Goodbye to “Chubby”

Yes, goodbye to “chubby” and “full figured”. For quite some time now, I’ve just thought of myself as, well, portly.  It’s a nicer way of slightly more than my ideal weight.  A comedian once remarked years ago, “I’m not overweight, I’m just short.  For my weight, I should be 11 feet tall.”  Here all this time, I thought that quality eating – as in “healthy appetite” – coupled with an irregular, one might say sporadic, exercise regimen was to blame.  Nay, nay. If television commercials are to be believed, and I have no reason to believe that folks in advertising would deliberately mislead us, I’m a victim of “insulin resistance”.  Yes (arm thrusting skyward)!  Now a dignified, professional condition for why my middle section has been, shall we say, out of proportion to the rest of me.  

My father once told that he was chatting with a business acquaintance one day.  He declined something to eat, citing that he was “keeping an eye on his waistline”.  The person to whom he was conversing, responded that it was good because “it was out where he could get a good look at it.”   There was a time in which a bit of padding was a mark of health and prosperity.  Of course, that was before we knew anything about balanced nutrition, but no matter.  Peter Paul Rubens was one of the first to document insulin resistance in his paintings.  He made it admirable, desirable, pleasurable. In fact, the term, “Rubenesque” really means “packed with insulin resistance”. 

Many of us suffer from “insulin resistance”.  As the commercial explains, that’s a condition of significant complexity in which fat cells get trapped beneath the skin and right next door to our insides.  There’s a graphic and everything, so we really truly can visualize that pink layer of chubbiness.  Apparently, there’s a program, or a medical treatment, or some type of process to alleviate this condition.  That’s great, although I’m not really sure what it is because I zoned out after hearing the new jargon and didn’t pay much attention after seeing the picture.  

Years ago, I was working on a series of health seminars which, sadly never really caught on.  They included Cholesterol Can Be Your Friend.   That was in the days when we were exploring “good” and “bad”.  I was an early champion of good cholesterol, although I wasn’t entirely sure of the difference, so that somewhat hampered my ability to fully explore the subject.  

Chocolate:  The New Peak on the Food Pyramid was another of my bold innovations.  It made perfect sense, based on the medicinal qualities of chocolate in each of the Harry Potter books. Madame Pomfrey was always administering chocolate for even the severest of injuries, so it must truly be good for anything from headaches to broken bones.  I personally believe that dark chocolate is much more satisfying as well as healing, and I certainly can’t believe that something go healthy could possibly cause “insulin resistance”.  

Coffee is a bit of a switch hitter in terms of health.  Occasionally some misguided soul comes out with research suggesting that too much coffee isn’t good for you.  Fortunately, it’s usually followed up a few years later by an equally scholarly report that it’s full of useful nutrients and minerals.  So, in truth it’s really like the kale of hot beverages, only it tastes much, much better.  Lady Peacock and I have had professional discussions about additives.  I use fat free half and half, which gives the effect of cream but without the poundage production.  Lady Peacock, whose entire life is devoted to the discerning and consumption of dairy products, can’t abide half and half.  She therefore uses light cream to maintain her form and figure.  Sometimes, she’s been known to deviate from her normal regimen.  Here, I refer the reader to past writings, notably “Skim milk, Extra Whipped Cream” – an essay on the delicate balance that makes up Lady Peacock’s relentless pursuit of weight loss, and is based on an overheard drive-up order at Starbucks.  

There was a time when meats, in particular red meats, were significant signs of a healthy, protein-filled diet.  Then, these too were victims of the vegan revolution.  A dual effect has been fields and barns of cows and sheep sipping champagne in celebration, along with a rapid price increase in for beef and lamb, which now rival gold and silver, ounce for ounce.  We’re now loading up on fish and chicken, which remain tasty but they’re not . . . . . My daughter took me one Father’s Day to a wine shop for a tasting in DC, when she lived there.  One of the store owners was giving a private, preferential tour to, I’d guess, a favored customer.  I tried not eavesdrop, but I did hear the comment, as he pointed to something, “I find this pairs well with wild boar.”  Really, that’s a solution to the problem I’ve long had when serving wild boar.  That and the fact that you almost never see it in the supermarket.  I found that I’d have to shoulder my trusty musket and head into a remote badland to find a wild boar, and then you have to drag the darned thing back to the car once found and subdued.  But perhaps I should reconsider, which brings us to . . . .

Wine.  This could be a cause of my insulin resistance, but I can’t think how.  I’ve seen any number of documentaries of villagers in remote parts of France or Chile that live to about a hundred and fifty. They drink wine by the barrel and food with rich, thick sauces.  Most of them are pole beans and weigh no more than eighty-five pounds.  How does this happen?  Why does insulin resistance completely pass them by?  We do know that red wine is very healthy, something about tannins or proteins, or something like that. I stopped paying attention after they confirmed that they live forever, and the wine is their magical secret.  That’s why I do my bit, consuming a couple of bottles a week.  It so far hasn’t done for me what it does for the villagers in the waistline department, but it improves my overall disposition immeasurably.  

As a society, I think we have a lot of renaming to do.  Anything that refers to “Plus Sizes” should now start switching to phrases like “Insulin Resistance Suffers”.  That men’s catalog, “Big and Tall” could become “Tall and Insulin Resistant”, or better still, “Tall But Not Tall Enough”.  I will from now on feel less guilty watching those energetic folks on exercise equipment, perspiring profusely and sipping from their designer water bottles.  I can laugh in the face of those frozen meals with names like Skinny Minnie and Petit Portions, that give you ten molecules of meat and a teaspoon or two of vegetables.  My line of frozen dinners will be called “Porky Barbeque” or “Waist Stretchers”.  If they contribute to certain amount of insulin resistance, we’ll bring back the dignity of rounded curves.

So, to all the layers that are fighting to get out and probably won’t, I say “relax”.   Be regal. Henry VIII was one of us. Carry yourself with dignity and worthy of respect.  To all of the insulin resistance sufferers around the world, our time is coming.