No Dessert 'Til Brooklyn.
I am a Country Mouse. It's an undisputed fact.
I find considerable joy on the almost-desolate beaches of Napatree Point in my hometown. I like hiking. I loved the trails in St. John and the question of "Has anyone been this way before me?" The idea of my own personal greenhouse or garden makes me grin.
So finding such excitement and possibility in the cityscape of NYC is a completely new thing for me.
Last night, Chris and I visited Brooklyn and dined out with Chris's friend from high school, MT, and his fiance Melissa. Their neighborhood is very cool and had a tangible sense of community. There was something so comforting about the streets lined with what looked like Boston brownstones, neatly wedged together like books in a shelf. Their apartment was roomy and cozy and was the first piece of livable real estate I've had the pleasure of visiting in the NYC area (as opposed to the breadbox apartments with cubbyholes renamed as second bedrooms and a kitchen not nearly big enough for my poor fat cat Abby to slide into).
We had dinner at this terrific French place in Park Slope called Moutarde. Chris and I have both grown up in decidedly Italian households, with pasta dinners and homemade gravy. But after our second French meal in a week (first at Les Halles), Chris is now a self-proclaimed Francophile. Chris had the salmon and I had the hanger steak and green beans -- and yes, we dipped into the crème brulée again.
For the record, I started this meal at a tenuous 73 mg/dl, but thanks to some bread and a quick swig of orange juice, I hit the ground running at 157 mg/dl. I would have remained under 180 if it hadn't been for that blasted crème brulée, which tossed me up to 212 mg/dl before a soft landing at 98 mg/dl later in the evening.
Generally, I have my meal plan under control and I'm able to deftly avoid temptations. (I've even trained myself to substitute green beans for potatoes, which is remarkable considering how much I'd love potatoes.) But something about going out to dinner makes resistance tougher for me.
Dessert? Sure, I'll have some of that deliciously creamy, sugar-filled concoction. Twice. In one week. In my foolish mind, being "out to dinner" means that it's a special occassion and it's okay to splurge. But with the frequency we've been dining out and the holidays looming like fat pants on the horizon, I need to be more mindful of the calories I'm reeling in. And with my Joslin appointment right after Thanksgiving, it's important that I'm on the ball.
Mmmm. It would be great if the whole ball was made of crème brulée.
(Apparently I'm a Country Mouse with a newly-cultivated sweet tooth.)