You may as well know it, I'm on the slow-carb diet. The last year of glorious excess has been a blast, and I don't regret a single macaroon or triple pudding pie that went down my gullet. And I'm sure many of you thought along the way, what is the Bakery Babe's secret for staying healthy and slender whilst having daily treats fit for Buckingham Palace? The answer? The Babe's tush covers a lot of territory! And while that's never bothered me before, I'm starting to think about being a wee bit healthier. I know many of you fierce and awesome foodie bloggers out there run marathons in order to make up for all the fab food you eat. But the Babe is not putting on her jogging shoes unless Johnny Depp shows up in trainers on my doorstep and asks if I'd like to take a run with him. So, what's left? A diet. And I didn't pick just any diet. I picked the Queen Mary of diets. The Four Hour Body's slow-carb diet. Which pretty much means eating protein, vegetables, and beans. No more glorious piles of whipped cream on top of blackberry teacakes. No more icecream piled high as a beehive on top of warm apple pie. No more midnight runs on the oreo bag. And nix on that half cup of half n' half that normally goes in the coffee. Sigh.
So where is the solace for the slow-carb Bakery Babe? It's called Saturday. One day a week, the diet recommends glutonously and unabashedly feasting on anything and everything I want, in any quantity. There's scientific reasons for this that involves the metabolism, but I didn't make it past that first sentence informing me that Victorian sponge cake, caramels, and chocolate brownies can be consumed, en masse, on that one day a week. Indeed, why do you think I picked the diet?
So, let us not fear that the Bakery Babe will be blogging about celery parfait or turkey doughnuts anytime soon. Once a week, I intend to fit quite a few bakeries onto the menu, continuing with my wanton trail of sweet crumbs that wind around the entirety of Boston.
But should you hear me weeping during the weekdays about the lack of triple frosty blizzard bombs and deep-fried cupcakes, don't be alarmed, they're just the salty tears of a Babe who is down-sizing, big time.