I'm never abstemious about what I eat. I like food too much to keep it to a nibble. I know not to get into patterns of sugar binges. But I also know that sometimes, resistance is useless. Especially in front of a freezer full of Ben and Jerry's ice cream. It gives new meaning to biofuel. Frank Bruni, whose fabulous memoir I reviewed a while back, wrote a delicious column in the Times this morning, and triggered a craving.
I happen to be crazy about one flavor, and only one flavor: "Everything But The...". (Yes, I always finish the line..."the kitchen sink".) This is the flavor that includes everything that goes into all the other flavors--peanut butter cups and nuts and chocolate bits, gobs of dough, everything delightful. One day I noticed that my pint was delivering on aesthetic appeal, too. It was full of beautiful fossils--especially the ribbed imprints left behind by the chunks of peanut butter cups. Marvelous.
I don't indulge in "Everything But The..." very often. But when I do, I banish guilt, silence the alarmed disciplinary nattering that crackles in my brain, and I just dig in whole heartedly. Yes. This is called indulging. And every once in a while, indulgence is its own form of gratitude. Thank you, Ben and Jerry, for everything but the kitchen sink.