Originally published in The Stranger on April 3, 2003
I cannot imagine a life without noodles.
I say this defensively because I’ve got several friends who are really into the Atkins Diet: that insanely trendy weight-loss philosophy that forbids any sugars and most carbohydrates, but encourages liberal consumption of meats, fats, seafood, and cheeses.
Eating out with Atkins fanatics is a pain in the ass. There is a freakish obsession with avoiding the slightest hint of “carbs”; pizza and beer are out of the question, and nobody wants to go out for Italian anymore. Apparently pasta, bread, and rice are the real axis of evil.
After a recent trip to New York, where it seemed like all of my impossibly skinny girlfriends—all wearing impossibly low-rise jeans with impossibly pointy shoes—were preaching the Atkins gospel, I came back feeling traumatized and extremely grateful for my easygoin’, carb-munchin’ Seattleite friends (who wear unintimidating pants and comfortable shoes). I got a big group together, and we went straight to the International District’s Shanghai Garden.