With at least one notable and odious exception—and yes, I’m looking at you, Brussels sprouts—I’ve recently become a big fan of spherical food. It’s really quite a masterful design. I mean, would an apple, orange, or grape possess such a captivating and whimsical allure if it was shaped like an octagon, hexagon, or parallelogram? Would anyone dare eat a tomato formed with rhombus characteristics? As Shakespeare once meant to say, “Would a doughnut hole by any other architectural configuration taste as sweet?”
I think not.
Most of my favorite spherical foods traditionally come in ball form—meatballs, popcorn balls, peanut M&Ms, etc.—and fulfill three of the four basic food groups (sugar, salt, and fat … I think the fourth one is gravy). I admit that I’ve been deceived by Ball Park Franks on occasion, but forgive the transgression. I cannot fault a delicious, cylindrical food because of its lofty aspiration to join the hallowed fraternity of roundness.
My only problem these days is that, under penalty of an ultimely demise, I’m not allowed to eat any of those.
Thanks to some heart surgery last September, my ticker is now the proud owner of a couple of shiny, new stents, and I’m on a highly restrictive diet. My cardiologist provided me with loads of information regarding lifestyle, diet, and exercise—things that should hopefully keep me from meeting my maker anytime soon. I won’t bore you with details, and if I’m being totally honest, my mind shut down when he started extolling the virtues of “leafy greens.” The Reader’s Digest condensed version of his directives boiled down to this: I’m not permitted to eat anything that’s fun.
Triangular foods are out, meaning my days of downing pepperoni-laden slices of pizza and giant wedges of cherry cheesecake are but a cherished memory. Square foods are forbidden, meaning no more super-fudge brownies or heaping slabs of sausage- enhanced, mozzarella-laden lasagna.
I don’t think any offerings from the good Kentucky colonel have a discernible shape, but it doesn’t matter since I’m forced to wear an ankle monitor that alerts the authorities if I come within 100 feet of a deep fryer.
So, essentially, I’m relegated back to our old friend, Mr. Spherical Foods. I can have grapes, apples, oranges, beans, and tomatoes. I can have pears, and lemons, and melons. In moderation, I can have nuts. In other words, my diet is roughly that of a parrot, minus the stupid crackers so often demanded by Polly because they’re full of salt.
Thus, you can imagine my excitement when I heard that there was a new player in town, a recent addition to the litany of circular comestibles. I rushed to the store and scoured the aisles. Sadly, my fevered elation was short-lived. To my chagrin, I learned that there is no such animal as a fermented cucumber of elliptical mien.
Discovering that a pickleball is not something you can eat was almost too much to bear.
But, being nothing if not a realist, I’ve been forced to accept that my life has changed. There are certain things I can no longer do, and multiple things I can no longer eat. The truth of the matter is that, if I want to stay in shape, I have to avoid eating certain shapes. I thought I had found a loophole with Ovaltine.
Nope. It’s on the bad list, too.
This column was originally published in the May 2024 edition of Missouri Life.
