My passion for (CH₂O)n

How do I love carbs? Let me count the ways.

Foods containing carbohydrates—carbs, to those who know and love them—are the subject of mixed reviews. Although they are the bane of numerous diet plans, athletes rely on them to build energy stores. Like most foods, carbs should be consumed in moderation. That is sometimes difficult because, unlike perhaps more healthy choices like kale and quinoa, carbs taste so good. Foods with carbs were our rewards for good behavior and otherwise good eating habits. As in, “Finish your dinner if you want dessert.” And, “If you poop on the potty, you can have M&Ms.” You got a lollipop, not a stalk of celery, after the doctor gave you a shot. You grabbed for a piece of bubblegum, not a cheese stick, when you rode The Whip.

I was doomed from the start.

Per Wikipedia, my quick source for non-scientific, non-emergency, health-related explanations, a carbohydrate is a sugar or sugar derivative. The empirical chemical formula for the simplest carbohydrates is (CH₂O)n, representing a 1:2:1 ratio of carbon to hydrogen to oxygen. There is lengthy, informative published research on the structures and functions of the various types of carbohydrates. For my personal dietary and palate purposes, a carbohydrate is a food rich in starch like cereal, bread, and pasta and/or in sugars like snacks and desserts. The source of often empty calories.

How did my passion start?

Growing up, I was usually on my own at breakfast. My late-night loving mom was not an early riser. I remember enjoying Ralston hot cereal, which my mom would have had to prepare on the stove for me. But through elementary school, I usually ate my way through boxes of sweetened cereals like Sugar (now Honey. Less unhealthy-sounding?) Smacks and Cocoa Puffs with as little milk as possible. I also loved toast, buttered or with a smear of peanut butter. In junior high, one of our first home ec assignments was to make cinnamon toast, subsequently expanding my breakfast options. Around that time I started having hot tea with several teaspoons of sugar as part of my first meal of the day. And there were cold cuts on rye every Saturday for dinner and a bagel and smoked salmon for brunch every Sunday. Every meal a carb fest.

I walked home from elementary school for lunch to a sandwich of bologna (can’t spell it without singing the Oscar Mayer jingle in my head) or peanut butter and jelly or cream cheese and jelly on white bread. Sometimes my mom made grilled Velveeta cheese sandwiches on an electric griddle (one side flat, one side waffled. The latter never used). Wednesdays typically featured bananas cut up in sour cream and topped with lots of sugar, eaten quickly so the cleaning lady could work her magic in the kitchen. Lunch was accompanied by a glass of chocolate milk, although as mentioned in a previous blog, I often dumped it down the drain. The negatives of high-fructose corn syrup don’t hold a candle to the amount of starchy, sugary carbs I consumed.

My eating habits continued through junior high and high school, breakfast choices pretty much the same and lunches now purchased at school from sandwich and pasta options. My favorite school lunches included hoagies and that weird school cafeteria spaghetti with the clumps of baked cheese on top.

I don’t know if my mom perpetuated her mom’s teachings or the prescribed menus of the fifties and sixties. But dinner ALWAYS included a salad first, then a protein, a starch, and a vegetable, the last most commonly green and right out of the can. The starch was some form of potato or pasta, rarely rice. Rice was consumed mainly when we ate Chinese food. Naturally, this picky eater’s favorite dishes were the sides—spaghetti and Creamettes elbow macaroni (often just buttered and salted), mashed or sweet potatoes, and cinnamony kugel.

I snacked on candy and cookies. Rarely fruit, although I love(d) summer tree pickins and melons. Never nuts, unless I was at the shore and we’d been treated to a bag of warm Planter’s peanuts. I don’t recall at what age I became addicted to chips, but it was a hard fall. As a kid, I was a devotee of Wise potato chips and Dipsy Doodle corn chips. Both are still available. Per recent purchases, the former do not taste as I remember. The latter do.

I inherited a love of soft pretzels from my dad. I know consumer reporter Herb Denenberg had health in mind when he went after the soft pretzel vendors that frequented Roosevelt Boulevard. But few childhood joys compared to the times when Daddy pulled over to the median and held a few bucks out of the car window for a bag of those salty delights.

