This is the story of a vegetarian (me) who is dating a man who believes in the paleo diet. He does bow hunt for elk, but it turns out he’s a terrible shot, and he’s never actually killed an animal this way, so he doesn’t actually eat like a caveman. In Mother Jones, Michael Pollan, author of numerous books on food and agriculture, points out that animals bred by modern agriculture—which are fed artificial diets of corn and grains, and plied with hormones and antibiotics—have nutritional profiles far from wild game. Also, cavemen didn’t generally pull up to the drive-through window for the dead-animal portion of their dinner, another important difference.
The man I’m dating is a foodie and takes me to all the nicest restaurants in Denver, the food-to-table places that are pricey and base their menu on what’s in season. He looks out for me in terms of always ordering appetizers that we can share, but he also constantly orders dessert. He’s not afraid of fat at all. I’m not afraid of good fat, but the deal is, calories do actually count if you’re trying to lose or maintain your weight. My sinister boyfriend blithely orders delicious and caloric waist-expanding dishes at every opportunity, and because we tend to go out to eat to accommodate our very different diets, this gives him a heck of a lot of opportunities.
At restaurants we avoid alcohol because of the calories and expense, but what sane person can turn down a few (many) bites of chocolate ganache with caramel and toffee, one of the latest girth-enhancers I failed to turn down?
The other night after we saw a movie, he was craving ice cream. I wasn’t—until I stepped into the Cold Stone Creamery. All of my resolve wilted immediately. By the time he paid, I was patting myself on the back for only ordering brownies on my peanut butter ice cream. I managed to resist the Snickers, caramel sauce, and bananas.
I know, my willpower is inspiring. You’re welcome.