Going Against the Grain

Last night I got to go out to dinner and eat Mediterranean food — exactly what I wanted and so yummy! My stomach was already grumbling as we walked to the restaurant, and by the time I looked at the menu, I was wiping drool from the corners of my tabouleh-lusting mouth.

I ordered a salad of some sort, and told myself I would just eat the baba ghanoush (eggplant) and avoid the tabouleh (grains), the humus (beans) and the lentils (beans again). Well, the food arrived, and I was so flippin’ hungry after subsisting primarily on coffee for most of the day, that I didn’t exactly listen to what I had told myself. I mean, I started picking around the tabouleh to eat the baba ghanoush, but then a couple of delicious morsels hichhiked their way into my mouth via the sticky eggplant goodness. And then the baba ghanoush was gone, and I was still hungry, and there was food in front of me, perfectly good food for someone who is not a paleolithic, whack-job, or as my friend called it the other day, “Paleo-rexic.”

I ate it. I ate the food that most sane people would consider to be perfectly healthy, even nourishing. And do you know what? I enjoyed it! And better still, I didn’t have a food hangover when I woke up this morning. I am feeling inspired to do a better job ferreting-out what actually gives me crusty AM eyes and creaky old-lady knees.

Last night was delicious, and I didn’t eat any pita bread or rice or, heaven forbid, dessert. I didn’t even have a ridiculously sweet cocktail to get my sugar fix via alcohol. I didn’t have any alcohol. So yay for that.

I know for me, there is a fine line between eating a consistently healthy diet and turning into a self-sacrificing, miserable Paleo-rexic. Last night, I feel like I hit my stride. (Not to mention that I got to eat dinner at a real restaurant with delightful company and delicious conversation. Maybe I am evolving past paleo.

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