For some reason, I never tend to feel satisfied and full after a meal, unless it is accompanied by some level of guilt. I have to have The Naughty to feel The Nourishment.
My plate can be piled high up with the freshest, steamed greens, fat-free protein with a side of blah, but unless I steal one forkful of my husbands’ pasta on the way to rinse my dinner plate, it’s as if I never ate at all. Of course, the trick is to make our dinners seem decadent and dangerous when in fact they aren’t at all. I find the homely one-pot meals do the trick here, because we associate those kinds of warm meals with heavy, pleasing winter dishes our grandmas made to fatten us up.