I tend to think about my food intake only in terms of what tastes good, and what I'm in the mood to eat. There will be an occasional week when I live on candy; there might be another week when all I eat is tea and homemade half-wheat bread. I go on Thai food binges, Tastykake binges, potato salad binges, granola binges, shakshouka binges, kale binges, or even sugar pea and fresh cherry binges. Every week is likely to bring at least one day of a 90% cheese diet. It's been this way for a long time, although the dishes vary on what I've newly discovered and (commonly as a young adult), what I can afford.
For more than a decade, I've been what I think of as a too-regular user of restaurants. I was a food critic back in 2000-2002, and since then much of my job has revolved to some degree around professionally-cooked food, with all its secret butter and salt, and frequently giant portions and generous amounts of booze. I've come to realize in the last couple of years that in comparison to my slightly younger friends, I really don't eat out that often. It's weird to me that people I like would rather eat grocery store sushi than stir-fry some vegetables in about 10 minutes, but that's how it seems to be.
It was 2002ish that a physician's assistant and I had an entertaining exchange about my job and my body. Me: I'm a restaurant critic. Her: So how come you not fat? Me: Well, I weigh more than I should. Her, with the pursed mouth, tilted-down chin and raised eyebrows that signify Truths Getting Told: Honey, we allllll weigh more than we should. How come you not fat? That bit of awesomeness was about 20 pounds ago, give or take. I'd be surprised if she said that today; that extra 20 pounds pushes me into the realm I think of as officially fat. I don't fret about it; when the sun shines again, I'll be walking more and gardening more and most of that 20 will fade away and all my pants will be saggy once more. But as I get older, I have stopped to consider that perhaps it's time to think about the details of nutrtion a little bit, rather than assuming that I can--Tastykake binges aside--trust my cravings to steer me towards whatever my body happens to be in need of.
So, having a new doctor and it being a couple years since I went through the medical basics, I just went in for a thorough set of blood tests, checking my liver, cholesterol, glucose--all those things that based on my diet, one would expect to find troublesome. Nope. Cholesterol's awesome, with nearly ideal division of hdl/ldl/triglycerides. Glucuse is smack-dab in the middle of a very broad range of acceptable. All the little minerals are right where all the little minerals should be. I do note that my total cholesterol, while still completely fine, has gone up slightly over the years, so I think I might stop using half-and-half in my tea every morning. Will it destroy my quality of life to switch to whole milk? I doubt it. And if that little change keeps the number steady from year to year, then awesome.
Considering that Cap'n's in great shape--no "I weigh more than I should" quotes from him--and has cholesterol that's more than 100 points higher than mine--and he eats vastly more regularly and more sensibly than I--and gets regular cardiac exercise--I have to believe that the genetic luck of the draw is key. Sure, a totally lousy red-meat-based diet and carrying more than 50 pounds "more than I should" will likely screw with anyone, regardless of their genetic luck. And even though I eat really erratically, I very rarely drink soda or juice, barely eat commerically processed food (oh, those Tastykakes), switched to grass-fed beef 12 years ago, and eat a big variety of fruits and vegetables throughout the year. I have come to believe that these are generally good things to do, but that's in part because they're choices that make me happy and comfortable.
Still, this makes me want to write a book called the It Doesn't Fucking Matter Diet. I already have a follow-up title in mind: Finding Health Through Idiocy (and Tastykakes).
