Yesterday, my friends on facebook were amused when I announced I had eaten 7 bananas in quick succession. My inspiration? This youtube video I came across featuring “banana girl” Freelee, in my search for a raw cake recipe. I saw her taut midriff and her protruding hipbones and I thought, I’ll get me some of that. For those who’ve never heard of raw cuisine, its cuisine based entirely on uncooked produce, most commonly vegetables and fruit, but also incorporating seeds and in some cases, meat.
It didn’t take too much searching for me to stumble across “banana girl’s” boyfriend, Harley aka “banana boy.” They are both named thus because of their unusually high consumption of the tropical fruit and their fruitarian lifestyle advocacy activities; in addition to running website “30 Bananas a Day” and peppering youtube with fruit-based recipes, vegan diet and lifestyle tips, the Australian-based duo also give talks over in the States.
If my one attempt at fruitarianism has taught me anything, is that a diet based on consuming only fruit, and only one fruit-type at a time, is definitely not for me. I have no idea how “banana girl” and “banana boy” stomach it – actually I do, they both like bananas – but I was practically gagging by the time I finished my sixth banana.
I felt full, slightly queasy, and would rather chew on my thumb than down the eighth piece. I looked at the remaining bananas I had bought at $3.40 per kilo from Coles for this exercise and wish I had bought apples instead. Delectably sweet, crunchy Fuji apples.
I reported my findings to my good friend Tania who I saw for dinner and she chuckled. Since I have known her, I have been a vegan, a vegetarian, a raging carnivore rebounding from all the vegetables, who occasionally scoffs down paw paw salad meal after meal. Whenever I announce my new diet plans to her, she regards me the way an adult does a child who says that the dinner table is now a shop and the couch is the restaurant. She knows I am serious about finding a meal plan that will allow me to eat as much as I want and lose weight but she also knows I love food too much for this to work.
“But you’re already slim!” most of my friends in real life tell me.
“Oh, you don’t know what you’re talking about,” I chide them. “For a Chinese girl, I’m a hippo!”
They look at me aghast, before I point out the likes of Singaporean blogger Xiaxue who’s the size of one of my legs. Even Dawn Yang, her rival, is only half of me. Looking at them I wonder, do these people never eat?
His Royal Highness affectionately calls me a “chubby Chinese girl.” He once tried pulling my spare tyre which disappears when I stand up. “If you were one head taller, you could be a model,” he tells me. “Shame about the height. You have a great face.”
Oh, gee. Thank you very much. So since I can’t get any taller, I have to find a way to get slimmer in order to look taller. What have I not tried? Yes, I know. Surgery!
“You should take that cosmetic job in Sydney,” I say to His Royal Highness. “The pay is great and I can get free lipo!”
“I can’t operate on you,” he says.
Damn rules about not treating family or friends.
“I’m sure you’ll have a partner. He or she can lipo me,” I say, making sucking noises while pretending to vacuum my bum. “Just imagine. I’ll be proportionate for once.”
“Yes, you will,” he says with a smile. “But I’ll miss those spongey bits.”