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CP: You are publicly moderate. When you and I eat at a restaurant, the shared dessert is generally split not 50-50, but 90-10.
RN: My sugar shame is largely private, true. I wish my cravings ran toward salt, but when it comes to the Solomonic choice between popcorn or candy at the multiplex, I’ll go for the Junior Mints, every time.
CP: Perhaps kettle corn achieves its status as a near-perfect foodstuff by blending all three bad-for-you ingredients in some kind of Golden Proportion.
RN: Edible evil, that’s what that is.
CP: Who I hate is my friend Mark, who seems perfectly content on a daily basis with a bit of salmon and some scantily dressed arugula. What’s missing? I dunno, an iced brownie?
RN: Then there’s my Robert, who actually enjoys eating oatmeal. I can barely glance at a box of Quaker Oats without my mind immediately going to cream and brown sugar, hardly a heart-healthy impulse.
CP: All of the known porridges fall in that in-between world of not really food but not quite mineral, either.
RN: I know, let’s make oatmeal cookies, with raisins. They’re a fruit, right? I’m feeling virtuous already.
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