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LEHNDORFF: Critic sees the lite in diet

Published September 14, 2007 at midnight

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I'm gradually dealing with my personal inconvenient truth.

I have to lose many pounds rather rapidly so I can get a bionic hip joint installed and finally dance the tango.

Some readers question my solution, which is to keep eating at restaurants. They say I'm in denial, that I haven't accepted that food is my problem. My answer is that I have reinvented the way I dine.

I knew right away that breakfast would be a sticky wicket, given my true lust for fried eggs, pancakes, bacon, biscuits, and red-eye gravy. To test my resolve, I entered the lair of the beast: the comfy Southside Walnut Cafe in south Boulder.

I happily tucked into a well-made egg white omelet filled with sautéed chopped vegetables. On the side, some fresh fruit and berries, a few spoonfuls of grits and a small OJ. I withstood the siren call of the cafe's famous daily birthday cake, and slipped out damage-free.

Denver's shrine to comfort food, Steuben's, proved much more dangerous. I overlooked the appetizer list with its luscious Chinese ribs and killer gravy fries and pretended that the entree roster, from the green chile cheeseburger to a grilled short rib, was in a foreign language.

I happily slurped a lovely bowl of cool red tomato gazpacho, sans saltines. Lingering over a plate of fairly ripe tomato slices, fresh mozzarella and basil leaves, I dribbled on enough balsamic vinegar and olive to make it interesting. I finished with sautéed vegetables and creamed spinach.

Honesty in reportage obliges me to confess that I inhaled half a roll and sucked down one of my friend's deviled eggs before regaining stability, a perfect example of the peril in restaurant dining.

A nice thing about my dining- review sabbatical is that I can order what I like. Of course, I also have to pay for dinner myself.

Light tasted just right when I supped at Rioja recently. I had to forgo the bread and house-baked biscuits with butter, but a bite of tuna tartare and sashimi with my half-glass of wine was heavenly, along with a bowl of chef Jasinski's green heirloom tomato gazpacho.

I couldn't dine at a great bistro like Rioja without tasting a few verboten dishes, but I'd banked a few calories that day. I limited myself to a forkful or so of warm mission fig and goat cheese tart, beautiful summer corn soup and world-class pan-roasted chicken.

As I sipped "dessert" - a skim latte - I felt vindicated and much better off for having dined. The truth is that eating got me in this pickle. I'll have to eat my way out.