Chronicles of a Late Bloomer

I went grocery shopping last weekend to stock the house with things other than take-out wrappers and chocolate chip cookies. In doing so, my goal was to have healthy meal options that were easy to prepare after a long day of work (oh, convenience, you are my downfall). I packed my shopping cart full of frozen, single-serve protein sources — many of which were vegetarian alternatives that I’ve never tried before but looked delicious.

Then, for the first few evenings, I took my hunger by the scruff, led him into the interrogation room and strapped him to a chair. I made myself dinner of a large vegetable serving and a portion of protein and ate it one bite at a time. Then I turned on the big spotlight, bent intimidatingly over that Hunger Monster, slanted my eyes and barked, “How big are you now!?” I did this with each bite until I was finished — until the Hunger Monster sang like a noir canary. It took a few tries to affirm that this large vegetable and single-serve portion of protein was enough to put the Hunger Monster to bed for the night. I felt good. I was listening to my body and attuning to my needs and I stopped when I was done.

Quick. Easy. Proteiny. Painless. I eat, and then I go about my evening. Novel.

Apparently, I should have read more carefully when I picked up the delicious (but not meat-substituting) Vegetable Masala Burger from Trader Joe’s. I mean, a potato-based patty with grill marks? I didn’t see that one coming.

Indeed, the masala burger contains no meat, soy, or other protein to speak of and the idea of grilling it seems to make as much sense as stringing a beaded necklace from of a bowl of mashed potatoes, but darn it if that masala burger wasn’t absolutely delicious. Flaky, potato-ey, packed with flavor and spices, and according to my good-cop/bad-cop act, just the right quantity of food to satisfy.

Or so I thought.

Apparently, processed/mashed potatoes are to my hunger what canned spinach is to Popeye. Just when I expected the Hunger Monster to be huddled in the corner of the interrogation room, crying himself to sleep, he roared to life and tripled in size. Hunger Hulk’s head hit the ceiling as he bellowed, “MOOOOORE POTAAAAATOOOOOO.”

In the projection room of my mind — the one where I envision my actions before they happen — I saw myself not only eating the other three so-called burgers in the next 20 minutes, but also I saw myself rationalizing it. The words, “oh, they’re only 120 calories” and “they’re vegetarian, or whatever” and “it’d take four of those patties to get as much protein as one actual burger” flickered on the screen. I was suddenly ravenous, not sated as I had been the previous nights. It was as though I had shoved that potato patty into a syringe and mainlined it to the vein in my arm. I HAD TO HAVE MORE.

I made it through the evening without taking another bite. I was okay with that, too, since I wasn’t actually hungry. My body just had such a reaction to the potato that… holy crap. I think I have to avoid them for a while.