Recently, I went pseudo Paleo.
I say pseudo, because, like most things in my life, I’ve jumped in headfirst without putting any thought or research into it (this is also how I ended up taking a workout class called “Insanity.” Afterwards, I was drooling and delirious. So I guess it delivered).
So, despite being totally unclear on what Paleo entailed, I figured I would try it because the hot guy from the gym told me I ate too many carbs.
Parenthetically, I really should stop listening to people just because they’re attractive. If Jeff Goldblum told me to get a bowl haircut and rob a bank, I totally would.
Even though they had no birth control or Penicillin or dental floss, and everyone was probably covered in lice, they were super cut and sexy and that’s a lifestyle to which we should aspire. Behold! The Paleo diet demands that you only eat what cavemen did, which means that you need to chew raw woolly mammoth meat for hours with a mouth full of rotting teeth, and wash it down with a nice refreshing gourdful of mud.
I KID! I kid. Apparently with Paleo, you need to eat a lot of protein, in the form of meat, seafood, and eggs. Plus a ton of veggies. A crazy quantity. Like, “the neighbours will start asking if you are in trouble with the local community garden-mob” number of veggies. A “you might be having an affair with the guy from the farmer’s market” quantity of veggies.
This has curious side effects, especially gastrointestinally. Without going into too much detail, some days are … biologically slower than others. And some days … on some days things flow way too quickly. Like, I’m basically a human Play-Doh press.
Paleo also requires you to give up processed food, refined sugars, and alcohol, which makes sense because those things are wonderful. But you’re also supposed to avoid grains, starches, and natural sweeteners (like honey), and you are supposed to limit your fruit intake. It’s sort of like the Inquisition, but less fun.
In some respects, it’s worked: being Paleo has killed my will to live, so I’m too sad to snack. My abs look pretty damn good, but I suspect that’s from all the nights I spend wracked with sobs because I can’t eat anything fun. I would take a selfie to show you, but this isn’t Facebook and I’m not your misguided teenage niece.
To give you an idea of the waking nightmare that is my life, I’d like to walk you through today’s Paleo abomination, in which I endeavored to make something called “carrot cake cookies” – a name which is at best a misnomer, and at worst a cruel mockery. The recipe describes them as “savory cookies” which is something that, if your blood sugar is low enough, you can almost pretend is a real thing.