Is it possible that pregnancy is just a ruse invented by women as an excuse for being über-pernickety about food? I’m beginning to think so.
You might as well know then, that my best beloved is currently in possession of a small concealed human. Yes, we’re very excited and all that, but those damn-it-to-Hamilton dietary restrictions are turning our lives upside down. Turning my life upside down anyway. She’s just happy if she can eat without sequels.
No, no I can’t possibly understand the perils of pregnancy for a woman. Quite right, so I won’t dwell on it any further. What I do understand is that most of my favourite foods are now off the menu. Now don’t think of me as totally self centred and unfeeling. I’m a very modern man. I voluntarily gave up alcohol from day one. It’s only fair really and judging by how quickly we got used to the absence of a glass or 3 from our evening routine, I don’t think alcoholism is going to be problem any time soon. Phew. In fact I’ve been getting an almost masochistic kick out of the whole self-denial thing.
However, the jarring withdrawal of Thai curries, rich pasta sauces, nasi goreng, pizza, Asian salads and other strident flavours has not been such a walk in the park. I’m really suffering here.
Apparently pregnant women very often crave ‘white foods’, and she of the bouncing foetus (literally- you should see the scan footage: I fear hyperactivity) is certainly performing to type with this one- salivating over the mere thought of white bread, steamed chicken, plain rice, porridge etc. But where’s the excitement? Where’s the colour? Where’s the soul? White food!
You see, while I have no trouble throwing together all the components of a Northern Italian long lunch, coming up with an intentionally innocuous menu has me largely stumped. It’s a bit like asking someone to picture nothingness. My brain starts to creak ominously and I end up harrumphing over yet another pot of boiled potatoes.
So I’d like to appeal to those of you who have been through this culinary celibacy carry-on and survived with your appetite and taste intact.
What does one feed a knocked–up loved one with a fragile constitution, while not giving in to 9 months of beige?