[With apologies to anyone who has been or is currently on a diet]. I did use a tiny bit of creative license with my previous post, fish did, in fact, mean on more thing growing up: an occasional trip to The Trapper's Kettle in Belfield, ND and eating as many bowls of clam chowder ( (New England--this was before I discovered its less cloying cousin) as I could stomach.The "chowda" was served in what looked like miniature cast iron caldrons (double, double, toil and trouble, I just finished my 16th bowl ...) which fit the general ambiance of the place (and I'm pretty sure that the deer heads, traps, and pelts still adorn the walls). This experience, like many of my early acts of overindulgence, stemmed from a youthful exuberance resulting from first the fact that we didn't go out to eat that often and second that because my dad was nearly always on a diet, all of us were on a diet. This second fact meant that breakfast was usually Cream of Wheat, oatmeal, Cheerios, or Wheaties and--if we had them--all junk food like Doritos (my mom and sister's favorite) were hidden somewhere in the house.
This is not to say that I didn't eat well growing up or that I didn't gain an appreciation for food and cooking (as I hope is obvious); that being said, however, what kid doesn't crave the sugary sweet cereals he or she sees advertised during Saturday morning cartoons? (Another obsession but that's a story for another day.) After what I imagine was weeks--if not months--of whining (Mom....mom....please.....please....please...can we buy some Trix), my mom finally gave in and bought us a box of Trix at her Saturday trip to the grocery store. The following morning after church I sat at the dining room table and ate bowl after bowl of Trix (Cora probably had one or two)..................................I stopped at 12.....I'm pretty sure I stopped at 12.....it's all a blur now.....
Within at least one hour (while I was watching Basil Rathbone as Sherlock Holmes--another "treat" after church on Sundays), my suffering stomach revolted in a way not seen until I discovered alcohol.....Needless to say, I still have not had another bowl of Trix.....
This ends Part I of the Confessions of a Skinny-Fat Man.....
I don't think 12 bowls of Trix is too bad if the bowls were smallish. My mother hid food, too, a habit she acquired growing up with six hungry brothers and sisters. Every Christmas, she kept the cookies under lock and key, and woe to anyone caught entering the secret storeroom. That's why it was important not to get caught . . .
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