Truth hits everybody.

I think it was today's food intake that finally made me realize it, in all its shameless glory....

I woke up, and, in keeping with my recent penchant for the delayed-breakfast thing, all I consumed for the first four hours that I was awake was a mug of coffee, into which I dropped about two tablespoons of coconut oil and a tablespoon of unsalted grassfed butter. It looked like... well, honestly it looked like something you'd see floating in a poorly-maintained train-station toilet. Fortunately, its flavor was nothing like its appearance. It was delicious. It kept me full and cruising along happily caffeinated for hours.

Oh, and I also washed down a pill that had fermented cod-liver oil and butter oil in it, along with three other pills that had enough magnesium in them to send the average person into that train-station toilet for extreme emergency evacuation measures.

Then, when I finally ate something, about 11 a.m., it was a colossal bowl containing the following, all mixed together:

--four hardboiled eggs
--one avocado
--four strips of thick-cut bacon
--chopped-up pickles
---a can of smoked Portuguese sardines in cayenne-pepper olive oil
--a lot of greens

Much like the bulletproof coffee, it was glorious. I was stuffed.

The kitchen stank like a lovely melange of oily fish, pickles and cayenne.

I was so full that I never quite got around to having lunch. When I finally got a little hungry at 4 p.m., there I was in the kitchen eating bacon-encrusted liver pâté from this recipe. And I wasn't having it *with* anything, mind you; I was eating it with a spoon, like it was chocolate pudding. And by the nomnomnom noises I was making, you'd swear it really *was* chocolate pudding. Oh, and, because we are going to be out late tonight, I was having it with another mug of coffee, adorned, just like its cousin this morning, in butter and coconut oil.

And it was, at the very moment that I washed down the last bite of liver pâté with the last slug of oil-slick coffee, and considered, in detail, exactly what my paleo/primal existence had led me to consume today, when the thought hit me, clearer than ever:

My god, I am a fucking weirdo about food.

In a pan, cooking right now, are twelve burgers. No, my wife and I are not going to eat 12 burgers for dinner. But we will probably each eat four, along with a lot of vegetables, and save the rest for tomorrow. And there won't be a shred of bread or buns near those burgers. And then we'll go see Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds (hopefully) tear shit up at the Keswick Theater, and I guess maybe the Nick Cave part of the equation makes me realize something else: we listen to out-of-the-mainstream musicians, we read out-of-the-mainstream authors, we watch offbeat movies. How the hell did we ever make it even as far as we did eating mainstream food?

Well, at least we finally got the food angle in line with the rest of our habits. And I am so glad we did.

Paleo: it fits our weird life really well.














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