It’s the second week of February and statistics show that the vast majority of people have already given up on their New Year’s resolutions. (Full disclosure: I don’t know if statistics actually show that. I was too lazy to look it up. But, thankfully my New Year’s resolution was not to diligently research and fact-check my blog posts like some actually-serious, blogger person.)
My New Year’s resolutions were to become significantly less responsible with my money and also, to casually get fatter. I mean, technically, that was not exactly what I was going for, but that’s basically what happened.
My actual, intended New Year’s resolution was to try harder to try new things. Since I, for the most part, hate trying new things (because it is exhausting), I decided to ease into the process gently using something that has never failed me, something that I have always loved: food.
I’m big on food. I’ve always been big on food. My appetite has always been healthy (if not, ever-so-slightly more than healthy.)
Even when I was a wee little babe, I was never one to poke around with the food on my plate. If you put food in front of me, I’d eat it. I’d eat it really quickly like I was the only contestant in an eating competition that no one else was aware of, but I was totally dominating nonetheless.
Then, I’d ask for seconds.
My ability to stuff my face, is the stuff of legend, of myth, of hyperbolic, self-obsessed blog posts such as this one.
My family still talks about the impressive eating prowess of Toddler Me and my ability to knock back fish shamwiches like nobody’s business. (I’m told, at the time, my inability to say fish sandwich was quite cute. I fear that the speech impediment may not be as endearing and adorable now that I’m 27.)
Thankfully, though, food is just as good now as it was then, unless, of course, I screw it up. And, in my quest to become more adventurous in the food department, there has been an occasional hiccup (and a more than occasional bought of indigestion.)
For one, there was the batch of Sweet Chili Chicken Wings that looked as though they had been marinated in tar, really, it looked frighteningly like tar. Thankfully though, there are very few things that drunk people at a Super Bowl party won’t eat. Bless those drunk people with their iron-clad, beer-filled bellies.
Along with occasional mess-up though, there have been a few small victories that make it all worthwhile. There was a completely delightful, not-at-all-screwed-up batch of boozy bread pudding. There was the spinach and artichoke dip that was far more cheese than spinach and/or artichoke (which, as I’m not partial to spinach or artichoke, was a very definite plus in my book). And there was even tres leches cake that tasted in my very uninformed, unprofessional opinion, like semi-liquefied cream puff if semi-liquefied cream puff was a good thing.
The drawback of these success stories though, if there is one, is that the vast majority of the new foods I want to try are high in price, fat content and dairy products. (I really, really love dairy products.) In short, they’re full of everything good that is not at all good for you.
But, the truth is, I don’t really care. What’s the point of living if you don’t have some boozy bread pudding every once and awhile? It’s bread pudding with rum, people! Rum and bread pudding. Together.
Happy fatter, ever-so-slightly poorer, but infinitely more delicious, New Year to me.