Many moons ago I had an appointment with my GP. We were discussing the numbers from my most recent blood test. There was a problem. My cholesterol was at 260.
“That’s not good,” she said. “You need to get the number down or I’ll have to put you on a statin.”
In response, I reacted—or over-reacted—as I often do by going on a spartan diet and cutting out all red meat and sources of fat, aka any food fun. I also started hitting the gym regularly.
At the end of 90 days, I retested and my number was down to 199. I felt relieved. But Bob, I was not happy. Maintaining a low number meant no cheese and no burgers—ergo no cheeseburgers. What was the point? As the Clairol commercials of old used to say, “if I only have one life, let me live it as a blonde!”
I quickly realized that keeping my number down without medication would mean a life of fun food deprivation. Not only that, any dining decision would be scanned by the guilt-o-meter, meaning I would at least be tempted to feel bad about eating anything “unhealthy,” which was (and still is) most things.
In the years following, my number teeter-tottered up and down. Ultimately, genetics was the trump card, exercise and diet be damned. In this case, it was my Mom’s DNA. She had high cholesterol throughout her lifetime. I’m not sure about Dad. Odds are his blood comprised a heady sluice of Jim Beam and Marlborough filters in the fresh pack. In other words, we don’t need no stinking numbers.
I finally threw in the towel. This after my latest GP complained that the number—233 at the time—was still too high. She said that combined with other factors, it foretold of a health event within the next ten years. That’s what they also said in the bible, when men supposedly lived to be over 600 years and had large wine bottles named after them.
I’ve been taking a statin now for over three years. Now I can finally live my life as a blonde, so to speak. I can eat things like cheese, cheeseburgers, and similar without having a mortal attack of guilt or self-deprivation. I can also enjoy the likes of a well-marbled New York strip done medium-rare. Maybe it’s all worth the price of statin admission.
Otherwise, my son Patrick has many regular conversational pull-down menus, including a list of dead rock stars, as well still-alive rock stars who are turning 70, 80, and older.
“Eighty-four is a good age for Ringo, right, dad?”
I can only agree. But then there’s the one on so-called unhealthy foods like ice cream, pie, and donuts.
“You can only eat them once in a while,” Patrick says, “and not every day.”
He’s right, of course. But that shouldn’t stop us from eating once in a while foods every now and again. As in once in a while.
Donuts and fried chicken are at the top of my once in a while list. Like many things in the food world, both can be elevated to an art form. Take the photo above, which was snapped in San Francisco. Those donuts are a thing of culinary beauty. I would grab the one with chocolate and sprinkles before anyone else could make a move, and then enjoy it with strong coffee or a double espresso.
No once in a while food survey would be complete without a paean to all things fried. I’m not sure who first came up with the idea of deep frying something, but they should be canonized and sitting at the right hand of some deity, so they can feed her/him fried chicken. That’s because nothing buries the meter in the red zone of instant food gratification like fried chicken. Like the donuts above, fried chicken can be elevated to fine art status. Exhibit A is a restaurant in Charleston called Leon’s. I had an amazing dinner there some years ago.
If I were ever deluded enough to open an eatery, it would be like Leon’s. The menu is fried chicken, shellfish, and sides. The wine list has a smattering of whites, rosés, and reds, but is otherwise devoted to bubbly with a serious list of small grower Champagnes. Why bubbly? Because the culinary minds behind Leon’s know that bubbles combined with fat, protein, and salt is the single best food and wine pairing there is. Mind you the bubbles could be beer, but that’s a minor detail. Besides, Champagne is the best form of bubbles there is. Combined with fried chicken—Leon’s being twice-fried and the best I’ve ever had—the two have the makings for a meal that those guys in the bible never knew of, regardless of how old they were.
Let us then give heartfelt thanks and praises for once in a while foods. Donuts so delectable they’re beyond description, and fried chicken and Champagne together so delicious they make us happy to just be alive. That’s how it should be.
FOLLOW ME ON SOCIAL MEDIA
