When I packed the RV for our vacation, my intentions were good. They really were.
I tucked a bag of brown rice in the pantry drawer and filled the vegetable crisper with homegrown alfalfa sprouts. I packed no red meat and the only sweets were two bags of ginger snaps and vanilla wafers. I try to prepare healthy food for my husband and I and going on a vacation was no excuse to get lax. Or so I told myself.
As we headed south, away from Minnesota, I had no idea of the food temptations that lay in wait. They began after we settled into the RV park in Arkansas. “There’s a little grocery store where the owner cuts his own steaks, and they are fantastic,” the RV park owner told us.
Our eyes met as Dick and I shared the same thought, and we listened carefully when he gave directions. Why not? We rarely have red meat. That evening, after a quick trip to the “little grocery store,” I watched two bacon-wrapped beef filets sizzle on the grill and told myself it was okay to splurge one night. My argument was further rationalized when I sank my carnivorous teeth into the beef. The flavor was delicious.
It was a little harder to rationalize KT’S Smokehouse, the grocery store check-out lady’s recommendation, but I did. “Everything there is good,” she said, “especially the peanut butter pie.” She pronounced it ‘pa’ as in Ma and Pa, but I knew what she meant.
That night we dined on delicious barbecued pork and beef brisket done southern style, meaning they were smoked at low temperatures with Ozark hickory. The baked beans and potato salad, advertised as side dishes, could have been the main course they were so delicious.
As for the peanut butter pie? Do the words chocolate cookiecrumb crust, whipped cream and mousse mean anything to a sweet tooth? Needless to say, I licked my pie plate clean.
By now I had only partially gone over to the dark side health-food-wise and still retained a few shreds of conscience. I had yet to meet Nima’s Pizza and More Inc., a local pizza favorite. Desperately trying to maintain a healthy lifestyle (which was looking less attractive by the minute), I ordered a veggie pizza. Veggies are healthy, right? How could I go wrong?
I found out when I picked up the pizza. It was chock full of vegetables, including slices of red ripe tomatoes, which was good, but something else caught my attention. “Are those home-made cream puffs?” I asked, eyeing the display counter the left of the cash register.
“Yes, ma’am,” said the pizza lady, “and strawberry cheesecake too. Or if you’d prefer, we have double fudge brownies.”
I left Nima’s Pizza carrying one veggie pizza, one large cream puff and one wedge of strawberry cheesecake—all homemade.
I had totally caved and the only thing that saved me was a return to Minnesota—the land of lutefisk where I threw out my rotted alfalfa sprouts.
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