A Farewell Tour

I’m a big eater and always have been. Getting me to finish my plate was never a struggle for my parents. When I was a teenager, my Uncle Desi and I would plan our trips to the Ponderosa Stakehouse all-you-can-eat buffet with the same bloodlust as Vikings planning plunder. Until my early 20s, the quality and quantity of food was never a concern. I was rail thin no matter what I ate. But then around 25 or 26 my metabolism slowed down from the speed of a Porsche to that of a 1977 Pinto.

Good bye, good friends

With the start of my 12 weeks of high calorie burn workouts and low calorie meals looming on Monday, Feb. 6, I’ve spent the last week conducting a farewell tour of my favorite foods, or as I like to collectively refer to them, “Everything that makes life worth living.”

I’d like to take the opportunity to address the following foods and drink individually:

Big Red Soda: You haven’t been in my life very long, but have definitely left a profound impression. You and the Styrofoam containers full of work cafeteria-served lunch entrees will be missed. Thank you.

Beer: Hang in there, little buddy. I’m going away for a while, but don’t worry, I’ll be back. You and I have a complicated relationship, since, let’s face it, you’re a big part of the reason my body fat hovers around 23 percent these days. But that’s OK. I forgive you.

Papa John’s Pizza: Feel free to let the employees and cardboard box suppliers to your Austin locations know that you’re about to take a hit over the next 3 months, if not forever. While you’re at it, please notify the folks over at the Amy’s company of frozen, organic pizza and other foods that they won’t be hearing from me for a while, either.

Egg & Sausage Breakfast Taco/Biscuit with Strawberry Jam: It is with particularly solemn emotions that I address you, my wonderful morning friends. The warm embrace you provide during our daily encounters, and the satisfied warmth and comfort you leave me with afterwards, will be hard to replace. All the best to you.

This weekend, in a final orgy of beer and barbeque, my good friend Ryan Kohn and I will leave Austin, not to mention our gastro-intestinal tracts, a scorched, barren wasteland. He is referring to it as “Carlos’s Mardi Gras.”