Alas, how i miss the sandwich. I miss the harmless one made of two slices of white bread and perhaps processed cheese and something like ham. Not the gourmet’s choice, but acceptable. More, I miss the “two-hander” _ the sturdy sandwich with pickles and roast beef and Stilton and onion on 11-grain bread.

Ah, the sandwich _ serviceable, sturdy, delicious, portable. Gone.

“What happened?” you ask.

Well, a few months ago, I clumped into the office of the cardiologist, a brisk and pudgy fellow. And, seeking to make conversation, I foolishly asked him what he thought of diets for those of us who have had their hearts restructured.

He took a yellow Post-it note, wrote two words on it, slapped it on my takeaway sheet of prescriptions and shoved the whole package across the desk. The note read: “Wheat Belly.”

“Wheat Belly?” I asked.

“A book,” he told me, “on diet.”

And with that, we parted.

I bought a copy with high hopes. How can a book with a stack of golden bagels on the cover be anything but good?

The answer: easily.

What the book says, essentially, is: drop that sandwich. Also: those crackers, that cereal, those breaded shrimp and anything else that smacks of grain. For grain is bad. And if you want to lose weight and vastly improve your general health, then grain must go.

There it was, staring me in the face: no sandwiches, no muffins, no cakes, no macaroni with crumb crust, no bread pudding, no barley risotto. And on and on. (Or should I say, off and off.)

How could I do this? Me, a man who has never passed a bakery. A man who has bought and eaten an entire cinnamon bun (the big bun) from the old Guilford Boy bakery on the way to Haliburton. A man who used to buy two loaves of raisin bread at the Swiss-Dutch bakery in Toronto’s Kingsway every Saturday morning. (Two because I ate one on the way home.) A man whose name is legend at the Dough Box in Madoc. A man who has not only worked in a bakery but who also often makes his own bread. A man who often drives 100 miles to buy pumpkin-seed bread.

As I page through the book, a tear springs to my eye. It says vegetables are surprisingly good and sowbelly is OK, and why not eat steak for breakfast and a pound of cheese for lunch?

I have been down that road _ or one much like it _ for I am an expert on diets. In my life, I have lost an 11-year-old boy or the equivalent in weight. For meat is good and grain is bad. Which can be embarrassing.

Recently, I found myself in the parking lot of a fast-food burger place. The hamburger was on the diet and so was the cheese and onion. There I stood, surrounded by mothers with small children, peeling a hamburger and eventually holding a hot patty in my hand. People started to take cellphone pictures, and I could imagine myself going viral.

“I always peel these things,” I told the crowd. “The good stuff is in the middle.” Then, I got into my car and drove off, the steering wheel greasy in my fingers.

So, you wonder, where am I now? Have I once again reverted to granola and cheese buns and croissants?

No. Amazingly, I have stopped with the grains cold turkey (which is recommended, by the way). I figured I had to try the Wheat Belly diet for at least a couple of days in case I bumped into my cardiologist at the butcher shop. I have eaten hamburgers naked (them, not me). I ate much of a half-chicken and a steak or two. I have eaten coleslaw, lettuce, tomatoes and a pound of nuts. The nuts are perfectly acceptable on this diet, but a pound is no longer recommended.

In one week, I lost two pounds. And I pretty much will have to stick with this for a bit longer. In my dreams, I dream of breads. And in my nightmares, I dream of cardiologists.

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