My New F Word

I have discovered the Cleanse’s major flaw. It’s not the absence of caffeine, the lack of butter, or even the prohibition on wine. It is, instead, what it actually allows. I’m talking about a 100% Cleanse-acceptable food: FRENCH FRIES. (Certainly not a recommended food, but nonetheless it's vegan, gluten-free and sugar-free if you skip the ketchup!) Clearly, Kathy Freston’s editors at Weinstein Books missed this one. Or maybe Kathy has such a weakness for French fries that she couldn’t give them up. Whatever the reason, French fries fit the bill. Not only that, in some instances they are the ONLY legit food around. And so French fries have become my new “F” word.

For instance, this past weekend I was eating away from home. I called the hotel ahead of time, spoke with the concierge, who spoke with the kitchen, who spoke with the concierge, who assured me that they were happy and able to prepare me meals that were Cleanse-compliant. The concierge referred to a delicious vegetable platter among other options, then told me about a “crazy woman” who had stayed with them last month and who had dietary restrictions just like mine. I should have picked up the subtle sign that all was not right, but I called during the throws caffeine withdrawal. . . .

Fast forward. After a frigid but wonderful swim in an outdoor pool with my daughter, we retreated to our room where we donned terry robes and ordered room service (Mommy/daughter overnight—best Xmas gift ever!) At first I assumed the room service order-taker was simply uninformed. I assured her that the chef was happy to prepare me a dinner w/no meat, no eggs, no milk, no butter, no sugar, no wheat. After she balked the second time, I suggested the chef’s delicious vegetable platter. Silence. Finally, I adopted the polite but firm tone I reserve for telemarketers and the people selling Street Sheet near Laurel Village. After her third consultation with the kitchen, the order-taker informed me that they would indeed prepare me a vegan, gluten-free meal. Problem solved.

We waited eagerly for the doorbell to announce our dinner had arrived. Once it did, I checked the bill, clearly underlining the part where it says that 25% gratuity is already included, below the line that spells out the separate delivery charge. (I always feel guilty not leaving even more, wondering if the built-in gratuity ever makes its way to the workers--but I can’t wrap my head around 40%).

Katie lifted the covers off her plates—a perfect trio of breaded chicken strips, and a breathtaking chocolate mouse cake with fresh berries and vanilla gelato. “Let’s see yours, Mommy,” she encouraged. “Lift the covers.” Curious about what I’d find and by now nearly ravenous, I lifted the covers off my plates.

Here is what I saw:

Plate One: White. Lots and lots of white. Unbroken white. Steamed baby potatoes with a handful of steamed white beans sprinkled on top. Not an herb, a grain of pepper, a hint of green in sight.

Plate Two: I smelled it before I saw it. Garlic. And more potatoes. In this case, perfect crisp, golden french fries. Heaps of garlic on heaps of fries. Encrusted with heaps of salt, glistening with oil. Clearly, the oil, garlic, salt and herbs that were meant to go on Plate One had mistakenly found their way to Plate Two. (As my father would say, it all ends up mixed together anyway.)

Beans and potatoes on fancy china—well, it could be worse. They could have left the garlic off the fries. So I dug in, eating the beans first, then a few potatoes, then hesitatingly sampling a few garlic fries. Then a few more. And finally a few more. I won’t say I was satiated, but there was an element of bliss to it all. I chased my starch with a few cashews from my stash and called it quits at an estimated 800 calories or so . . . .

After reflecting, I now believe Kathy F. knew exactly what she was doing when she left French fries on her Cleanse menu. She built in a junk food loop hole. -Mary