The Masters & Johnson Diet

      The late great 4-Star chef Louis Saismara once said, "There are two great joys in life: food and sex. And food lasts longer if prepared properly and stored correctly." There, you have it from straight from the mouth of a Frenchman (which sounds unsanitary, but the quote was washed before you read it): Food is better than sex.
      Food has always been attracted to me. It's a curse that I eat under. The good Lord knows I've tried to be less appealing to the vittles. I carry a health-club card around and point it at any German chocolate coke that comes too close (that is, within a mile to me). I wear jogging suits because I've been told that sweat scares food away. I've tried, honestly, I've tried. Do you think I like eating this much?
      But nothing works. I'm just irresistible to food. The minute I go into a restaurant, cherry cheesecakes begin to smile sensuously, and potatoes brush sour cream away from their eyes to wink at me. Tarts pull down the corners of their pastry coverings, revealing the rich, dark blueberry fillings. Lush Italian pizza pies slink toward me, their large pepperoni somehow poking through their thick covering of cheese and tomato sauce.
      "Nothing's better than beef," a steak sizzles. "Sink your teeth into me."
      "The setting sun and pounding surf will satisfy your every appetite," a lobster leers.
      "Lettuce entertain you," the salad bar says, its eyes dressing me with blue cheese and buttermilk ranch.
      "Be strong like a sailor man," the spinach quiche says.
      "Why don't ya just skip all them and let me show a really good time, big boy," a cream pie suggests, swirling its white topping to show me just a glimpse of red, ripe strawberries.
      "We're the best, above the rest," the fried shrimp chant. (For some reason, shrimp always speak together in bad rhymes; I know that's fishy, but it's true.)
      "Are you trying to start something?" the steak asks bullishly, shoving the lasagna. The spaghetti cracks its noodles like a whip at the tacos. The lobster slithers sinisterly toward the cheesecake which heaps more cherries on top of itself in an attempt to be more appealing to me. The shrimp cheer on the steak which intends to defoliate the salad bar.
      A food fight is about to break out. I must choose one of them quickly. But which one? Steak or lobster? What about the salad bar? And those desserts ...
      Then it comes to me, the solution to the problem. I hand the menu to the waiter and say, "I'll take everything."
      It's a curse, I tell you, a curse.

Copyright 2006. All rights reserved.