An upstart

This world is new to me.  For decades I’ve been languishing under the rock of nonchalance and indifference to food related matters.  I ate things that were readily available in frozen boxes, I believed that three packets of sugar in my morning coffee were fine because I wouldn’t add sugar to anything for the rest of the day (goes without saying that I would conveniently forget that cake had sugar or gulab jamuns had sugar as long as I told myself a slice or two won’t hurt me, after all I wasn’t necessarily on a three-square-meals-of-cake diet).
Such nonchalance is expected, I learnt, for someone at least a decade, or even two, younger than me, in fact it is apparently an attractive representation of the state of being youthful, youthfully svelte and carefree.  Much to my chagrin, this thought was confirmed in a random line from a Michel Houellebecq novel called, “The Map and the Territory”:
“…standing in front of the Salad Bar where a few middle-aged women calculated, sceptically, the calorie content of the ingredients on offer.”
These days I am often found, eyes agog, in organic food store aisles, reading nutrient labels, I just never thought I was screaming out my biological age in this act of nutrition consciousness! Why must such consciousness be treated as a middle-aged affliction? I guess that could be the subject of another rambling post.
For now, let’s just say, I am really feeling the result of the changes I have made.  It’s as though every cell in my body is singing hallelujah at my having come to my senses.  It’s shedding all the fat it clung to as a comfort blanket in a formerly nutritionally challenged environment.
I started my day today with a berry bonanza smoothie.  I blended together every berry imaginable with almond and cashew cream, water, ice cubes and some honey and it was probably the best thing I had ever tasted.  I am certain I have never felt such tissue-level, deep satisfaction from anything else I’ve ever ingested.
Energized by the smoothie I tried my own twist on a veggie omelet.  I whipped up my great tasting organic brown eggs with thinly sliced sweet orange peppers, added in a dash of garam masala, some sprinkles of garlic and parsley, a dash of sea salt, a tiny bit of the same almond-cashew cream that was used in the aforementioned smoothie and then made an omelet out of it all.  It is tasting amazing, I am eating it as I write.  Who in their right mind waits for 45 years before making room in their grocery budget for sweet orange peppers? No one, I imagine. 
That’s what makes me a parvenu to this right-eating strata of society.  The people who are the Mayflower elite of this strata weren’t “health nuts”, “rabbit-food eaters” or food activists.  They were right.  So many of these right thinking people are my friends here (none of them will be tagged, it is, after all, embarrassing to announce to the world how much of a troglodyte one has been).  
They solved the food mystery eons ago. Now they’ll pat me on my head in a patronizing way, saying things like better late than never, and try this, try that, you don’t know the half of it…etc.   I realize I don’t.  But being empirical about this whole thing is so much more satisfying than digging for or seeking advice.  
Basic biochemistry in laymen’s terms (readily available on Google), knowledge of the Kreb’s Cycle (also readily at one’s service via Wikipedia) and realization that all human organs talk to each other via certain neuro-transmitters that signal well-being or need, almost in zero and one like sequences of response or lack of response, that’s about all one needs in order to get this whole thing right.
Nutrient label reading middle-aged person and proud to be a newly minted one!

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