The Tummier the Yummier

PEANUT BUTTER!

No, Carl. Restrain yourself. You don’t have much left.

PEANUT BUTTER!

Ugh. Really? Again? It’s 8 am. And you ate two dollops right before bed last night. Is there anything else you’d like for breakfast?

CHEESE!

You don’t have any cheese in the house. Cheese here is either bad or expensive. Try again.

OLIVES!

For breakfast? Ugh. Fine.

WITH PEANUT BUTTER!!!

For some reason I’ve never had much of a sweet tooth. Fats, salts and proteins have always possessed a much stronger pull. Don’t get me wrong, I love all things ice cream and dark chocolate. But I don’t often find myself craving even them. Fat, on the other hand, always sounds delicious. Bacon? Yes please! Avocados on everything? Sounds great, preferably also smothered in olive oil… (I have yet to find pork bacon or a decent avocado in this country…) My favorite Mauritanian food was “backfat,” literally: the extra tender fat from around the spine of an animal, lightly toasted over a very sketchy tire-fire. And in the winter, I crave extra fat: likely my body’s attempt to stay warm.

Now, I’ve done winters. I don't miss them at all. I grew up in Wisconsin and went to school in Iowa. Last year I lived in Chicago and Minneapolis. Sure, snow and Christmas are great. But frigid blasts sweeping across Lake Michigan and fingering through the streets of Chi-town will ruin any holiday spirit. Waiting for the bus at 46th St and Bryant Ave S, in a foot of snow, became especially grueling when the bus was running late. Conversely, here, people started whipping out thick coats when the temperature dropped into the 60’s. Last week it slipped into the upper 40’s overnight, and people freaked out. Our Arabic teacher now looks like an Eskimo. All things considered, winters here are great.

That said, I’m often cold. The insulation in most buildings is painfully lacking. The windows and doors in our apartment don’t even form an airtight seal when they’re closed. And the only real heater in our place is in Nick’s room (jealous.) so our common room often resembles a refrigerator by nightfall. (No worries Mom, I bought a small space heater for my room so I don't freeze overnight, but I'm scared it will start a fire, so I tearfully unplug it before falling asleep.) While I can’t complain about the weather outside hovering in the 50’s most days, it sucks feeling constantly chilled. There’s no way to get warm. I have taken to scalding showers, but the icy world outside the bathroom brings me right back to winter in Egypt. My body isn’t happy. So, my cravings have gone hyperactive.

This new wave of cravings is note-worthy due to its intensity. I’ve always been a pretty big eater. As I child, I shopped in the “hefty” section at Kohl’s. In Mauritania I earned the nickname “trash man” (shout out to my fellow trash ma’am, Lindsay Hansen, who coined the term) for my uncanny ability to finish everyone else’s food. At Best Buy, I won an eating contest by consuming three 14” medium-crust pizzas in one sitting. But the cravings these past few weeks have been embarrassingly prominent. And constant. If I find out that, after having eaten already, Nick hasn’t eaten dinner yet… then yeah, I’d love to eat again! Two hours since second-supper? Sounds like time for a nightcap of the fattiest thing I can locate. And when I amble out of my bedroom in the morning, my first stop is our (nearly empty) fridge and (equally barren) cupboards. After teaching for an hour or two, I’m pretty sure it’s time for lunch. At lunch, I stop myself after consuming a larger-than-normal portion, even though I’m not full. And then I begin snacking. Repeat 5 times. Veg on the weekends. And there you have it: a typical week. I doubt I’ll be losing 35 pounds this stay in the Sahara.