How an Italian and a Plate of Carbonara Ruined My Diet and Saved My Life
Boy meets girl, he hands her a plate of carbonara, and she is never the same again...
Less than two years ago, an Italian man, who is now my husband, made me try my first plate of carbonara. And my life has never been the same.
This is a tale of boy meets girl, boy eats a predominantly carbohydrate-heavy diet, and girl has no choice but to surrender.
But first, let’s rewind a little…
I’ve spent a good deal of my 20s, and potentially half of my 30s, obsessing about my health. I became a vegetarian somewhere in my early 20s when one of my colleagues, who was neither a doctor nor a board-certified nutritionist, casually informed me over lunch about the dangers of ingesting antibiotics in meat. I significantly reduced my alcohol consumption after I found out alcohol destroys collagen. And, of course, I said goodbye to dairy because, well, why not?
Around this time, I also befriended a group of people who shared my obsession with health. We met over brunch to discuss the long list of supplements we were taking to counter various ailments we thought we had: turmeric to fight inflammation and Q10 to prevent cellular decay.
I wasn’t bothered when one of these friends insisted on having dinner before 5 pm to avoid disrupting their sleep schedule during our summer trip to Crete. A book about sleep was trending at the time, and apparently, they were determined not to eat five hours before bedtime.
Similarly, I did not think it was peculiar when a friend, a few months later, sent over her wish list of ingredients designed not to spike her glucose levels for a dinner I was hosting. To be honest with you all, my role in our friendship, reduced to taking orders like a dutiful waitress so as not to flare up her acne, did not fully align with my vision of people in healthy, happy friendships.
Amidst this peculiar camaraderie, I had a lingering thought: Was I genuinely enjoying my time with these people? Did we actually have anything in common?
As I obsessively planned my health, I repeatedly reassured myself that living this way was healthy. So, I added the ashwagandha for the stress, I did the extra yoga sessions to slow down my nervous system, and I posted more Instagram pictures of my healthy food arrangements.
At the age of 36, when I was complimented for looking “very young for my age” due to my soft, acne-free skin, I gave myself an imaginary high-five, totally ignoring my vanity.
In reality, all this planning and optimizing around my health was incredibly tiresome, and it made my social interactions insufferable.
At the height of my health obsession, as I was looking for a way out, I met an Italian. To be more precise, I met a southern Italian man, who is now my husband.
My southern Italian sweetheart woke up every day excited to devour a cornetto al pistacchio, which is a sweet croissant (sorry, Italians!) filled with silky, sugary pistachio cream and a sugar glaze on top.
Several times a week, at odd hours of the night, he asked affectionately, "My love, do you want to get gelato?"
As I watched him engage in what I can only describe as “a hundred different ways to eat carbohydrates,” I intervened in his dietary habits with the seriousness of someone trying to prevent a nuclear war.
He, to my surprise, took no offense but instead responded with his usual charm, saying, "Amore mio, it's just a cornetto. Do you want to try?"
Like almost anything in life, this intervention —in the form an Italian— came as a blessing and precisely at the right moment. His profoundly in-the-moment lifestyle came like a wrecking ball, crashing my obsessively planned and meticulously curated routines like a house of cards.
I became forever changed when, on a fresh, beautiful December evening, he took me to Maccheroni in Rome and made me try my first-ever plate of carbonara. As I started circling the spaghetti with my fork, capturing the creamy pecorino, and took a bite to feel the buttery guanciale and fiery black pepper, I literally felt like my entire life flashed before my eyes. A little voice in my head described to me what I would be giving up in the long-term if I continued to trade pasta for quinoa.
As I gradually let go of my obsessive need to control my food, I also developed a more intuitive relationship with my body. I started approaching food, exercise, and sleep with curiosity rather than fear, and eventually stopped seeing them as things that needed to be controlled and instead as things to be enjoyed.
I wonder, as I look at my body now, a few kilos heavier than when I was knee-deep in my obsession, am I truly less healthy? I don’t believe so. Yes, I have more sunspots, and the wrinkles around my eyes make me look more like a late 30-something-year-old. But more than ever, I am truly present for my life because I have the mental space to be so.
Some mornings, I even indulge in a cornetto al pistacchio.
How lovely! I remember the first time I made carbonara. It’s such a good dish and I love pistachio gelato. I always have had the most WTF “meet cute” stories and it’s like okay…we have the real version of things aaaaand the one we tell people. Haha
I relate so much to what you wrote the whole health hustle. Also I have tried countless Carbonara pasta and the best ones are in the Rome region.