Jan. 7th, 2016

loaded_march: (loaded march)
Back in September, I did the unthinkable -- I put myself on a diet.  And not just any diet.  A highly restrictive elimination diet.  I'd jokingly say that I subsided on stale bread and tomato juice except that I couldn't have either of those things at first.  I can have the tomatoes now, though.

Anyway, the most restrictive part of the diet only lasted one month, but it was a month of me being really fucking creative to make meals that actually tasted good.  No one was happier than the Spouse when I started adding stuff back for regular consumption.

(The Spouse, bless him, followed the diet with me without complaint, though he freely admitted cheating on the diet pretty much regularly.  I don't blame him.)

I've been a goddamn angel, following the diet requirements without deviation.  I've gotten good at figuring out how to have reasonable fascimilies of my favourite meals while avoiding the restricted ingredient list.  But nothing -- absolutely nothing -- trumps the Fuck yeah! dance I did when I figured out how to make wheat-free/gluten-free and refined-sugar free brownies.

Because pure cacao, despite being fucking disgusting in its sugar-free, fat-free form, is something that is completely OK by this diet and doesn't cause me to have some sort of physical/allergic reaction.  The second I figured that out, I was in the kitchen trying to come up with a recipe that works, and damn it if I didn't (eventually) hit the 10 out of 10, the Spouse would eat again scale.

The people who know I'm on this diet ask me what the hell I can even eat anymore.  When I tell them Brownies.  Fucking delicious chocolate-ooey brownies, I'm sure it's with a manic glint in my eyes and a big, wide, psychotic smile, because, chocolate, bitches!

They smile politely and decline when I offer them a square.  It's probaby because they think I'm using fermented octopus ink, crushed pine cones, and ground-up fingernails ripped from the hands of my enemies as filler.  I don't know.  But they can't imagine how brownies could possibly taste good without the standard fare of sugar and butter and sugary chocolate.  That's okay.  It just means more brownies for me.

And the Spouse.  Who, annoyingly, eats two pieces to my one.  I'd complain, but he does the post-baking dishes without grumbling about it, so it's win-win all around.

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