Diakon Farts

Greetings from the most magical macrobiotic mountain in Massachusetts. (It’s not a mountain, but for all you know it is a mountain so we’ll just go with mountain for the sake of the ancient art of alliteration.) Tonight’s dinner was so fantastically majestically delicious that I wanted to run to the top of the mountain and declare, at the top of my lungs, my unwavering love for every morsel consumed. And then I very well could have made a commercial even worse than that homophobic Jack in the Box commercial where the dude marries bacon. “No Mom, it’s not a man….and it’s not bacon, either. It’s brown rice. and nishime veggies. and steamed fish. and diakon and leek soup.”

The food is so0ooo….ooooooo good. I hope to absorb as much as I can while I’m here, and when I climb down from the mountain and return to the outside world, I’ll be cooking as much as I can for all the world and universe and myself.

Dear Sugar, I’m done with you! What a sham, you are. Absolutely empty calories that do nothing more than give me a fleeting moment of pleasure that fizzles to yuckiness.  How dare you toy with my heart. I deserve better.

I’ll save you from the rest of my conspiracy theory rant for now, but here’s someone else’s. A few days a week we have dessert, made with natural sweeteners, and they’re always so ridiculously delicious you would never in a second think you’re missing out.

That’s the biggest thing about this place, about the food here. It’s real food, it’s whole food, it tastes absolutely amazing amazing in such a deeply satisfying and nourishing way, that you’d never even think about the things that it doesn’t contain (ie meat and dairy).

I feel like I could go on for another 500 miles, but my battery is down to 7%, and my roommate is trying to sleep, and my eyes are trying to sleep too.

Love,

tortortor

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