Moses was NOT a figure competitor.
He did not spend his Sunday steaming bushels of broccoli or baking chicken breasts or mashing cauliflower so that it can be diguised as mashed potatoes. He did not have to worry about lighting five Scentsy warmers and ten candles so that the smell of pan-seared Tilapia does not rouse every feline in the neighborhood to my front porch like the Pied Piper of Hamelin with his entourage of rats. He did not measure and carefully divide portions into Tupperware and then stuff them into an already-packed fridge being careful not to clobber the three dozen cage-free brown eggs.
Oops. He did divide the Red Sea. My bad. Kudos, Mr. Moses.
Nice job with that.
Anyways, so that is how I spend my Sundays. Pots, pans, various veggies, coconut oil spray, and about 10 pounds of meat. I steam, I bake, I grill, I slice, dice, and chop. I am like Emeril Lagasse without the bad attitude, pot belly, and butter-infused rum sauce. My home smells of steamed kale and fish. My poor boyfriend cannot find one empty Tupperware container to put the remaining slices of his pizza in. I cannot find one pillow dense enough to hold over his head while he sleeps in glorious slumber after eating aforementioned pizza.
I dream of a time when my bank account allows me to be a prissy, pampered figure competitor who zips on over to Whole Foods to drop $300 on finely seasoned salmon filets and exotic grilled veggies lightly marinated in balsamic dressing. The days when I am just too tired, too grumpy, and too sore to cook or microwave my bland, pre-portioned fit fare and I can create a protein-packed salad from the Meals To Go line while standing behind the Botoxed-Soccer-Mom-Emaciated-Marathon-Runner while she juggles her Starbuck's Iced Caramel Macchiato and Prada diaper bag.
So...I will persist in my culinary quest to create something slightly edible AND in strict accordance with my pre-contest diet. I will fill my home with the lovely aroma of fish and scramble egg whites until my wrists cramp with carpal tunnel syndrome. I will steam my veggies and bake my chicken.
I may even adopt one of those cats off the front porch, too.
Remember: If it tastes good, spit it out. ;)
