Fried-day has been absent for a few weeks. That's partially because I recently began seeing a personal trainer who told me fried food was off limits. But I write a restaurant blog that features fried food on Fried-day. So what am I supposed to do?
I have found a way to justify eating fried chicken at lunch on Fried-day that at least makes an attempt at logic, even if that logic doesn't necessarily add up to healthy eating.
I ordered a two-piece chicken meal with fried okra. So that's two fried things and definitely makes for a good Fried-day. I didn't eat the extra skin, so that has to count for something. And I only sparingly popped fried okra into my pie hole. So I really didn't eat that much. Lots of protein, vegetables and minimal starches.
That's what I'm going go tell my personal trainer, anyway.
Here's another thing I've decided. Proper fried chicken — legs and thighs and breasts and wings — are better than fried chicken tenders. Proper fried chicken satisfies a visceral desire to tear meat from the bone with my teeth and it leaves off gravy, which has to be one of the sworn enemies of healthy eating.
I just now finished lunch and I definitely don't have that groggy, post-lunch feeling. Granted, even after washing my hands, my fingertips still feel kind of oily-slick. And I have grease in my beard, which I won't deny that I enjoy.
See? There are a lot of positives here.
I realize that one of these days, perhaps a little sooner than later, my friends will be standing around my tombstone, discussing how this was the inevitable end for someone who once argued that fried chicken equaled healthy eating.
But until then, I'll live life with grease in my beard and a smile on my face.