Somebody Snack Me

I had big plans for the blog today, all about how I bought a chocolate bar and when I opened it at home I discovered that some curious and morally flexible chocolate fancier at the grocery store had already snapped off a piece. I was going to ask if it was okay to still eat the chocolate, I mean, it doesn’t even have teeth marks, so it seems like a waste of single origin Ecuadorean small production chocolate.

But truthfully- what I was really upset about was the hiccup in my afternoon snack. Which I’ve lately taken to calling ‘afternoon tea’, even though there isn’t a silver tea service within a mile of my house.

Like everyone else on the planet, I made a vow to lose weight this year and I came to the conclusion that I’d have to cut out snacks. Oh, dreary conclusion- I curse you!

I’ve never considered myself to be a ‘snacker’. Besides just being a weird sounding word, like ‘smock’ or ‘aardvark’. ‘Snacker’ sounds like I leave orange Chee-toh finger prints everywhere.I don’t have a mid-morning snack. I’m outraged by the accusation. Snacks are for kids, Elevenses are for ladies.

My favorite afternoon tea nibble is a few squares of good chocolate dragged through peanut butter, and a small glass of milk. Or a cookie and a cup of French press coffee. If I’m in a hurry, a handful of plain old pecans, which I share with my hopefully patient dog, who agrees that pecans are better than peanuts, unless transformed into butter form, in which case peanut butter is preferable. I might reach for some Fago Yogurt and stir in some jam or Tupelo honey, maybe granola or frozen berries. Some cheese, if I’ve got worthwhile stuff on hand. If I’m out and about in Seattle, I’ll find an excuse to go to a favorite coffee shop and get a macchiato- and I’ll drink it standing up at the counter, just like the Italians, or I’ll sit at a window seat and watch people, just like the French. One day last week I ate a slightly old Pink Lady apple with smoked almonds, and another day an excellent mango. Yesterday, I forded the cresting Pilchuck River to get to the Snohomish Bakery, where I bought some very un-dietetic danishes and sprintz cookies but justified it by saying I was helping my local artisan during this time of financial hardship. I came home, feeling really really bad for the old guy down the road whose gorgeous house is in 3 feet of water, but I made a cup of earl grey tea and ate a cookie in his honor. He built that house about four feet higher than the floodplain. I ate the blueberry Danish today, slightly chewey from it’s day on my counter, but still quite good.

Obviously, I’ve not cut out my snacks. In fact, the forbidden nature of them has made me all the more in love with them, and I’ve been very carefully planning them. What are your favorite snacks? Tomorrow, I mine will be a leftover buttermilk biscuit, maybe with poached egg, maybe with leftover roasted turkey breast.
And you can pry my snacks out of my cold, dead chubby hand.

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