We’re having a silent food war around here, although it’s yet to be officially declared.

On the one side: the Venomous Husband — all 6 feet and 185 lbs. of him — a lean, mean constantly-eating machine. On the other: me — all 5 foot 2 inches and none-of-your-damn-business of me — in all my curvaceous yet slowly-metabolized glory. The cause? Well, let’s just say that with my 39th birthday approaching next month, I’m fighting all sorts of side skirmishes against torpor, gravity and denial… and he, although 8 years older, is not. Well, at least not that he’d acknowledge.

Years ago when we first met, we were allies in the food wars. Like him, I could eat whatever I wanted, whenever I wanted, and seldom packed on a pound. Of course, at that point we weren’t married, so what I ate and what I liked actually jived: lots of steamed veggies and soups, the occasional salad, fruit like it was going out of style. Having meat — much less a whole steak — was a real treat back then… as in, something that happened so infrequently as to be a Big Deal. And, not surprisingly, I was thin. Then we got married, and I swear I gained 5 pounds just walking back down the aisle.

Fast foward nearly a decade later and I’m wondering how I got suckered into believing that meat belongs at each and every meal. That, in a nutshell, is what this whole food war’s about.

You see, having lived a less meat-hearty diet for so long, I know it’s possible to go without it. My husband, however, believes that’s sheer propaganda and lies. In fact, on the once-per-week basis that I insist on a meat-free dinner, he excuses himself from the dinner table to rummage through the refrigerator to find some kind of meat to add to his meal. And before you go thinking I’m being a hard-ass about this, let me point out that his definition of “a little meat” is a 12-oz. steak. A “normal steak” starts at 16 oz. and don’t even ask what that man can do to a 4-pound chicken all on his own.

I can’t eat like that. I don’t want to. I don’t want my kids to think that way, either, and so I keep trying to boost our veggie and whole grain intake while cutting down on fats, salt, refined sugar and, yes, meat.

Now, don’t get me wrong: there’s more to this than a mere matter of taste preference. There are health issues at stake, too. I’ve been through the whole IBS ordeal and have finally managed to control it. I’ve been working on lowering my blood pressure as well (down from 120/80 to 116/76 in four months, yes!) and as the years go by I’m increasingly attentive to cancer-fighting properties of certain foods. I want my kids to learn good eating habits while they’re young to protect and promote their health. And I want to do what I can to ensure my husband lives as long, and as healthfully, as possible.

But I can’t do all that and give him the kind of food demands.

Oh, sure, I could make two dinners — or simply decline to eat whatever meat is part of a meal — but I’ve got enough motherhood experience to know what would come next.

• The Princess-in-Training (my 14-year-old daughter) would then insist that I cook something separate for her because, unlike the rest of our family, she does not like anything with onions, garlic, mushrooms, tomatoes, spinach, cabbage or green chilis.
• The Big-Eyed Boy (who is 6) would likewise demand his own catered meal, too, since he dislikes all of the foregoing vegetables in addition to all forms of fruit (except peeled red — NOT green — apples which must then be served in unbroken, unblemished slices), anything green, and all meat not encased in a sheath of deep-fried batter.
• And… the Venomous Hubby — who seems to believe that glancing at the apple-green walls of my kitchen as he tops off his meal with salt, butter and cheese, is synonymous with “getting his greens” — well, he’d eat the meat and turn up his nose at the rest. (Meanwhile, he will not even consider that perhaps his attitude toward fruits and vegetables might be the cause of our children’s picky palates.)

In other words, I would wind up cooking 4 — four! — meals per day. That. Is. Not. Going. To. Happen.

So today I decided to stock up on covert weapons in this little food war. I cleared out every bit of plain bread and pasta in the house and replaced it with whole grain. I donated all of the cookies, chips and soft drinks to the house full of teenage boys next door. (Hey, their health is their mom’s problem!) I emptied the sugar bowl and replaced it with Splenda, then swapped SmartSource and Egg Beaters for their less healthy counterparts.

And tonight, I’m whipping up a hearty pot of chili… with TVP in place of meat. Who wants to bet my husband won’t know the difference?

Now, does anyone have suggestions on replacements for the 15-oz. ribeyes he wants to grill tomorrow night?

Wednesday, May 10th, 2006, 12:04 pm   |   Food Bites, My Venomous Life  |  RSS feed Comments and pings are currently closed.