I left the confines of the bungalow today, along with Dean and Kipp, to journey one hour south-east to Rochester, Minnesota, home of the Mayo Clinic. Happily, the purpose of our trip was not medical but material (we needed warm coats--winter is back, yeah!-- Legos, and the current issue of Architectural Digest). I stepped foot in a Barnes and Nobles and was immediately overwhelmed as usual. I love books, no question, but sometimes, most times, I wish there were fewer choices in the world.
I did pick up a copy of the magazine, Eating Well and read an excellent interview with Harvard’s Walter Willett, author of Eat, Drink and Be Healthy. He’s the fellow, or one of them anyway, who says the USDA food pyramid is all wrong.
His pyramid is now hanging on our fridge.
I find it amusing that it's taken him (though bless him for it) years of research to figure out what the school cooks at Colegio Santa Francisca Romana in Bogota, Colombia have known all along.
In 1993, at the height of the high-carb, low fat feeding frenzy this nation was experiencing, I was a high school English teacher at CSFR, an all-girls’ Catholic school run by Franciscan nuns. It appeared to me that the majority of Latin Americans are as concerned as we are, if not more, about physical appearance. (In Latin America they’ll show re-run afte re-run of the same beauty pageant on tv—just in case you missed the cellulite on Senorita Cartagena the first time around). So, when parents would notice that their teen or pre-teen daughters were packing on a few too many kilos, they’d sign them up for the school’s diet lunch program.
Whenever I travel to a foreign country, I generally put on a few kilos too. If the trip is short, no problem. But after three months, many bowls of ajiaco (the most delicious stew on the planet) and a few too many arepas, I decided I too, in the interest of not having to purchase new clothes, would have to sign up for the diet lunches at school.
Imagine my surprise, and delight, when I sat down to a tray of steak, sliced avocados, peanuts, and fruit salad. My fellow gringa, Katie, and I looked at each other in puzzlement. Didn’t they know that avocados were loaded with fat, that red meat was bad, that peanuts were the kiss of death? Ignorant third world countries. . .sigh. (But you can bet I gobbled up those divine, buttery, Colombian avocados in a heartbeat.)
In the U.S. I’d have been eating mounds of pasta with watery tomato sauce, bread with no butter, lettuce with no dressing. And then, two hours later, out of sheer hunger and crashing blood sugar, I’d have scarfed down a ½ box of Snackwells.
In my 20’s my metabolism could have handles these abuses, but not now, not in my 30’s.
I’m so relieved we’re getting smarter about food. And if the pendulum swings again, so be it. I’ve discovered the beauty of mayonnaise in my chicken salad and I’m not going back. This time, however, it certainly seems like Willet has science on his side.
Along with the common sense of those Colombian school cooks.
10:09:30 PM 
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