25.03.2010 11 °C
A couple weeks ago, I had it all figured out. After discovering the perils of cutting out dessert in the dessert capital of the East, I developed some foolproof strategies to cope with the omnipresence of sugar. This week, I got caught at my own game.
Recall strategy number two: “If alone, consider eating out rather than dining in. Treats are only offered in house, not to go.” (http://emilie.travellerspoint.com/12/)
Foolproof right? Wrong!
Last Friday, feeling too lazy to cook, I decided to pop over to the infamous Pasta & Cafe shop out front to grab a couple porças to go (small bread dumplings stuffed with cheese, olives, or meat). There was nothing wrong with this plan. I was not intending to eat sugar, for one, and second, I wasn’t eating in, thereby avoiding the perils of free desserts. Perfect! After pointing out which porças I wanted, the kindly owner asked whether I wanted them heated or not.
Here is where the plan went awry.
Not having a microwave at home, I normally use the oven to heat up leftovers, bake a pie (or not), and warm up fresh bread. Like I said, however, I was feeling lazy. I didn’t want to turn on the oven. I wanted him to do it. So I said yes. Hot please.
Well, heating things up takes time...more time to wait around and eye the evil sweets lining the shelves. (I will post a picture of these sweets one day, so you know what I’m dealing with). Actually, ‘eyeballing’ would probably be a better word than ‘eyeing’. My desire for sugar has started projecting from the inside out. I could sense the shop owners giving me odd sideways glances. Crazy eyeball popper lady! Point is, I must have been staring quite aggressively, because next thing I knew, I had a napkin in my hand with a mini apricot tort, a coconut ‘puff’, and a nutty mushy cookie. Toooorment!
Unluckily, I had no friend to take the sugar off my hands, so I sneakily stuffed the treats into my bag as soon as the shop owners turned their backs. Phew! Crisis averted! I made my way to the register to pay for my booty unscathed. And that’s when I spotted the devil incarnate sitting innoncently on the counter. Luscious, creamy, cut into convenient bite-sized pieces. Cheesecake!! My Achille’s heel. The thorn in my side. Nodding his head encouragingly, the shop owner offered me a square. No chance of putting that in my pocket!
Instead, holding it precariously on a toothpick, I hurled my change at the shop owner, ducked out of the door and into the shadows, ran across the street like a madwoman, and hopped up two flights of stairs yelling, ‘Marina! Marina!”, hoping my roommate would be home to save me from myself.
She was. Thank the Lord. And she loved me for it. Though I may have low blood sugar levels, I do have loving roommates. Amen!
But don’t think Lent is controlling my life! Nooo. On my recent trip to Eastern Turkey, I showed Lent who’s boss.
After a 12km hike uphill through wind and snow, lots of snow, it was time for revenge. Luckily, Paul had just the thing: a big old slab of rich rich dark chocolate with sweet sweet crunchy almonds. As an aside, I’d like to point out that dark chocolate is considered a superfood, a great cancer-fighter, and a fabulous anti-oxidant, not to mention a mild aphrodisiac.
Anyway. Twelve kilometres and four hours later, exhausted and lightheaded from sheer euphoria and altitude, I ate a big old chunk from that big old slab, and it was WONDERFUL. I let it sit on my tongue like it was the last piece of chocolate on earth and I was the last person who could fulfill its destiny. And I didn’t feel the slightest bit guilty.
And so it was proclaimed from the mountaintop, so that all the children of the world could hear...
Suck it Lent!