I had this strange hunger Sunday, a hollow hunger that my morning greens smoothie and hearty lunchtime salad of kale, seaweed and avocado couldn’t quite get at.
I felt it deep in my bones. I needed a blast of protein. And not this raw protein business of hemp seeds and bee pollen that I’d been relying on for more than 40 days. This sort of hunger begged for the real, decidedly un-raw deal.
And so it came to pass that I finally “broke raw” this past weekend. A hard boiled egg and a few slices of savory chicken ended my uncooked streak. I nibbled them with glee and felt wholly satiated, and not a smidge guilty. Truth be told, the end actually came with my indulgence in a wee cup of coffee the morning before.
I woke bleary-eyed to the hated piles of laundry I’d put off all week. As I lugged them down to the laundromat with dread, the corner coffee shop beckoned — a comforting, caffeinated distraction. And I surrendered. A lovely reunion, that first sip.
Still, beyond those transgressions, it’s been all-raw for me since the official end to our 30 days. And I use the word “transgressions” loosely. As I wrote in my last post, I’ve been approaching each day, each meal as it comes. I’m not playing by any set of rules. I’m just eating as it makes sense to me, thinking about how what I put in my mouth now will feel in my body tomorrow. And funny thing, as I’ve been doing that I’ve been chugging along on raw anyhow. (Though full disclosure, there’ve been ample amounts of red wine involved, too).
So I continue along. Aside from that one cup, I haven’t felt pulled to coffee the mornings since. I’m going to try to hold to that as long as I can (if only for admittedly vain reasons: my sister swears my skin looks better without all that drying caffeine). I’m aiming for as high a raw diet as practical. But I can also say that when I meet a friend for lunch later today, there’s a good chance there’ll be some grilled salmon on my salad plate. (Mmm...grilled salmon).
It should be easy enough. For now. The real challenge comes in a few weeks, when I’ll be visiting family in Poland. Forget that the elders feel personally affronted if you decline even a morsel of their food. But there’s not too much of a raw selection on their traditional meat-and-potatoes menu. The only thing I know of that the Poles do raw is cow’s milk.
And I’m not going there.