I try to eat on the healthy side. The restaurant I manage focuses on healthy food, I'm a geek for a good farmer's market (Union Square!), and I prefer home cooking to eating out when I have the time/energy/will. Beer is really my only vice (ignore gummi bears). It is the only thing in my diet with little to no nutritional value . . . *cue dramatic music* . . . or so I thought.
New research is suggesting that a chemical found in hops radically reduces the risk of prostate and breast cancers. The news is that now, sitting around drinking, say, a cool pint of Goose Island IPA could be benefiting my health. The non-news is that this research was conducted in Germany. Hmmm . . . .
I envision a beautiful, brilliant future when I can come home to a house full of my girlfriend and her friends all sitting around chatting.
"Hi honey, I'm home," I'll say, placing my walking stick in its holder and preparing my monocle for the eve's viewing. "Oh no. I thought tonight was going to be just us sweetie-kins."
"But the girls wanted to come over," she'll say. "We will stay out of your hair. Promise. We know how hard it is to be the owner of New York City's most popular restaurant, not to mention a philanthropist and dashing raconteur."
"Okay. As long as I can have a Stone Double Bastard."
As the women gasp in horror at my excessive drinking and coarse language, a calm expression will cross my girlfriend's face.
"Oh Allen," she'll say with a wave of her hand. "What a health nut."
"Hahahahahaha," we'll all laugh. "Hahahahahahahaha."