Because really, doesn’t it seem extreme to be counting everything so minutely? Pieces of lettuce, noodles, rice, chicken wings…. counting, counting, counting.
Oh – the frustration! Why count? Why?
WHY? Because it does count. I’m not just a freak about chicken. Really.
We are home chefs – aren’t we? Whether male or female, cooking for a dozen kids or one new husband, we care about what we cook – don’t we? And there’s good reason for caring, we’re fueling life itself. Are we going to put crappy, nasty, cheap fuel into those we care for and feed? Say it with me, No.
And we’re not just counting calories or pennies, we’re counting nutrition and time and effort – we are counting life, every meal we make and eat represents a part of our one, wild and free life. I want these chicken meals to be worth something for my family, even though we are small and new and still figuring out who likes butter and who likes olive oil. I want to be thrifty, and cunning, matching my kitchen wit against the debit card and clock and ceaseless tide of Bad Food, as much as I can, with the best results I can afford.
Because it means something to me. That’s why. I don’t want to take food for granted, ever, but always be a wise steward of the things I have the privilege to count.