Vegan Rainman

I am kind of the non-awesome version of Rainman: I can't tally up the thousands of matches I just dropped on the floor within three seconds of them landing. But my brain is constantly working its way around some weird food-math in my head each time I eat.

For example: when I eat a toasted bagel, one half gets just butter, and the other gets peanut butter and butter. The peanut butter one > in awesome tastiness than the butter one, so it gets eaten last. Not only does it get eaten last, the final bite of said peanut butter half must be the bite that seems to have the most deliciously decadent mix of melty margarine and melty peanut butter. So most of the consumption of the pb side of the bagel also entails some navigating and exploring and trying to identify which should be the glorious last bite. All of which turns the bagel into not just an enjoyable meal but a mission.

Pretty much any other dish undergoes the same mathematics. If I have two or more items on my dish, I spend most of the meal assessing which is the more amazing of the two. Whichever it is gets carefully chosen to be the last bite to enter my mouth before the plate is cleared. The only exception to the rule: if I'm going out in public after dinner and the more delicious of the two foods is the stinkier of the two foods (i.e. something wickedly garlicky) then the less stinky > than the stinky and is eaten last.

Other weird food math: You don't buy a salad as your entree when out for dinner. Granted, I'm not a salad enthusiast, so that's part of this algorithm. But more importantly: leaves of green in a bowl with toppings thrown on it should NEVER cost $9. Maybe that's not so much math as principle though. And generalized Lindy Loo cheapness.

Similarly: smoothies are not a food and DEFINITELY not a meal because you cannot chew them. That's not really math, but it's still a fairly steadfast food principle of mine.

Pizza is also part of my weird food-math:

Normally I make a pizza crust from [the book whose name I don't feel like looking up and always forget], mainly because I can refrigerate or freeze half of it and use it on a later date. The current half? Well, I pretty much dough it out into the biggest crust I can possibly fit on my pizza stone. Not because it tastes awesomer that way but because in my head, why would I make a tiny thick pizza when I could make a huge-ass thin pizza? I mean, it's all the same amount of crust, I know this, but knocking back 4 enormous slices for a meal instead of two thick chode slices seems like I'm doing a lot more eating is what I'm saying.

So THIS was a rarity:



Deep dish pizza. I mostly just wanted to try making one, thinking that somehow I would realize my pizza math was skewed and in reality, the deep dish math actually IS awesomer. But the truth is: it's not. At least not at home. 'Cause it just doesn't taste kick-ass the way a deep-dish in Chicago would, you know? And eating only two pieces as half of the pizza just seems anticlimactic.

Thus, Rainman sayeth: the truth still remains--the larger the pizza, the better for my belly.

Also, half of you are probably itching to call me OCD right now, but I assure you: it's not true. *Washing my hands over and over to cleanse them from the thought*