For a very long time, I have had what I will call a frequent, but not excessive, relationship with alcohol. I am a pretty dependable one-or-two-drink-a-day guy. Come home from work, get dinner going, crack open a beer, or, since I have gone paleo/primal and ditched the gluten, maybe wine, whisky or hard cider (Strongbow seems to beat all the other ciders, FWIW).
But then I did this primal eating challenge. Not a drop of booze or processed crap went into my gaping maw for a month.
And now booze isn't moving me much at all.
Yeah, on Friday night when I was out with friends, celebrating the awesomeness of, well, everything, a few Magner's hard ciders went down pretty well. But at home in the week since ending the challenge, I have had a little Highland Park one night, some Laphroaig another and two glasses of red wine last night. My reaction: ppbbttffftt (an unimpressive noise, trust me on this one).
What the hell?
It really just made me sleepy and sluggish. The nights when I didn't drink, I got shit done. I was a TCB machine. The others? Not so much.
I mean.... This *should* lead to a simple reaction of: "Maybe I shouldn't drink at home on weeknights." But somehow it is more complicated than that. There are years of patterned behavior to un-learn. Apparently my taste buds -- and, particularly, my metabolism -- have unlearned booze pretty quickly, but the brain is not so smart or logical.
Brain v. taste buds. It'll be an epic throwdown, I'm sure. Updates to follow.
This is fucking bizarre.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad
Food, Life, Music -- All Perched Precariously in Balance (or Not)
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