Recently I've decided to impose a ban on 'bad food' in our household. Andrew is not happy, but he adheres knowing that I will be doing the bulk of the recipe-foraging and cooking. I make a list of foods that are high in protein, low in carbs (our new mantra) and head to Trader Joe's. While Andrew seemed concerned that I was grabbing more bell peppers than chocolate covered banana slices (they are a thing and they are heaven on earth), I think he trusted me, sort of.
We get home, put away our clean eats, and just sort of stare at all of the greenery flowing out of our refrigerator. What do you do with all of it? People don't just, like, eat spinach or gnaw on a carrot, do they? In fact, they do. This thought not only scared me but bored me, too. If it's not covered in chocolate, melted cheese, or full of buttery goodness, what purpose is it serving?
Fast forward about four days since our Trader Joe's expedition, a couple of fumbled Pinterest recipes, and one too many zucchini dinners and I can't tell how I feel about it. On the one hand, I love showing up to work with my hands full of brown rice, veggies, and water, looking as if this is how I choose to be, like a smaller scale Gwyneth. On the other hand, I'm utterly bored. And I think that's the problem with clean eating-- it's so effing boring.
Eating is a virtuous activity. It's a sacred ritual, dipping steamy French bread into a balsamic oil concoction or smearing a buttery spread across a croissant. It's tantalizing and satisfying and delicious. Chomping on a raw bell pepper spear? Not sexy. Gooey brie with tangy cranberry jelly slowly dripping down the side of a bowl? Nate from How To Get Away With Murder sexy. See?
I guess the purpose of this is to pose the question: How do you make clean eating sexy, or at the very least appetizing? Because I'll tell you, when I have a carnitas tamale waiting for me at lunch time, I salivate. A bean salad? Nope.