Three Bite Rule

Forget the French diet, the Greek diet, the sew-up-your-lips diet. For the last time, here is the three bite rule. Follow this rule and the risk of obesity, or even double digit clothing size, will minimize itself to almost size zero. This experiment is truly scientific and I'm sure the New England Journal of Medicine will publish my article as soon as the ink is dry. I used myself as the guinea pig and lived to tell about it, which is much more than Madame Curie could say. 

First, eat all your veggies, fruits, chicken and fish (yes, mom was right, eat your vegetables and a lot of bad things will not happen to you).  Eat all you want of the aforementioned items, although I strongly advise against liquefying your fruits and adding vodka – that’s a no no.  And I’m not going to belabor why this stuff is so good for you, you know why, you’ve read the articles, listened to the sermons, you know.

Now let’s get down to it. Try this in the privacy of your home. There you are, having eaten a healthy salad with oil and vinegar dressing, a main course of grilled fish, accompanied by baby carrots and broccoli spritzed with lemon juice, and now you are done; you feel so good about yourself, all healthy, wholesome and wise, and then. . . someone plops a slice of mud pie in front of you. 

The little angel on your right shoulder squeals “no, push it away, think of that tiny new little dress you just bought; it’s killer dangerous, you’ll knock ‘em dead in it, but if you eat this dessert, you won’t get that dress past your right thigh, never mind around your hips”.  The little devil on your left shoulder says “are you nuts? Look at that crisp oreo crust, the chocolate-espresso ice cream swirl, the hot fudge spilling over it, the fresh whipped cream with almond slivers sprinkled on top. Life is short. Dig in. You can exercise an extra half hour tomorrow and work it off.”

And the devil is right; life is short, but the angel is right too. You will not get into that dress -- ever. Ah, what to do?  Don’t deny yourself the pleasures in life. After all, what is the point of life if there is no joy. Who ever lay on their death bed and (1) wished they’d spent more time at the office, (2) were glad to have eaten enough roughage, or (3) were grateful to have passed up the chance to kiss George Clooney. 

So, here it is -- take three bites. Three bites are all that are needed to enjoy the pie thoroughly. Think of it. The first bite goes into your mouth and the flavors are relished like a Busby Berkely extravaganza: Your taste buds explode like thousands of kaleidoscopic dancers throwing their long legs into the air, with huge smiles on their faces, and in living color; all of your senses are focused on the delicious tastes bouncing over your tongue, your throat gurgles and coos as the chewed morsels slide down your gullet. Your eyes are closed. You can’t even breathe, the moment is so exquisite, and then, it’s gone. 

The second bite is eagerly anticipated because there is such a delectable memory of the first bite. It’s still a Busby Berkely extravaganza, except that there are fewer dancers, it’s now in black and white and no longer in Panavision. Nonetheless, the thrill is there, albeit 80% of the first bite. Still delicious, still savory, luscious and rich, your tastebuds are still speeding along and your tongue still salivates while your throat murmers with happiness, but you can breathe now and listen to the conversation around you while the second bite scurries past your tonsils. 

And now the third bite has found its way onto your palate. Alas, the memory is now thoroughly registered in your taste buds. You know what you are getting, not that there’s anything wrong with it, but you know; like a bad boyfriend coming back to despoil you once again, like watching Gone With The Wind for the nth time. You know. Your thrill scale is down to 60% , and that is the sad truth. You know how it will end.  

After the third bite, you are just shoveling it in because it’s there. There, taped to your hips before you even stand up.  There, one more lump on your thighs. There, adding a notch to your belt. The moral of the story is stop after the third freakin’ bite, damn it! Leave it on your plate, and forget about your mom’s chiding remarks regarding starving Chinese children. Their GDP is greater than ours.