All y'all know who Jessica Simpson is, right? First she was some sort of country/pop singer, who became much more renowned for her first-marriage reality show, in which she was portrayed to be somewhat, um, dim.
Then she got really fit to play a part in a forgettable movie based on a 70s TV show and became a sex symbol.
Then she gained a little weight and took a lot of crap for it, especially after she performed in a pair of really unflattering jeans.
I must admit, though I had no previous like or dislike for Ms Simpson, I felt for her after that incident. As a fellow short and somewhat boobilicious person, I knew well that gaining just a wee few pounds can be the difference between looking great and looking unfortunately tubby for people like us, especially in photos or the wrong outfit or both.
Ms Simpson shrugged it off and went on to put her name on a line of shoes, many of which are very very cute, but which (alas) I shall never buy, since I refuse to buy celebrity-endorsed shit even if it's good. But look at the cute shoes, y'all.
And then she remarried and got knocked up (in one order or another). And then she started taking a lot more crap for, y'know, daring to gain weight whilst pregnant. And for admitting she wanted, and was eating, non-health food, like, say, buttered pop tarts.
Oh, the media firestorm that erupted over how excessively she gained weight and how unhealthy and OMG! dangerous for the baby her presumed horrible eating habits were, all commented on by a bunch of "experts" who were not, y'know, Ms Simpson's actual medical providers. On a recent Today show segment, Sarah Palin was the voice of reason re this. I don't mean to go political on you, boys and girls, but when Sarah Palin is the one person being reasonable in the room, things have definitely jumped the ol' shark.
But that's not what I want to talk about. No. What bemused me the most about this whole hooha is that in the many many comments on the various stories about this incident that I've read on the interwebs, there seemed to be two very distinct camps. There were the people who said, "Buttered fucking pop tarts, are you kidding me? Gross. That's something only an out-of-control pregnant woman would eat or want to eat." And there were the people who said, "Dude! That's how we always ate them when we were kids. Mmmmmm, now I want one." I myself took a much more neutral and Switzerland-like stance on the matter. Can't say I've ever before heard of buttering pop tarts, but on the other hand? Is there anything that isn't improved by the addition of butter? (Of course, my real stance on pop tarts is that in the cage fight death match of grocery store HFCS- and transfat-full breakfast pastries toaster strudels kick pop tarts' ass. Especially the ones with jam *and* cream cheese in them.)
But even more bemusing to me was this. In a resulting internet discussion of buttering pop tarts, a young woman mentioned that her mother buttered all their vegetables "including peas and carrots" and until she was in her late teens, she thought everyone else did too. My reaction? Wait, wut? Everyone doesn't?
I mean, not if the veggies in question have already been stir-fried. Or roasted in olive oil. Or are in a salad covered with balsamic vinegrette. Or are raw on a plate next to a cup of blue cheese dressing for dipping. Obviously. But eating steamed or boiled vegetables sans butter is something I last did in the late 80s when I was on one of those punitive lowfat 80s type diets that made me really stabby. Vegetables are not just a great source of micronutrients, people. They're a vehicle for meeting your fat macro. Damn. If Mother Nature had intended for me to eat green stuff plain, she'd have made me a cow. Or made cheese sauce less delicious. One of the two.
And you wonder why me n' Jessica need to worry about unflattering "fat" pictures. Yeah, yeah. But seriously...
Butter. It's good.
P.S. I'm tagging this post as food pr0n, but unfortunately I did NOT take a photo of last night's dinner veggies glistening in their .3 ounces of Kate's. Yes, I weigh it. No, you don't need to call the eating disorders clinic. Yet. I swear, I'm not around the bend.