Day 1:
Well, I prepped and cooked as much as I could, avoided the apoplexy that is a trip to Whole Foods to buy the shit some woman named Kyrstynne tells you your body needs to be a better…battery…or whatever, and got ready to start.
Day 1…is a motherfucking fasting day. Now, some of you LOVE intermittent fasting. You talk about it, gram about it, call it cute pet names like “IF,” and go on about this incredible mind-clearing calm that comes with being privileged enough to not eat a full day’s worth of calories on purpose. So here I am, about to be one of those people. I am ready for the focus, the calm, the inevitable wisdom I will gain from not having lunch and dinner, even though I felt none of these things when fasting for Yom Kippur growing up. It’s different now. Diet culture says so.
I wake up and go to the kitchen, ready to make myself a cup of coffee. See, I told myself I would continue to wean off the Go Juice even more in the first week, giving it up by week two. My husband, turns out, was all in and up before me.
“Kettle should still be hot,” he said cheerily, as I stared at the giant box of Signature brand green tea that had been on top of our fridge since 2018.
Look at how Not Coffee this is. LOOK AT IT. Fuck this healthful, timeless nonsense.
Ughfinewe’redoingthis.
I have no idea why I didn’t stick to my original plan. He doesn’t get the withdrawal headaches I do, despite his drinking even more coffee than I do (a feat not easily accomplished, mind). But off the ledge I went. “There’s some caffeine in green tea,” I told myself, “so maybe this will be ok.”
Have you ever pushed your eyeballs out with your thumbs? Would you like to? Then listen to yourself when you think you might need to step down slower.
Pro Tip: Drinking half-caff is a nice and helpful step, but not if you’re asking, “Should we make another pot?” MORE THAN ONCE A DAY.
The headache was not as bad as it had been in previous attempts, but it was also…not fun. Advil, sparkling water, and closing my eyes while whispering, “fuckuckfuck” helped a bit.
The fasting menu (a new novel by Jodi Piccoult) is a couple of hard-boiled eggs, 2 cups of broccoli, some coconut or sheep’s milk yogurt, a cup of berries, and some bone broth. Eat it all in the morning and then pretend that was totally enough to sustain you until you decide you cannot take this stupid, hungry day anymore and fuck off to bed at 8:15.
Instead of hard-boiled eggs, I went to my happy place - egg bites. I used to buy them at Starbucks in the Beforetimes, and then I got an Instant Pot and some genius called the Internet told me I could make them myself. So I did. A lot. Trouble is, they’re choc full o’ dairy. When you make them at home, it’s cottage cheese that gives them the velvety sous vide feel (unless you’re actually making them sous vide, in which case you probably aren’t reading this because you’re a way better person with a fancier life because you boil things in a bag but make it gourmet), and that PLUS cheese make these a non-starter for a plan like this. So I found a recipe that would work, and made mine with mushrooms and carmelized shallots since the first week is all fish and eggs and I couldn’t even add bacon.
Y’all…they were great…until they were freezer burnt. So I woke up, knowing this was the only protein I was going to eat all day, and it was water logged. I wanted to cry AND murder a chicken. Simultaneously.
Also, coconut yogurt tastes like nothing with a coconut aftertaste. Now you know.
Day 2:
Well, it has to go up from here.
Whaddya mean I planned for us to have egg bites again? Fucking hell. Fine.
I choked them down, focusing on the fact that I will get to have makeup food later. And I did. Oh. Oh, I truly did.
My headache was still hanging on, and I kept slugging water to keep it at bay. I am supposed to be drinking about 75oz of it each day, so at least I was helping that along.
I worked for about three seconds before it was time to cook again - this is the life I have chosen - and make lunch for us and for my child, who would eat some incredibly delicious bullshit I can’t have. I huffed the scent of her PB&J, pretended it wasn’t creepy, and set to work on some Tuna Poke Bowls.
Holy shit.
HOLY SHIT.
You can’t taste this photo, but it shouldn’t stop you from trying. Also? HOLY SHIT.
I know that buying some tuna and marinating it, putting it in a bowl with veggies isn’t revolutionary, but you forget you can actually DO shit like that at home. Or…I do. Maybe you do it all the time. Again, you’re way too fancy for this silly blog. Why are you here, Captain Sous Vide Ahi Tuna?
The recipe called for mango, but that’s not on the plan. The Matrix batteries only work if you have citrus and berries, apparently. I remembered a roll from Tank sushi in Lincoln Square that had strawberry on it, so I decided to try it here. THIS is why I chided myself for not trusting my instincts earlier. Clearly, I’m a genius and it should not be forgotten. By anyone.
Ever.
I went about my workday, content in my blanket fort (hush, that’s where I record) knowing I was a mastermind for reading a recipe and following it. Then I just threw eggs over other delicious stuff for dinner. Yes, it’s called a frittata, but we all know what it is: whatever with eggs and you’ll like it.
I mean, I’m not mad at it. Who could be? Look at this punim.
As a bonus, the sauce that topped the poke bowl also went great with this I’m Tired With Eggs.
Yeah, ok, I can see why “frittata” works better.