My not insubstantial girth will attest to the fact that I am rather a fan of the carbohydrate. The vast majority of my meals contain carbs, some are entirely based around the potato/pasta/bread/rice element and I feel rather short-changed if there are no carbs involved …either that or I begin polishing my halo, believing I will instantly shed pounds right and left, and join the healthy, healthy, healthy brigade who can tell you difference between simple and complex carbohydrates and exactly how much of each element is contained in any food presented to them.
Such health kicks only tend to last about 10 minutes with me though – they’re rather dull and require far too much concentration. Not to mention the fact that they frown upon the potato, and I don’t take kindly to people dissing my friends. Yes – I just called potatoes friends. And I care not a jot that I am perpetuating a paddy stereotype because I LOVE potatoes, in all forms, and I don’t care who knows it. I have been known to order a dish in a restaurant based on the kind of potatoes it comes with. Yes, I might really fancy the lamb with rosemary and redcurrant jus (jus: fancy-pants for sauce), but with couscous? I think not.
Quite aside from my love of potato (in all forms; mashed, baked, roast, chipped – I love them all! *ahem*, and calm…) people who don’t eat carbs seem to be quite pissed off a lot of the time. You know the types – the ones with mouths like cat’s arses, miserable eyes and a general air of tension about them. I always think they could do with a nice thick sandwich, a buttery baked potato or a plate of saucy pasta to pick the mood and energy levels up a little. They’re definitely lacking something in their lives – and I reckon it’s either carbs they need or, as my friend Al would say; ‘a good hard sh@g!’