I’m dreaming a lot right now, during my Whole30. My dreams are filled with reinventions of my best food memories, like the time I drank icy, freshly-whipped Pisco sours (a cocktail made of Peruvian pisco liquor, foamy egg whites, lemon juice and bitters) while watching the sun set on the Peruvian coastline. As the yolk-colored sun dipped itself toward the ocean, I, too, dipped tortilla chips, hot from the fryer, into an icy bath of ceviche. The ceviche was made of just-caught fish bathing in lime, salt and cilantro. I was 21 years old at the time, and I remember feeling like such a grownup. All wrapped up in each crunchy cool bite of ceviche was my future, and I was full of possibility and hope and invincibility.
As soon as I wake up from these sunny dreams of glorious food and better times, I realize what I’m actually doing these days, and I get a serious case of the sads. For those of you just tuning in, I’m halfway through a Whole30, which is a “clean eating” program that prohibits consuming processed grains, dairy, beans (including soy) and processed sugar for 30 days. I’m doing Whole30 to increase my energy levels, to kick start myself back into a healthier lifestyle and to make sure I don’t die in a vat of cheese fondue. My heart clearly wants to go back to that happy place with the cocktails and the beach and the chips, but my brain knows better.