I’m a pretty liberal guy. In fact, I’ve been accused of dangerously liberal — small-l, of course — tendencies, from people on both sides of the political spectrum. I still regard it as a highly amusing badge of honour that at a symposium (for alternative economic models no less) an avowed Marxist-Leninist lost her temper at me and accused me of “being an idealist.” And yes, I believe in social liberalism, gender equality, ending wealth disparity, wind power, and a lot of other good lefty things. But there is one aspect of my life in which I am profoundly, deeply conservative.
Do not fuck with my breakfast. I like my coffee strong, my bacon wriggly, and my eggs over-easy. Sharp cheddar and hot sauce are optional but very welcome extras. When the doctor put me on this low-carb, high protein diet last year, I was annoyed that I couldn’t have my toast and home fries. I like a good, old-fashioned diner breakfast, preferably served by a middle-aged waitress who understands that I want minimal conversation and prompt refills, and will tip generously if those criteria are met.
This is not to say that I lack adventure when it comes to food. I like trying new things to eat, especially since I met The Wife™, but I don’t like trying new things at breakfast-time. If three eggs over-easy, bacon, back-bacon, sausage, home fries, toast and three pancakes were good enough for my forefathers’ Hungry Man Breakfasts, then by god they’re good enough for me.
The diet kind of fucked with that, but I’ve gotten used to it. One of the problems with the diet is that it absolutely requires a breakfast to prime the metabolic pump for the rest of the day… and lately I’ve not been as good about that as I should be, because work has been crazy. So I’ve deliberately gotten into the habit of picking something up in the morning on my way to the office. And since there is literally nothing on the menu at Tim Horton’s that I’m allowed to have other than the coffee, I’ve been poking my head into the 24-7 grocery store to grab something from their “fresh” section. Usually, I grab a yoghurt/muesli/fruit mix (more carbs than I should probably have, but it’s whole grain/high fibre and therefore comparatively low on the glycemic index) and something for lunch. Today, it was a chicken garden salad and the last yoghurt in the fridge.
I got to the office, set the coffee to brewing, and sat down to eat my breakfast while running a checkdisk on a recalcitrant PC.
And then I noticed the label.
Greek yoghurt/muesli/fruit cup.
This is not my habit. This is not what I wanted. This is not my breakfast. I’ve never even had greek yoghurt before.
But it’s already 8:35, I’m at the office, there’s a shitload to do, and it’s not like I can go back to exchange my yoghurt without blowing 45 minutes out of my morning, and besides it was the last one on the shelf.
So I opened the little plastic container and stirred in the muesli (with difficulty) and ate the goddamn greek yoghurt, because I need the protein to kickstart my goddamn metabolism for the goddamn day.
And it wasn’t too bad. “Would eat again”, as the kids say these days. But my first reaction to greek yoghurt was worth noting:
“Cheesecake? For breakfast?“