A food critic loses weight without becoming a teetotaler

on 01/11/11 at 5:20 pm

Booze News

Over the last few months, I went from the worst shape of my life to the best while continuing to eat like a food critic. Don’t punch me in the face; instead, read how I did it in part three of this new series:

I love booze.

I try to blame this on my parents. When I was in kindergarten, I proudly announced to my class that my favorite Christmas tradition was the wine tasting – and no, much to my teacher’s relief, I wasn’t actually boozing at age five. But my parents had instilled in me an appreciation for quality beverages, and the traditions that go with them. And though I subsequently indulged in some nights of aggressive drinking, my love of alcohol is mostly a geeky fascination. Every bottle has a history, a method, a story. To me, the restaurant bar is the perfect hybrid of the front and back of the house, where craft and ingredient knowledge meets service and sociability.

But sadly, planting my butt on a bar stool to enjoy one of my favorite parts of the restaurant business was a major contributor in making said butt fatter.

I was fully ready to acknowledge that every drop of bourbon, beer and Burgundy I’d poured down my gullet was glomming right on to the lumpy bits on my thighs. But I knew any regimen that eliminated alcohol from my diet completely was simply not realistic. I was happy to put a moratorium on knocking back rounds on a Tuesday, but a lifetime of club soda with lime was not in the cards. Especially because club soda just ain’t gonna work as a pairing with spicy noodles or a fat, velvety steak.


Enhanced by Zemanta