Monday, October 4, 2010

I feel so virtuous when I apply heat to food.

Why is that?

It doesn't make it healthier. It doesn't make it less fattening. In almost every case, it both leeches nutrients and adds fat. Last night, I decided to make Mr.Lovinangels a snack, and could have easily sliced some fruit and whole grain bread, and he would have been very happy.

Instead, I added a stick of butter, a mess of sugar, and an unquantified amount of white flour and made the perfectly healthy fruit into a crisp.

 And yes, Mr. Lovinangels was very happy.

I felt like wifey of the year, until I ran the recipe through Calorie Count, and now I'm left wondering when my subconscious decided it was time to murder my husband of five years via arterial blockage.Today, same situation, but evidently I haven't learned my lesson.

 The kids would have been perfectly happy with fresh bread, fruit and cheese for lunch, but it's cold and wet outside, so I feel like something warm is the way to go. Serving the kids bread, fruit, and cheese is lazy.  If I grill the bread and cheese, suddenly I feel like a good mom, and the reality is, all I've done is added two or three hundred calories worth of saturated fat.

 There's a crustless quiche in the oven right now. Because I couldn't have heated up the leftover vegetable soup. (That would have been too easy, don't they deserve better?)

 To make this even more ironic, it's likely that later on this afternoon, I will complain loudly about the amount of dishes I have to wash. Rather than napping to make up for last night's impromptu toddler-party-like-a-rock star all night event, I will bitch and moan and whine like a certain eleven year old denied  a trip to the opening night of Eclipse.

 Seriously, who made this mess? Me. By choice. The kids would have loved a pb and j. Loved it. Eaten it well, and gone to be bed happy with full little bellies. Instead, I'm fighting with a fussy three year old over a truly gorgeous spinach and bacon quiche.

 I blame the new house. Clearly my inability to control my culinary impulses is the fault of this new kitchen, with it's shiny  floors and newly redone cabinets. This kitchen that doesn't make me feel like an extra on Green Acres. (Like my last kitchen.)

Oh, look at me! I've mastered the American dream! You know, when you do something stupid, blame someone else.

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