You Are What You Eat

I had to drop my subscriptions to several blogs and websites recently because my email inbox felt very claustrophobic. Aside from Canadian viagra ads and girls with live webcams who apparently want to meet for some strange reason, I receive a lot of shopping circulars and coupons for ten percent off my entire order of something that I don’t remember ever wanting to buy in the first place. My inbox looks like an episode of Hoarders.

One of the emails I decided to unsubscribe to was the daily newsletter, and this time it had nothing to do with boycotting the company because of their corporate policies that allow them to eat endangered wombats. I dumped these guys because I simply couldn’t keep up with their ridiculously high standards.

The mission of is really and truly to make you feel like an inadequate harpie who is starving her family into submission. These lovely people email a recipe and menu plan every single day, complete with full-color photographs taken by real-live housewives who’ve apparently made these dishes and received rave reviews from family and friends. One woman was supposedly given the key to her city for her potato salad recipe made with eight kinds of potatoes and homemade mayonnaise.

While I admit the recipes are helpful if you’re looking for the skinny on how to make something specific like Lithuanian Latke-Palooza, I don’t really get the people who take pictures of their recipes and post them online. Seriously, what kind of person not only had the time to take pictures of their dinner, but really thought that the rest of the world cares what her Macho Nacho Taco Bake looks like?

I decided to get over myself and try to make more room in my schedule to be more like these culinary teachers’ pets. Here is how my week of lunch time recipes turned out.

Day One: I got busy on a report for work and ended up eating Twizzlers and a Rock Star energy drink, mocha flavor. I still haven’t stopped twitching.

Day Two: I got on a health kick and had a diet Mountain Dew and some carrots with ranch dressing that I bought at the gas station.

Day Three: I didn’t have any milk, so I ate Slim Fast powder out of the canister with a spoon I found in the bottom of my filing cabinet. I don’t think it was my spoon.

Days Four and Five fell apart altogether and I don’t want photographic evidence out there on the internet in case I ever run for public office.

I don’t think I’m cut out for the world of gourmet cooking, especially since my children make loud exclamations at the dinner table like, “Wow! We’re having MEAT!” I hereby promise that if these kind folks will stop sending me recipes I will stop photographing my actual meals. And I will work hard on not becoming a hoarder.