Shirataki!

Tonight, I went on another healthy eating adventure. Over break, I was watching the Nate Berkus show, and he had a guest chef that was telling the audience about food swaps that would save calories. It turns out that pasta has about 220 per 2 ounces, but shirataki noodles have 0 calories (according to him — the bag said 5). I thought, “This is great! It’s the celery of the noodle world. I could eat and eat and eat shirataki noodles to my heart’s delight, especially on days when I know that lunch or dinner might be a bit of a calorie splurge.”

I picked up the shirataki noodles at the Asian market after my hair cut yesterday. It felt strange to go to the refrigerated section to find noodles that are sold packaged in some sort of liquid. I’m glad I googled what they were before I left the house, or I probably wouldn’t have found them, especially since the clerk at the Asian store had no idea what they were.

The Nate Berkus chef had admitted that shirataki does not have the same texture as pasta, but I figured that a little spaghetti sauce covers a multitude of flaws. I started to lose my resolve though when I got ready to make dinner. I’ve been feeling lackluster all week, so it was difficult to give myself a believable pep talk. I tried to convince myself that I was on the brink of discovering the celery of the noodle world and that I would soon be chowing down on giant bags of noodles guilt free. The only pep talk I could muster was “You will try these, and you will like them.”

My resolve further waned when I cut open the bag of noodles and discovered that the packaging liquid smelled like yesterday’s fish bait had been stored in it. Still, I muscled on since my intent was to rinse the noodles and boil them briefly.

I tried to find humor in reflecting on what the spaghetti love scene in Lady and the Tramp would have looked like if Disney had used shirataki noodles instead since they seemed to go on and on and on as I scooped them into my bowl. My amusement and resolve died as I sat down and had a hard time cutting through the noodles — with a steak knife. If chewy squid was made into noodle form, it would resemble shirataki noodles. I ate a few bites since the taste was fairly neutral, but in the end, I decided that eating rubbery squid noodles wasn’t going to do anything to improve my lackluster emotional state.

I made some scrambled eggs and microwave oatmeal, grabbed an orange, and called it dinner.

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