Tiny Pineapple

Einstein Bros. Bagels has jumped on the low-carb (or in this case, lower-carb) bandwagon with their new Lower Carb 9 Grain Bagel. I remember enough from my cellular biology classes that I’m not particularly worried about my carbohydrate consumption, but I was intrigued by the lower fat, the 25 grams of protein, and the 10 grams of fiber. So, I tried one the other day.

I must say I’m amazed. It’s hard to believe that the bagel only has 28 grams of Total Carbohydrates. I would have thought that sawdust and birdseed, which I presume are the two main ingredients, had more carbs than that. They must have achieved their lower carb numbers by leveraging the fact that humans can’t digest cellulose.

I do have one suggestion, however. To avoid possible litigation, Einstein Bros. might want to consider affixing a label to each bagel with the same warning found on containers of Metamucil:

WARNING: Taking this product without adequate fluid may cause it to swell and block your throat or esophagus and may cause choking. Do not take this product if you have difficulty swallowing.

Oh, Chex of Wheat. Oh, blessed Chex.
Oh, Atkins-shunned bowl of rapture.

Thy carbs are complex. Thy fiber, divine.
My tummy is full of your whole-grain goodness.

Like tiny, caramel-colored, corduroy, throw pillows
Lost in a sea of regret and skim milk.

I add two teaspoons of sugar.
It forms a sludge on the bottom.

While I eat, I read the box.
“CONTAINS WHEAT INGREDIENTS.”

So do I, my friend.
So do I.

I have become hopelessly addicted to Einstein Bros. Power Bagels (not toasted, thank you) with peanut butter and grape jelly (light on the peanut butter, please).

Those damn hand-held seductresses, with their sweet nectar oozing out the sides with each rapturous bite, have me in a grip from which I cannot escape. Their siren song compels me from my path each morning to indulge in their hearty, dense flesh, imbued with the sweetness of raisins and dried cranberries, a cinnamon bouquet redolent of Ceylon, and the piquant nuttiness of….well…nuts. I arrive at work late, reeking of peanut butter, trousers stained with large dollops of grape jelly, acting hyper-normal in hopes that my coworkers won’t notice anything abnormal about my abnormal behavior.

“What?” says a friend, as I pass. “Einstein’s again?”

I glance down at the 32 oz. Diet Coke (with lemon) in my hand, the cup emblazoned with the Einstein Bros. logo (two little men peering into my soul through bagel monocles). “Uh, yeah,” I fumble, trying furiously to think of something that might explain a normal person’s serial dining habits. “It’s, um, it’s right on my way to work…”

“Well, you must really like it,” he offers.

I smile the half-smile of a man who is no longer a part of this world. A man who has turned himself over, body and soul, to his wanton lust for tasty baked goods. Some may pity me, but this is a culinary prison from which I have no desire to be freed. If this is hell, I have no need for a heaven.

http://www.lileks.com/comics/coffnerv/coff1/index.html

“Screw You, You Jittery Bitch!” or “The Adventures of Mr. Coffee Nerves”