They say the body is a temple.
Well, if that's true, then mine is a monument to Ray Kroc.
To me, food is simple: if it isn't fried or served in a bun, then I don't want it.
Years ago, my old friend Kelly With The Three Last Names summed it up best. For some reason, conversation was "what's your favorite restaurant,'' and Kelly laughed and said, "Ray's is easy: anything with a drive-thru."
The truth is, when it comes to eating it doesn't get much better to me than sitting behind the steering wheel, Kenny Chesney on the stereo, a large sweet ice tea in the drink holder, a packet of hot fries between my thighs and a quarter-pound of ground beef with cheese tucked between two pieces of bread in my right hand.
OK, that might be an exaggeration. But only slight.
The Trophy Wife likes to watch those cooking competitions on cable, the one where a group of chefs get together and have to create these magnificent plates of food and then get chopped or axed or whatever until some one wins.
There is always the drama of some cook, er, "chef'' who can't figure out what to do, and nobody seems to ever think of the obvious: whatever it is, wrap it in bacon, roll it in flour, and deep fry it. Who could resist that?
Believe it or not, my cholesterol remains ridiculously low, always somewhere between 127 and 105. As much as I'd like to take come kind of credit for that, I can't. It's genetics, pure and simple. I take it as a sign that I was born to eat fried food.
Not that I'm skinny, either. Truth is, I could stand to lose a few (dozen) pounds. But I could eat anything I wanted and gaining weight was a problem until I turned about 40. Then a life of bad-eating habits (and metabolism) caught up to me.
At the same time, crazy as it may sound, I sometimes have a problem with food. As much as I like to eat, sometimes I'd rather not. Particularly when I'm alone, and not driving. Or if I'm particularly wrapped up in work; I've been known to just forget to eat.
I thought of all this when talking on the phone to The Trophy Wife, and I was talking about being tired and quite honestly sounded like it. Being the perceptive one in the family, she said, "What have you eaten today?"
Truth is, not much. I was working the night before and didn't eat dinner. There was nothing in the house for breakfast when I woke up other than a quick Diet Coke. It got near lunch time and I had one Chicken Pot-Pie left, so four-to-five minutes later (with two minutes for it to sit in the microwave), I had what passed as a full meal.
"You have to remember to eat,'' she reminds me.
Of course, she'd prefer I ate well - fruit, non-fried chicken, healthy stuff. But she didn't grow up in the Deep South, where every meal included something fried - including fried okra, fried green tomatoes, fried corn, even fried green beans (the good ones wrapped in bacon!).
It's not healthy. Not much about my life is - at least, not intentionally.
Even today. It's exactly two miles down to the marina where there is this little fast-food cafe attached to Keith's, a gas station/mini mart (as if there were any other kind these days). So I walked, thinking it would be good exercise, followed by a delicious (if unhealthy) meal, then a two-mile walk back. All of this was mid-afternoon, in the heat of the day.
So I walked, and got there right at 3:09. Only problem? The cafe closed at 3. So I went into the mini-mart, got a bottle of Diet Coke, a trail mix candy bar, and walked back - where, once I got to my car, I drove to Burger King (the nearest drive-thru).
The Center for Disease Control and Prevention puts out regular reports on obesity rates in the United States. Southern states consistently rank at the top for obesity percentages, and in the last ranking Mississippi ranked No. 1.
Some people would call that a problem.
Me? I call it ... home.
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