And then there was soda. Pepsi and Frank’s as a kid. Coke in the green deposit bottles once I was married. Liquid carb gold. And pretty much the only thing I drank, other than sweetened not (to this day iced) tea. I never could deal with the taste or the headaches that came with my drinking diet beverages. When I was in my forties and I finally decided to drink healthier—i.e., more water and seltzer (it turns out, I love the fizz of soda as much as the sweetness)—I lost 30 pounds. The weight loss could have been attributed to the fact I was fastidiously balancing fats and carbs. I was now eating salads and soups for lunch rather than hoagies for lunch. But I’m betting the numbers on the scale were the result of the calories saved by reducing my Coke intake to only one can per day.

My childhood bread options (the food I most associate with carbs) often were pretty plain fare. White, plain, or toasted. Oyster crackers at Fisher’s seafood restaurant. Saltines, sometimes buttered. Matzoh by the five-pound package. For the longest time, I never sampled healthier, varied grain options. But now that I mention it, were such options available? Did Wonder Bread come in a light or whole wheat variety? I didn’t like whole wheat or multigrain bread until fairly recently.

My eating habits followed me into my adult years, expanding by brand (Bruce introduced me to Charlie’s Chips in the big brown can) and by flavor (I went through a Doritos phase when our kids were young). Candy versus fruit. Cookies versus everything. The only change was that I attempt to limit portion size. Small bags of Lays. Two cookies. If I have bread at breakfast, I try to watch how much I eat the rest of the day, try being the operative word. If we are served Italian bread with dinner out, I often overdo. Not as much as Bruce though, who once consumed at entire loaf at a restaurant in Hoboken. I don’t serve bread with dinner at home, but if we are dining out, all bets are off.

When I became a mom, our babies’ first solid food was rice cereal prepared with formula. Then barley and mixed grains. Fruits were added (props to mashed bananas), and veggies and meats. But the cornerstone of those early meals in the heated, three-part dish was a carbohydrate. At least I wasn’t (yet) adding sugar. And later rarely had to. As our three aged out of babyhood, they tried crazily sweetened cereals but always came back to the non-sugary standards like Cheerios and Kix. They would reach for fruit as often as a sweet treat. I know. There’s sugar in fruit. But besides sugar and calories, at least there are vitamins.

Once the kids were eating the full assortment of Gerber products, I followed my mom’s protein, starch, vegetable dinner protocol until college. The kids developed their own preferences for what each food group constituted. They imposed their own dietary restrictions. No one liked dishes with cheese. Missy gradually became a vegetarian. Through their own devices, they became very healthy eaters. But as my cookie/pasta cabinet can attest, carbs survived their evolving palates. And it remains my favorite food group.

Thus, for obvious reasons, Thanksgiving is a pre-gift season gift. I make a Missy recipe for sweet potato casserole that she no longer eats because it provides WAY too many carbs. Missy also makes regular mashed potatoes for the non-sweet potato fans. I mush the two potato dishes on my plate, then try not to eat too many helpings, lest I not have room for her homemade bread and mandatory Linvilla pumpkin pie. Pure carboholic heaven.

With Bruce and I both in our seventh decade, we’ve tried to become more aware of how many carbs we consume. For a time, Bruce reduced his gluten intake, thinking it might help his perpetually troublesome knee. I still limit my Coke and cookie consumption. I try not to include a starch with EVERY dinner I make, but old habits die hard. And forgive me, but my body is so used to my age-old ways that adjusting my diet has had little to no impact on my lab numbers. I am who I am.

By far, the biggest carb lover in our family was Tatonka, a 105-pound Chesapeake Bay Retriever we rescued from our local shelter. He had all the attributes of your normal Chessie—wavy fur, weird smile, noisily gassy—plus a penchant for carbs. The only times he counter surfed involved a loaf of Italian bread and a sponge cake. And then there were soft pretzels. His usual drool would become a faucet at the sight of a brown paper bag from Bernie’s pretzels. Bruce could barely get in the door before Tonkie recognized what Bruce was carrying and the saliva bubbles would form. We swear that had we offered him a steak and a soft pretzel simultaneously, Tonkie would have claimed carb over tantalizing protein. And I’m with him. For me, it’s linguine over London broil any day, hands down.

The Great Tatonka of Edgewater (2005-2019). The king of soft pretzels and creator of puddles and rivers at the mere sight of a brown bag.