I tried to think of how to include a photo for this post - a nice snapshot of me drooling and snarling at the refrigerator, perhaps? Black and white food porn of the object of my desire? Perhaps just a simple, tasteful pic of the size 16 pants I'm going to have to wear if I don't get it under control over here?* But no. If for no other reason than I don't want to get drool on the camera, I'll stick to words this time. Here's the cold truth of it:
I've got a fever, baby, and the only prescription is...pepperoni.
Holy mother of pizza toppings, that stuff is good! I hadn't eaten pepperoni since probably 1993, when I gave up red meat. I started eating a little pork and beef when we moved to Japan so that I wouldn't get sick or miss out on cultural experiences like gyoza and ramen. Anthony Bourdain put me over the edge with this video, which I've linked to before:
I know the video quality is bad, but the audio works.
Still, I hadn't had pepperoni. Not until Saturday night when I went to a party where there was a cheese tray, with two beautiful little lines of red discs, just calling to me. Since then I've bought a fourteen ounce package from the commissary, eaten half of them cold out of the bag, and I'm saving (most of) the rest for pizza tomorrow night.
I'm pretty sure pepperoni, at least the commercial variety I've found, is an EFS, but honey, I don't care. I'm off to sprinkle some on my cereal.
*Just for the record, I'm not hating on people who are bigger than me. I think we can all agree that going up to a size 16 because of unhinged pepperoni consumption would be a bad move, can't we?
UPDATE: Having eaten my animal-fat quotient for the day, I made a bulgur salad for lunch. I think my heart is beating again - thanks, Smitten Kitchen.