Last night I heard the distant rumblings of a cheese pizza chanting my name, making my stomach grumble and taste buds salivate. Like a sick fiend, the craving knocked me around and made everything else fade to black.
Out of the blue and in stark contrast to my recent state of conscious eating, the idea of a comforting cheese pizza became the only thing that mattered. I wanted something warm, delicious, and sinful and I wanted it right away.
Guilty as though someone was watching, I shut the front door, dialed my dealer and waited for an answer. Full-out, Intervention style (“gimme me one last hit before you send me away, goddammit, Candy Finnigan”), I had hit rock bottom!
I wanted it that bad.
Nothing could shake the image of warm cheese entering my mouth or the thought of crunchy, doughy crust swimming around my tongue. And with the recent cold, rainy weather, nothing feels like home like a cardboard box and greasy leftovers.
As I waited for someone to pick up the delivery line, I found myself between two choices: Make another healthy meal or finish this quick transaction and enjoy cheap gratification.
I hung up the phone. I just couldn’t do it. Seriously, this was the most important decision of my day, so I decided to take a walk. To weigh the pros and cons, I thought.
See, at the beginning of 2010, prompted by some family members and my general interest in becoming more green, I decided to overhaul my eating habits. To that end, I began reading Jonathan Safran Foer’s book Eating Animals, an examination about the food industry, specifically Factory Farming and its global impact on the environment. Foer’s book explains and presents reasons why we should examine our relationship with fish, chicken, cows, diary and most all animal by-products.
It’s a staggering, sobering, life changing account of how our food makes it from the “farm” to the grocery story. I won’t go into details (read it for yourself), but because of this book, I’m now considering a gradual march toward veganism. (I certainly won’t be the first person he converted.)
Now you understand my dilemma last night: the guilt, the pressure, the anxiety, the expectation. No more turning a blind eye to where the food comes from. It just doesn’t work that way with me.
In the end, I didn’t cave (totally boring, right!?!) and when I returned home, with my better judgment, I reached for a bag of dark, leafy greens and cooked them with a sense of peace and happiness on my heart and stove.