While on a low-carb diet, I have made friends with most of the diabetics that work at OSR. This week, I brought in low-carb creme brûlée and it started a discussion:

Me: So, how did you like the creme brûlée?
Diabetic Staff Member: It was great, and knowing it was low calorie made it even better.
Me: It’s not low calorie in any way.
Diabetic Staff Member: But you said it was good for diabetics.
Me: Yes, it has 3.4 grams of net carbohydrates. That’s pretty low compared to normal creme brûlée.
Diabetic Staff Member: How many calories were in it?
Me: About five hundred.
Diabetic Staff Member: Oh, I guess I shouldn’t have two in a day. It’s good to know it’s only 3.4 grams though. It’s hard to keep to my limit.
Me: What’s that?
Diabetic Staff Member: 200 grams a day.  What do you keep to?
Me: Twenty.

After emerging tied for victorious at today’s 5-Color event we went for Victory Food at a family-run Mexican food place where the foodstuffs were periodically labeled in English.  I’m still trying to figure out what huevos estrellados are as the term literally translates to star-shaped eggs but I think it may be non-fried fried eggs based on the Spanish Wikipedia article.  I was unsure of what to drink after the server told me the juices of the only three things I could identify as fruits were out when she offered me horchata.  I said sure and later got back a white liquid with ice in it served in what appeared to be a flower vase.  I placed my straw in, took a sip, and got punched in the tongue with Christmas.  I tasted like someone had made English pudding into a drink or possibly bottled Santa’s urine but it was sweet, nutmeggy and cinnamony.

I don’t usually drink sweet beverages except for the periodic milkshake and the sounds of my Islets of Langerhans yelling “incoming!” was probably audible to the other patrons.  Each sip tasted more and more like something served at a reading of A Christmas Carol and the sweetness intensified as I got further down.  I could feel my brain starting to slow down and apparently my speech did as I neared the bottom and my pancreas waved the white flag of defeat.  As I danced closer to a life depicted in Wilford Brimley commercials Bob Tait looks across the table at my wrecked state and asked the server for a tall cup of the stuff to go.

Afterword: I thought the server orignally said “we have rice milk or chata” not “we have rice milk horchata” so when a game mate asked what we had and I mentioned chata he picked that up as the name.  He left to get some.  Apparently chata is a derogatory term for someone who’s flat-chested.  I wonder what he got served.