I love philly cheesesteak sandwiches. (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cheesesteak)
I’ve kept a list of the restaurants in the area that serve the delectable treat and ranked them according to quality. The first restaurant was the baseline against which all others were judged. It soon became the second best ranked sandwich. As I added to the list, positions changed as the quality got ranked. I found my favorite and it has remained so for quite some time now.
I mentioned that the doctor now wants me to go on a gastorparesis diet. The diagnosis comes from me being diabetic and the bouts of stomach distress I’ve had. The diet means I’m not supposed to eat fried or fatty foods, fiber or red meat. No raw veggies, no bacon, no cheese, no grains, no pizza, no quesadillas, no pasta, no burgers. No apples, no peas, no corn, no lima beans. No cashews, no nuts, no most breads. No lots of things I normally eat.
I can eat white bread, white rice, and noodles. I can have bananas, which is one of the highest sugar fruits (as are raisins, but they are on the forbidden list). All of which I’ve been told I shouldn’t eat because they are high in carbohydrates / sugar and I’m diabetic. And there are a bunch of other things I’m allowed to eat, many of which I can’t stand. (Oatmeal / grits – disgusting!) Somehow, I don’t think the right hand of the medical community is talking with the left hand of the medical community. It seems the main goal of this diet is to keep you regular when you poop. That’s not my problem.
I’m supposed to eat a lot of soft food or liquids. (The guidelines even go so far as to say strained baby food should be in the diet.) The only benefit to such a diet is that if I do have another bout of heaving my guts out, it will all come back up easily.
Oh, it looks like I get to have milkshakes! And frozen yogurt. Okay, this isn’t a total disaster.
Anyway, since I’m not going to get to eat philly cheesesteaks anymore, we went out tonight to my favorite place to get a final sandwich. When we got there I didn’t even need a menu. When the waitress came I told her I was going to have my last philly cheesesteak sandwich and wanted to get my favorite one.
“You’re not going to die on me, are you?” she asked, a look of concern on her face.
“No, it’s just my doctor put me on this diet and I’m not allowed red meat or cheese any more so I’m having a final philly cheesesteak.”
“What side would you like with that? We’ve got fries, chips, tater tots ….”
“Tater tots, please. I’m not supposed to eat those either.”
“I’ll get that right out.”
We got there just before the rush, as many people started coming in just after we got there. It took a bit for the food to come, but it did arrive.
A hoagie roll, filled with strips of steak, green peppers and onions, and covered in cheese. It sat on a mound of golden tater tots. All of it cooked to perfection.
I took my time and savored the meal. Each bite was a delicious burst of meat and cheese goodness, surrounded by bread. The tater tots were all crispy on the outside, potato-y on the inside. The whole meal washed down with a glass of lemonade. Good eatin’.
I asked the waitress to tell the cook it was a most excellent philly cheesesteak. She said she’d pass it on.
Who am I kidding? I’m going to cheat. Just as I’ve been disciplined about drinking one Dr. Pepper a week for years, I think if I’m disciplined enough to eat all the crap on this diet I should be allowed a philly cheesesteak every now and again. Maybe one a month? Probably the same with pizza. And quesadillas. If each of those brings me one step closer to death that much quicker, so be it. I deserve to enjoy some things in life.
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