It came today, my kryptonite, my nemesis, my favorite coworker-supplied food item — LJ's father's peanut brittle.
Just look at it. How can you resist that? It's beautiful. It's flavorful. It's thick with sweetness and crunch. It's got great color and texture. It demands that you take a big slab in your hand and crack off a chunk with your teeth.
The brittle owns your sorry ass.
It's also got something like 140 calories per ounce.
Not per chunk or piece or handful. Per. Ounce.
Just one of those slabs is going to run you 3 or 4 ounces. That's nearly 500 calories for one piece. Imagine, if you will, a gallon-sized zip lock back lying near you, beckoning all day long. So easy to reach in a grab a piece as you walk by. So convenient if you are an hour or so away from lunch and feeling a little peckish. Did you have 2 or 3 pieces? When it got down to crumbs did you take a handful? Do you know how easy it would be to eat a couple thousand calories of this stuff and not even really notice?
Several people, knowing the deep relationship I have with the brittle, reassured me that given my exercise frequency I should be able to have a small piece or two. Surely this is one I could eat.
Too tempting. Too easy to get dragged into to that amber heaven. There is no having just one piece of brittle. And besides — I'm losing weight. I've lost 210 pounds and nearing a gigantic milestone. I don't work out so I can eat more, I work out to crank up my weight loss. Why would I slow myself down for even a day just to have some candy even if it is crystalized, peanut-infused, molasses-colored love?
No, not today my dear peanut brittle. Not today.
Stay strong, brother.
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