So, here it is.
Out and aloud and proudly in the open.
I am becoming a health nut. A health foodie.
There, I said it!
Even normally, when home, I try to start the day with at least a little bit of protein. On the road, and when I have to sit in a room and listen to presentations, I knew I had to have more than mere carbs and fat. Which meant that I needed eggs to start a working day.
But then I am picky about how to eat eggs. There is no way that I can force myself to eat those scrambled eggs at buffet that they leave sitting there for hours. Well, unless I have no choice whatsoever. And this time I had a choice--I just had to locate it!
I did find a place, eventually. I decided to go for an omelette.
"What do you want in the omelette?" asked the fair-skinned waitress who seemed at least five, if not ten, years older than me.
"Vegetables and cheese. What options am I looking at?"
"Spinach, tomatoes, onions, mushrooms, peppers."
"Everything except mushrooms" I told her. Perhaps it is all in my imagination, but sometimes those mushrooms seem to trigger strange dreams.
"How about the cheese?"
"What do you have?"
"Cheddar or Swiss?"
I could not decide. I am so much used to feta and gruyère in my egg preparations at home that all of a sudden I was stumped that the options were so pedestrian. Maybe I chose the wrong place to have breakfast after all; what kind of a place has only cheddar and Swiss as options!
But, apparently she interpreted my hesitation differently. Very, very differently.
"The yellow cheese or the white cheese?" she asked me in a much slower delivery.
Could it be that a dark-skinned Indian guy came across as one who did not know the difference between cheddar and Swiss? Could it be that the fair-skinned waitress assumed that people like me are ignorant about cheese? Should I be snarky and tell her something like, "I hoped you would have feta?"
"Swiss please. And not a lot--I don't want it all gooey and cheesy." Yep, that is all I said. There are very few moments in life when a retort is ever worth the time. This one was not one of those moments.
As I kept sipping the dark elixir of life, a kitchen-staff brought out the omelette. The yellow omelette was colorful, with the spinach green, the tomato red, the onion purple, the peppers green and red and greenish-yellow. I took a small piece. It tasted great, exactly like what I was looking for.
I was set for the day. A long day of work and fun lay ahead for this health-nut.
Fame is a Fickle Food
By Emily Dickinson
Fame is a fickle food
Upon a shifting plate
Whose table once a
Guest but not
The second time is set.
Whose crumbs the crows inspect
And with ironic caw
Flap past it to the Farmer's Corn –
Men eat of it and die.