26 February 2010

Fickle Fickle, Chicken Little

I'm allowed to waiver in my decision, right? I'm giving myself this grace. Somedays, nothing sounds better than a smoked turkey sandwich, piled high with bird and cheese and roasted veggies on a hearty bread.

Others, like today, all I want are veggies and legumes and simple foods. Crackers, cheese, peanutbutter slathered on apples. To go back to the way things were.

Last night I over-indulged in Caesar infused chicken ciabatta. Fantastically fried, full of fat and flavor. I reveled in the fun of eating it, lapping up the garlicy sauce with a swig of intoxicating Sauvignon Blanc that tasted of peaches and summer.

This morning, though, the fun was gone. I felt still full from dinner, yet I'd eaten only the hot sandwich + a few flat fries and a small onion ring -- much less, physically, than I normally eat. Calorically, a whopper. (Preceded and chased by a half-packet of Girl Scout cookies, but I digress...)

Breakfast of toast and jam and coffee, with a pre-workout veggie sausage beckoned. Post-gym, a half apple, a protein bar, and miso soup. The notion of meat -- even fish -- makes me reach for the digestion-assisting ginger tea.

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