South Beach Google

“Forget about diets. If you really want to get rid of the weight, then it’s all about portion control.”

Max had written those words on the back of his check-out form as soon as he got inside his car.
When he got home, he took down the Chinese delivery menu from the fridge and stuck the doctor’s advice in its place with a Papa John’s magnet.

“Medically obese,” he said solemnly to the sink full of dirty dishes.

He stared at the bigger heap of dishes on the counter and intoned, “Health risks.”

He took stock of the cryptic Styrofoam boxes in the fridge. He counted the mostly empty boxes of cereal and the dusty cans of random vegetables in the pantry. He noted the trash can full of coke cans and fast food bags. “Cholesterol and trans-fats!” he said to the room at large.

He walked out of the kitchen and down the hall.

In the bathroom he stood in front of the mirror, first straight on, then in profile, then straight on again. He stuck a thumb below his belly button and into the waistline of his jeans. He tugged. “Magic Button Pants Expander!” he shouted at his own reflection.

In the den he spent a few minutes fishing his scale out from under the entertainment center. Finding two working batteries for it took even longer. Finally getting the LED display to light up, he put it down next to his bedroom door but didn’t step onto it. Instead, he walked back to the kitchen and stared at the doctor’s words he’d stuck on the fridge.

“Portion control,” he whispered to the folded piece of paper.

At his feet, his dog, who’d been patiently following him the entire time through, whined.

Max smiled and leaned to scruff the dog’s head. “Not for you, Sharkey. Just me.” The dog whined again and cocked his head at the mention of his name. “In fact, buddy. You’re getting ready to have a buffet. One of those taste adventures – food from just about every restaurant within driving range.”

Sharkey wagged his tail and barked even though he didn’t know what Max was talking about. But when the take-home boxes started coming out of the fridge and lining the floor, the little mutt’s tail just couldn’t keep still.

Cleaning out the fridge was the easy part, Max learned. Avoiding fast food and sit-down places was much harder, since not eating out meant cooking at home and cooking at home wouldn’t happen without clean dishes. Max tackled the counters and sink next, before he even thought about going to the grocery to make some healthy choices. Only after the counters were clean and the dishes were put away did he sit down to make a list, with the help of the internet of course. After every thing else, shopping was a breeze.

Cooking, he discovered, wasn’t that bad either. Sharkey was always willing to eat whatever he made, and as it turned out, eating at home really was a lot cheaper. He had extra money to spend on cook books and more exotic recipes. The weight started to slip off. The Magic Button retired to the top of his dresser. The Papa John’s magnet disappeared, and a cooking measurements one took its place.

All in all, Max was a changed man. From time to time, though, when he fumbled with the miniature cooking equipment that he had to special order from the dollhouse manufacturer, he would shake his fist at the words still stuck up on his fridge and curse, “Portion control!”

Where's the Google?

Bernice was waiting when Edwin came down to the kitchen.

“Morning, lazybones! I thought you were going to stay in bed all day.” Her smile was wide and cheery, but she didn’t get up from her chair at the counter. She had a bunch of vegetables and ingredients laid out in front of her but obviously hadn’t done any cooking yet. The only smell to the room was the coffee brewing next to the stove. It was what had lured Ed downstairs in the first place.

“You should feel all rested and ready to take on the world,” Bernice continued, still with that same broad smile. She laid her right hand on the counter next to a bottle of cooking oil and tapped her fingers too loudly. Her smile got even wider.

Ed grimaced but didn’t say anything. He moved toward the coffee, filled his favorite cup, dropped in the sweetener that wouldn’t cause cancer. For the spoon, he had to crowd her to get it out of the silverware drawer, but he didn’t say a word about the set-up on the counter. When he carried his cup to the fridge and opened the door, he stood there for a long moment. He moved a few things around, juice, milk, bottles of water. Looking back at his wife, she still was smiling and had both hands tapping on the counter now. Finally, he had to break his silence.

“Where’s the good creamer, B?”

“Early bird got it, Ed – hours ago,” she laughed as he grunted and closed the fridge. “There’s the powdered kind in the cabinet. You like the hazelnut. It’s in the brown wrapper. And I’ve already added creamer to the grocery list.”

“I know, B,” he moved to the cabinet and shoved stuff aside until he found the brown plastic jar. It was brand new, of course, so he had to set down his coffee to rip off the protective seal. He wanted to use his teeth to get a good grip but knew that she would fuss. Finally, he got it off and glared at the dust inside. He needed to get a new spoon but decided to just pour some of the powder in. He poured too much and cursed under his breath.

“Ah, ah, Ed! You’ll have to put a quarter in the cuss jar!” She laughed and scooted the kitchen chair closer to the counter. The legs squeaked loudly against the yellow linoleum. She giggled and grinned just like she did back when they were dating. As he stirred the lump of creamer around in his cup, she started shifting the vegetable arrangement on the counter with busy little movements that brought wrinkles to his own face, but on his forehead instead of around his mouth and eyes.

The first sip wasn’t entirely satisfying, but he let out a long sign anyway. She looked up, winked at him, giggled again, and kept moving things around. He banged his spoon around in the coffee and took another sip. It was getting better.

“Hazelnut’s not too bad,” he grunted. He leaned his back against the far counter and took his third sip. He stared at his wife’s white hair as she pretended to be busy. He remembered when it was brunette and curled on her shoulders. She caught him looking and winked a second time.

“Okay, B, what’s with the vegetables and the oil? You setting up shop?”

She laughed. A full-on laugh that shook her shoulders and closed her eyes. Their grandkids liked to play grocery when they visited and would spend hours in the kitchen shuffling cans and produce back and forth. Ed knew that she loved that time with the kids. He liked to sit on the deck and listen to their fun when they visited. Tom had taken the family to Florida though, so he knew that wasn’t it.

“Not shop, Ed,” Bernice said, still laughing. “Even better – it’s Soup Day! And I want you to take the pictures!”

Ed covered his grimace with another sip of coffee. Now, the whole day was shot. Darn Bernice and her Cooking Blog!