I learned once again this past week that falling off the serious diet wagon is still way too easy for me. It was Father's Day, in the evening, 10 p.m. to be exact. We had just finished a seriously delicious and reasonably sized Vietnamese take-out meal from Saigon Grill. I had stopped ordering from SG when a lawsuit was filed on behalf of its delivery people, alleging shockingly low pay and long hours forced on them by SG's owners. When a jury came back awarding the delivery staff $4.6 million dollars, I knew that I could once again order from Saigon Grill. The pork chops were great, the crystal shrimp dumplings even better, and even though the bo luc lac (char-grilled and marinated steak cubes) was a little dry, all was right with the world.
Except for one thing. It was Father's Day and I felt I was entitled to some ice cream for dessert. Said ice cream would most definitely come with toppings, which would be chosen during my leisurely walk through the Fairway aisles. I announced to Vicky and Will that I was headed out to Fairway and that I would be returning with everyone's favorite ice cream.
When I left the house I thought I was in complete control. How wrong was I? Let's count the ways.
Will had asked for chocolate chip cookie dough and Vicky for coffee heath bar crunch. For my own ice cream flavor I was going to improvise, Alice Waters-style, depending on what looked best in the Fairway ice cream department that day.
I ended up with a pint of Haagen Dazs Five brown sugar ice cream. With the ice creams in my basket, awaiting their partner toppings, I headed for the nuts and chocolate shelves. I took a jar of Scharffenberger dark chocolate ganache and put it in my basket, but then I decided that was too decadent, so I put it back.
I was patting myself on the back for avoiding the toppings trap as I waited on the express checkout line. I was at the front waiting for the checkout line straw boss to yell "Next on 2!" when some dark chocolate Marcona almonds caught my eye. Don't those sound good? They did to me, so a package went straight to my basket. As did their fraternal twin, some dark chocolate malted milk balls. Oh, baby. I wanted to put them back, to be content with each of us having our very own ice cream flavor. Surely that would be enough. But it wasn't.
I bought everything home. We each got out our pints. Vicky and Will were content to eat the ice cream without the toppings. Not me. I crushed a couple of malted milk balls and topped my bowl of seriously delicious brown sugar ice cream with them. Ditto for the dark chocolate Marcona almonds. It was clear to me that I was out of control. Father's Day had unleashed the food demons in me.
Vicky came to my rescue. She swept up the bowls of serious chocolate-covered deliciousness and put them away. She announced, "I'm giving these to my assistant tomorrow. Nothing good will come of them otherwise."
She was right. I got on Thinner on Monday and I had gained three pounds, up to 212. Thank God it was only Monday.
The remaining days of the week were a little better. By Thursday I was down to 210, so I have a shot this morning. Here we go: 210. Up a pound for the week, but the previous week had been a big leap downward, so over-all I'm feeling good. I dodged a chocolate-covered malted milk ball bullet.
The moral of this tale of whoa: Look out for the dark chocolate-covered malted milk balls and Marcona almonds. They will get you every time. What gets you every time, serious eaters.
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