JEREMY CORBETT
THE WAY TO THIS MAN’S HEART IS THROUGH HIS SANDWICH
One of the upsides to being fat is losing weight over the summer break. I lost two kilos this year. Wasn’t even trying.
The simple, sad fact is that my chubbiness takes stubbornness to maintain. When it’s warm and sunny and I’m being active with my family, the stored fat takes a hit.
Boogie boarding, walking, cycling and generally being up and about rather than down and not-about uses more energy. Seeing as I’m not really changing my intake, the mathematical truth of “energy in minus energy out equals chubbiness level” works in my favour.
Enjoying the fact that my jeans button reached the buttonhole without struggle, I contemplated how I could maintain this once the summer motivation disappeared. I quickly admitted I could not. Perhaps I could change the “energy-in” side of the equation and consume less food? Doubtful.
As I fed myself to help digest this realisation, I wondered if thinner people suffered from the same urgency around food as me. See if you identify...
Sometimes I am so excited about eating a sandwich, I can’t bear the time it takes to make one. There’s so much delay! I can only think of that first bite as I fetch the bread, the butter, the Vegemite, the cheese and the alfalfa sprouts. Five ingredients! And it’s necessary to visit TWO different locations in the kitchen! (Unless you keep your bread and Vegemite in the fridge, like a crazy person, then it’s only one.)
I butter, spread, cut and place, all the while imagining the sandwich goodness, doing my best to speed the process up.
When I am done, I roll my eyes in frustration. With an exasperated expulsion of breath, I concede it would be hypocritical of me not to put the ingredients away, since I was the one who got them out.
Damn you, Dad-Jeremy, for constantly lecturing the kids on that point.
Weirdly, although
I could not wait for the completion of said sandwich, once
I have it in my podgy little hands, I delay the pleasure of its consumption.
Things are in my control and I can eat it at any time, and yet
I sit, focus and admire my handiwork before
I dive in – crust first, working my way around, once again delaying the pleasure of munching on the centre of the sandwich, where the true goodness lies.
And that’s usually when another member of my family will show up and ask for “a bite”. A bite.
Despite my attempt to angle the crust part towards them, they invariably arch around and chomp a massive chunk from the beautiful, lush, taste-filled heart of my delicious creation.
They walk away as I stare with tear-filled eyes at the sad, tattered remains.
I’ll still eat it, though – and this is why, very soon, that jeans button and jeans buttonhole will, once again, grow apart.