and wet, wet, wet. Blech. Plus, if you buy real chicken salad, there is always the risk of white and dark meat, mixed together. I like my chicken segregated, with the dark meat on someone else’s plate. Not to mention gristly bits of tendon, ligament, or whatever detritus floating around, hiding under a bit of relish. And how about when there is a bone fragment encased in a bite of meat? Not only is real chicken salad like a crime scene, it’s also a potential choking hazard. There are no bogus bones in the mock chicken that I have yet detected.

LM and I talked a bit more, and then she said,” Well, let me let you get back to your soylent green, and I will talk to you later.”

“My salad said good-bye to you. And thinks you need a new hair cut.”

Mock chicken salad or no, I do feel better eating less chemical-filled crap passing as food. For the most part, I feel really satisfied and content. Until someone suggests getting a big mixed drink or some dim sum or a pizza or some frozen yogurt, and then I feel like a neo-hippie vegan-leaning freak. One that misses pizza, by the way, since no one has come up with a tasty spelt crust. On the plus side, however, is that I can have a really obnoxious and complicated order at Starbucks.