Sugar, That Is Sweet

Dear Maria,

Rain, rain, rain, rain, no rain. And no rain today. No one wants the suck-the-life-out-of-you-heat that can define an August around here, but we don’t want cloudy skies either. Maybe time to move to Oahu. Oh, right—two hurricanes pointed that way.

A few days ago, in some sort of fit of I don’t know what, I decided to check the sugar count for one of my favorite 16-ounce coffee and ice cream slurps. Okay, I didn’t want to see the number 66 as in grams of sugar. My frame of reference is a snack bar with 6 grams. Hmmm, 11 snack bars at one sitting?

Next mistake, checking on how many grams of sugar in a teaspoon. Only 4. So I’m essentially putting 16-plus teaspoons of sugar in my grande serving. I didn’t want to know that. At least I don’t put sugar in my morning coffee, so I have that going for me.

Need a feel good about myself moment. Let’s see, switched to brown rice and wheat pasta. Check. And check.

I’m hardly one to be a food scold—or a scold about much of anything for that matter. Anyone who has seen me chow down half a pizza or a ridiculously huge serving of shrimp and grits, or been along on the once-a-year mecca to take on a sausage cheeseburger, would thwack me upside the head for any pretense of better living through better eating.

I do remember an article in Esquire many years ago touting a simple strategy that urged reducing caloric intake by 10%. Leave it on the plate, leave it in the cup or glass. For me, switching to a 7-inch skillet upended my version of serving size. True confession: Measuring out a third of a cup of cooked rice crushed my spirit. I am a half-cup-serving guy now.

Of course I am going out for lunch today. Maybe going with the fish tacos, maybe going with chicken quesadillas. Definitely going with the pecan pie—sans a la mode.

Hey, I’m no paragon of dietary virtues.

Have fun, and be sweet.

Yours, srk