These trips out of town are just not conducive to the local diet. I lasted till the kids had wings and yam fries and pizza at Earl’s, when the combination of hunger and weakness of conviction overpowered me. And the food was, well … delicious. It was zesty, and the relative newness of the salt was notable enough to surprisingly create an evening’s worth of thirst.
And for breakfast, I tried to delude myself into thinking that the eggs and sausages could be local. But again, the salt kept the truth not far from the surface. And since the cat was out of the bag, I tried coffee. It was surprisingly unrewarding and the taste rather alarming, so I soon reverted back to my cups of straight-up hot water, Zenning in the bestowed purification.
I thought there would be more guilt. And likely, had I “cheated” while in Dawson, there might have been cause for reflection, personal evaluation of self-worth and the like. But, travel presents a practical excuse for indulgences of this sort. Thank goodness for travel.
The kids were quick to indicate to me that dietary guilt was an imperceptible emotion for them, nowhere on the radar. And, of course, that is the way it should be. This is not so much a challenge; it is really only an exercise in discipline, designed to inspire thought and conversation, designed to promote the healthy benefits of regionalization, but designed also to teach us appreciation for an infrastructure that allows such diverse dietary options.