Food for thought

This afternoon I spent twenty precious minutes of my one-hour lunch washing the bugs off of every leaf of a head of iceberg lettuce. It was nasty, but the worst part is that I'd already made (and eaten) a salad from that lettuce before discovering the infestation. Oh well. As usual, my thoughts drifted to Jake. Would he take the time to wash iceberg lettuce? Would he even disgrace his palate with iceberg lettuce? Probably not. But then, Jake is not a vegetarian on a tight budget trying desperately to lose weight.

Every time I cook, and the result is generally a monochromatic, unappetizing pile of soy-based sludge (yes, I add vegetables, but you can't tell by the time I'm done), the same idea rolls into my head: Jake would be horrified. And I know he would. If Jake Gyllenhaal, avowed foodie, cupcake- and blood sausage-eater extraordinaire (well, not together--that I know of, anyway), Mr. my Milanese is amazing, saw what this Italian-American woman has been feeding herself for the past seven months, he would weep for me. He's sensitive like that.

But I don't believe Jake has ever been fat. This picture of him with the white towel is the heaviest I've ever seen him. I'd estimate he might be carrying at the most an extra ten pounds here. Okay, fifteen. Scandalous! An innately active, athletic person like Jake generally will never face the problem with weight that I've endured my entire life. This is not the first time I've lost over fifty pounds. Hell, it isn't even the second. I am hoping it is the last.

However, it should go without saying that were I ever to have the privilege of dining with (or--gasp!--being cooked for by) Jake, he could feed me pizza, filet mignon, or Sprinkles cupcakes, and I'd eat it all. You bet I would. A girl has to know her priorities.

All photos: IHJ and the IHJ Community.