The GYM

No, not the place of torture, but rather my boyfriend and companion in this little adventure. Why I'm using his initials, I really don't know, as he doesn't hide behind nicknames anywhere else. Just accept it. He's the one on the right:



Gym just read The Omnivores Dilemma, and he finally gets it--at least, to an extent. Which means I probably haven't been good at explaining my "food thing", but at least now we have a starting point. After Gym read a bit of Michael Pollan, it was like a revelation. He's ready to only eat processed/takeout food twice a week. While this might not seem like much of a stretch to some people, you have to understand Gym.

Gym does not cook. He's afraid of knives. And heating elements. Mostly, Gym is afraid of messing something up. He's used to being amazing at all he attempts. He wasn't instantly good at cooking, so he stopped. Gym waited for me to cook. Or he ate double helpings of orange chicken from Westlake Center. Or subsisted on Kettle Chips. This is why, in our eleven months of being together, we have both grown a little softer around the middle. Lazy begets lazy.

But Gym is a person who, once he gets an idea in his head, is committed to that idea. He decided last week that he was going to eat more whole foods, and, of course, that means cooking. He's made sausage pasta, and bacon, and baked halibut with snap peas. I'm impressed.