This is it. The last coconut ice cream has been licked. The last banana muffin nibbled. The last carrot waffle waffled. The last sloppy joe slopped.
Tomorrow is elimination D(iet) Day.
I shouldn’t be looking in the rearview this way. I shouldn’t be feeling so sorry for myself. After all, there’s no shortage of eos folks who are genuinely and profoundly struggling with food. For me, this diet is a choice, not a last resort, and it’s fairly bountiful by contrast to some.
Even knowing all this, I wound up shaking off a heart-pounding bout of anxiety at the grocery store today. Instead of filling up the cart with food for the week’s family dinners, I was throwing in quinoa flakes and buckwheat porridge, teff and garbanzo flour, all kind of willy-nilly. It’s hard to know just what the week—or the next eight, or perhaps more—will bring. This is goodbye not just to foods that I love, but the experience of preparing them for and enjoying them with my family.
My husband assures me that he and our son will be fine. Still, I’ve loaded up the freezer for them as though I’m leaving on a trip. There’s chili and spaghetti sauce and chicken stew and bread and homemade waffles, at least enough to get started as we all find our footing in this new culinary terrain.
Goodbye soywhip on the cake.
Goodbye biscuits, goodbye brisket.
Goodbye pie, goodbye pad thai.
Goodbye linguine, capellini,
Elbow mac and fettucine.
Goodbye pudding, goodbye rice,
Goodbye focaccia by the slice.
Goodbye, goodbye, my dear food friends.
And maybe eos, in the end?