>Guest Blog: You Can’t Help What You Love

>Please welcome back Angelia from Living, Loving, Laughing. Check out her interview here. Have a wonderful weekend!!

Living, Loving,Laughing

“Love” and “restriction”.

The first thing that comes to mind when I think of love and restriction is food. Yes, food.

Hey, it’s better than my second thought, which was the time I got grounded from my first car, a week after I got my driver license. Not for one week. Not for two. It was for SIX MONTHS of restriction. I have videos of the car set to the song, “Cry Little Sister” from the Lost Boys soundtrack. It was THAT bad. What kind of parents do that to a teenager after giving them a CAR for their 16th birthday? Apparently mine, because the LOVED me. Longest six months of my entire life. Still painfully clear twenty-three years later. So you see? Forget the second thought, let’s go with the first one. Contemplative cuisine; the snacking, shoveling, and wolfing of it.

I LOVE food. Any kind of food, in any way. An array of delicacy to have affairs with.

Pasta, seafood, sushi, steak, bread, chocolate, dairy, fruit, fast food, slow food, and any kind of mexican –  any kind of bakery goods. Fried, baked, buttered, battered, or grilled – doesn’t matter. Like I said, any kind; any way.

I can’t even cook. I am a foodie at the mercy of the many fine chefs mastering in their nummy kitchen heaven in the comfort of their domains.

God love em’.

By the way, my sixteen-year old daughter wants to be a chef when she grows up. Coincidence?

I read somewhere that you only savor the first bite or two of jubilant noshing, and after that you are just eating on auto-pilot inhale. Not me. I savor every morsel. Every one. With pleasure. With rapture. With complete and utter devotion to the chew.

Love…

Restriction…

See, here is the scoop. Food lovin’ makes me gain weight. My tummy bloats. I get heartburn. It clogs my arteries and gives me muffin top. Well… bigger muffin top (and bigger). Even though I’d like to eat a gazillion calories a day. If I did that, I’d be movable by Mack truck only. So, I restrict myself. Sadly. Tearfully. Does anyone feel my pain?

That’s my restriction – the love of nummy, yummy food.

Thanks DramaMama for a lovely visit. It’s been great. Now, if you’ll excuse me. I hear a Reese’s cup calling my name.

Don’t forget to leave Angelia some (living), loving (laughing). She might share her Reese’s with you too.

Advertisements

6 thoughts on “>Guest Blog: You Can’t Help What You Love

  1. >I'm the same — love to eat, hate to cook. Also, I thought I was the only one who can eat past pain. My husband will say he's stuffed and I say — you mean it hurts or you aren't hungry. Cause not hungry doesn't equal stuffed!

Shoot the Poop with the Drama Mama!

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s