By the way, my poop is great. Typically my gut health is, I’d say, above average. (Always a great opening line when meeting new people.) But, on the broth diet, I haven’t had any stomach aches, and feel the opposite of bloated—I feel lean.
While out at drinks with friends, the first words out of my obnoxious mouth are, “I’m on a bone broth diet!” so my friend asks the waiter if they happen to serve bone broth. The waiter: “What?” My friend: “Bone broth.” The puzzled waiter: “No, I’m sorry, we don’t have…that.”
For dinner, I have a beef burger with guacamole in a collard green wrap. I asked my friend if she thinks I could eat a “sprouted bun.” No, she says.
I get home at 11 p.m. and remember I have to drink another 20 ounces, but I can’t stomach another simmer, so I reach for a mango smoothie recipe made of partially frozen chicken bone broth and mango. The mango nearly doubles the serving size, so I drink an entire blenderful of cool broth while watching the Olympics.
I think of the athletes, these young people who work so hard to achieve their dreams. I think about how silly this is—whining about drinking broth in an attempt to make myself healthier. Of course I can do this. I can do anything.
Day 5
My Olympics high turns into an Olympic-sized broth hangover, although I think of the actual hangover I would have had if I wasn't on the cleanse, and realize my mental clarity is actually kinda sharp at the moment. Huh.
I eat more vegetables, eggs, steak for breakfast, and put off the broth until lunch, then put it off after that. The defrost, simmer, and chug drill is wearing thin. After coming home from the theater, I eat spoonfuls of almond butter and squeeze some lemon into my ninth serving of chicken broth. Game-changer! The acidity cuts the flavor, and it tastes like an entirely new meal. I eat a four-minute egg and a sweet potato. I miss chewing.
A few hours later, I drink the beef broth.
I can’t wait to burn this mug.
Day 6
Body check: I am very tired. Somehow I thought the 50 or so grams of protein from this broth would give me energy, then I remember: energy comes from carbs.
So much almond butter. I make that sweet Italian sausage that’s been sitting my freezer since summer, and some beef broth, warmed. The taste is much more tolerable now—it’s just repetitive. I snack on more coconut pieces and some fruit, which tastes sweeter than a cream puff at a county fair.
Day 7
Breakfast is chicken broth with a million squeezes of lemon. I’ve turned into a very cranky carnivore. For dinner, I meet my friend at a diner and dream of pancakes. Instead I order the Popeye Salad, a bowl heaping with spinach, olives, artichoke hearts, and grilled chicken. Again, I am nourished by healthy food. Again, I am sad.
