Momentum of Joy

Flavor interpretation is highly subjective but my own taste buds would like to say this – Dutch Chocolate My @#&!

It feels to me like the only way that this could correctly be labeled as having a Dutch chocolate flavor is if they meant that it tastes like it has a hint of chocolate, and the rest is comprised of actual Dutch people.  And based on the taste, I’m guessing that it’s specifically Dutch feet.

I continue to try so hard to break my carboholism and sugar cravings.  However the bulk of the alternatives are highly unappealing to a Kraft Mac N Cheese connoisseur such as myself.  My eating preferences are so low rent that I am genuinely dismayed when I discover that we have selected a restaurant with a kid menu offering fancy macaroni.  Did we ask for truffle oil and homemade pasta?  No!  Bring out the box mac with the yellowy orange salt we have referred to as cheese since the dawn of time!!!  That rule does not apply to Red Robin or Luby’s.  We salute your mac.  High five to you!

It’s gotten to the point where I am hovering inches over my kids’ steaming plates of carby goodness so I can vacuum in the steam as I try desperately to chew the smells.  I then hand them their food sadly.  They take their plates from me with quizzical looks and eyebrows raised.  Then, just to spite me, they eat the food!  Okay it’s not spite.  They are just eating. But it feels spitey because I’m so damn hungry, and I’m totally salivating watching them gulp their food down as my own fork hovers immobile over my vegetables.  Can’t.  Eat.  Salad.

So I pay two thousand dollars (twenty) for a scoop of powder (it’s a big canister but still very pricey in my world), and that scoop tastes like feet (or what I imagine feet would taste like as I have yet to taste them personally).

The grand point I am trying to convey is this. This powder is el stinko grande and that bums me out.

I’m really really hungry, and I adore good naughty food – even the non-boxed non-preservative variety.  For now I may have to resort to cracking open a box of mac for the kids just so I can eat the smells again.  Perhaps I could hold a spoonful of steamy carby mac under my nose as I eat my veggies, and they will taste less like unhappiness.  I don’t know about that, but I am certain that I need to change my ways before my kids are old enough to figure out how to call the special home to take me away.

I would love any tips you can share if you have faced this food dilemma and defeated it.  If you were born a veggie fan, believe that tofu should be part of your daily meals, or include spectacular salads on your “Foods I Crave” list, I’m not asking you.  Don’t.  Even.  Try.  We still have the love, but you can’t possibly comprehend my anti-veg stance.  I was born this way.  I am a dyed in the wool carboholic.

So what do I do now?

***MoJo***