Shrinking off the fat of the land

Samantha Bennett

Wednesday, December 04, 2002

I can still remember being in the newsroom of the New Haven Register when the news came over the wire: Studies had determined that fat makes you fat. We enjoyed a good laugh about that. I mean, how many of my tax dollars went into that startling revelation?

But now I don't know what to think. I've spent the past month eating bacon, butter, cream and enough cheese -- and we're talking full-fat cheese here, not fat-free pencil erasers -- to construct a second moon. And I have lost nine pounds.

What I have not been eating is bread. Pasta. Sugar. Fruit. I may get scurvy, but, by golly, I am going to fit into my Christmas party dress, whose zipper has not reached full staff in about three years.

I'm on the Atkins diet, which has been in the news a lot lately. It's very controversial, because while everyone agrees that it works, not everybody agrees whether it's healthful or harmful in the long run. It runs counter to the food-police party line about low-fat, high-grains eating being the key to health.

Now, I am not a nutritionist. I am not advocating anything. I just notice that we are surrounded by low-fat, fat-free foods, and we are fatter than ever.

Trying to lower my fat intake has never done anything but make me hungry, so, finally, disgusted with the insidious outward creep of my waistline, I decided to try Atkins.

I can tell you that it seems to work. I can also tell you that it is not for everyone, and it is definitely not easy. It's like sending your taste buds to a monastery.

The early stages, where I am now, are the most restrictive, the first two weeks being an almost unbearable culinary equivalent of boot camp.

Meat, yes, poultry, seafood, sure, and hard cheeses. Eggs, by all means. Butter. Cream. Mayo. But a stick of butter dipped in mayo and washed down with a nice tall glass of heavy cream isn't my idea of a snack.

You can barely even have vegetables the first two weeks. Lunch and dinner were both salads with tuna or meat strips and cheese. Now, I like salads, but after you've downed your sixth salad in three days, you are about ready to dive into a pan of lasagna and never come out.

You can't eat on the go on this diet. Since you can't wrap anything in any sort of bread-like substance, you always need a dish and a fork (unless you want all that fabulous fat all over your hands), which means you always have to sit down. This is very civilized, but it is a long way from convenient. The only snack I've been able to eat for weeks now is pieces of cheese, occasionally made somewhat mobile by being placed in a baggie.

Oh, and low-carb bars, mostly conveniently made by the Atkins business. And believe me, like the rest of the fitness-diet-industrial complex, it's a business. Sometimes I wonder if there isn't a vast conspiracy to keep us all fat and desperate so we'll spend our money on gadgets, powders, elixirs, gym memberships, special foods, magazines, books, workout clothes, pills and, inevitably, health care.

Maybe it's no coincidence that models and actresses get thinner all the time. Maybe they're under top-secret orders. Maybe I'm just giddy from the ketosis.

The only thing more fraught with stress than trying to eat out on this diet is being a dinner guest on it. For Thanksgiving. Among people you don't know but whom you want to like you.

I have always despised the person who shows up in someone's home, waits till dinner is being served and says, "Ewwww, I can't eat this!" People with allergies and medical conditions have to ask, obviously (and warning the host is always wise), and people who don't like things should just be quiet and avoid what offends them.

So when I was invited to attend another family's Thanksgiving feast, I agonized over how to handle the diet challenge. I could eat turkey till it came out my ears, and there would probably be a vegetable that'd be OK (though not corn, potatoes or sweet potatoes -- argh), but what about appetizers? And pies?

I opted to bring things I could have. I packed up my offerings and took them over the river and through the woods.

As I was dressing on Thanksgiving morning, I wondered about what I was doing. Does it really make sense to eat like this? Will it really make a difference if I don't have pie today? Would it kill me to have some mashed potatoes? Why am I putting myself through this?

I unpacked a skirt from last winter, slipped it on and reached around to fasten it.

The waistband slid way down onto my hips. It was huge. I burst out laughing.

Oh, yeah -- that's why.

Samantha Bennett can be reached at sbennett~post-gazette.com or 412-263-3572.

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