La crise de foie
Since arriving in Paris I’ve jettisoned all of my crunchy California eating habits (quinoa! burly greens! tofu!) and become a veritable boozing, animal-fat consuming machine. Another bottle of wine? Of course! Charcuterie for dinner? Yes please! Would you like a cheese plate? Don’t mind if I do! I decided to give myself carte blanche on the eating while I was here, cholesterol be damned. There are only so many times in one’s life when one can eat foie gras with reckless abandon, especially since the ban goes into effect in California in 2012. We can’t figure out how to save the public university system, provide health care to every citizen, or allow same-sex couples have basic legal rights and privileges regarding the people they love and share their lives with, but man, it’s the dawning of a new fucking day for ducks and geese on the West Coast! I digress. Anyway, this self-granted “freebie” coupled with my scheme to remind A of all the best parts of Western civilization has resulted in my eating and drinking all kinds of wonderful, health-threatening delicacies like a fiend lately. I’ve been hitting it hard, friends, and honestly, I’m starting to feel it.
The French have this concept of crise de foie, which literally means “liver crisis.” I think it is technically meant to describe the sluggish feeling you get from having consumed too much fat. I take it to mean the sense I’ve been having for the past week or so that all my internal organs are raising the white flag and crying out “MERCY! HAVE PITY ON US! NO MORE BOOZE! NO MORE CHEESE! NO MORE SALAMI, BUTTER, AND CORNICHON SANDWICHES! FEED US KALE! DRINK SOME WATER FOR CHRISSAKES! TAKE A VITAMIN MORE OFTEN THAN ONCE A YEAR!” I think I’ve gotten especially bad about consuming too much white bread and refined sugar, which I’m sure Oprah has explained to you is the equivalent of committing a cell-holocaust. A tiny voice inside me protests “But the baguettes! And the croissants! So delicious!” But that voice is getting fainter, because it is literally too weak from malnutrition to lift its head to speak.
Seriously, is it possible to get scurvy with a modern diet? What if that modern diet is almost entirely devoid of vegetables and fruits? Does pesto count as a vegetable? What about pickles?
The madness stops tomorrow. It’s time for a detox. I’m going to be as disciplined as Gwyneth fricking Paltrow this week. I actually consulted her website when looking for detox ideas and wrote down some recipes for cold green vegetable soups. Before I can report back on the GOOP phenomenon, I’ll have to stop puking in my own mouth. Obviously, this won’t be any crazy Master Cleanse. I got out of Orange County before I started subscribing to that sort of lunacy. But I am going to stop eating all refined sugar, white bread, alcohol, meat, and cheese for a while. I know that doesn’t sound like a big deal to all of you intelligent adults out there who are able to practice super-mature things like moderation, but again: SALAMI, BUTTER, AND CORNICHON SANDWICHES! DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHAT A GREAT COMBO THAT IS?! I suspect I’m going to be cranky as hell, so I apologize in advance for any rants I may or may not post this week. Black coffee and Morbier-withdrawal will do that to a girl. Tomorrow, over a meal of green tea and raw spinach, I’m going to convince my friend B that THIS IS THE WEEK HE NEEDS TO QUIT SMOKING. That way, we can be cranky together as our bodies slowly heal from the havoc we have wreaked upon them. HEAR THAT B? SOUND LIKE A PLAN? IF IT DOESN’T, THEN I MIGHT CONTINUE TO WRITE IN ALL CAPITAL LETTERS UNTIL YOU AGREE! LOOK, THE LIVER CRISIS HAS TURNED ME INTO KANYE WEST! HELP!