Having finished the reasonably healthy and cheap home lunch I'd carried to work, I found myself with a little more time on my break and a little more need to munch in my head. The building newsstand, which I'd only ever just walked by, must have something to fit the bill, I thought. So, armed with a few dollars and a dream, off I went.
It turns out that the newsstand is better stocked than many places I
know that call themselves candy stores. Money in my fist, I gazed
longingly at the chocolate options. (Some days, chocolate is the only
thing that really counts as candy). I could have had almost any brand,
filled with almost any gooey yumminess I could imagine. But as I began
to reach, the calorie counts on the fronts of the packages started to
jump out at me. Should I choose a 260 calorie option because it offered a
little protein (even candy bar peanut butter has protein, right?), or a 210 calorie option because it had about 20 percent fewer calories? Should I choose something with lots of pieces, so that maybe I would just eat part now and save the rest for later, or would that require far more willpower than I could possibly have?
In the end, I walked away from all the chocolate--the protein and the
non-protein versions, the ones proclaiming their calorie counts on the
front, and those that made you work a little harder to check, the ones with the pieces, and the ones with the really cool wrappers. I opted
instead for a diet iced tea, bad for me, I'm sure, in all sorts of other
ways, but much more attractive in the calorie count column, and quite refreshing.
And then I went home after work and made blondies. And I made sure not
to read far enough down in the recipe to check the calories.