Barguide: Leave of abstinence

I haven’t always been a teetotaler. I spent a long time drinking just as much as my friends did, throwing back shots, going to “wine tastings” where nothing was swished and spat out. Drinking was generally the main event, and I fancied myself a champion. Even though alcoholism has torn a path of destruction through my family. Even though the administration at Cooley frequently warned us about the occupational hazards of substance abuse. I wasn’t going to stop until something stopped me, and those flashing lights in Meridian Township on that November night did the trick.

I could tell you a thousand details about my story — the arrest, the sentencing, the year of probation. And then there were the hoops I jumped through, such as thriceweekly randomized Breathalyzer tests, a device installed in my car that required me to blow into it before the engine would start and a midnight curfew. There was also the very real possibility that the $100,000-plus that I’d invested in my education would be worthless and I’d never become a licensed attorney. I shared these details with many people, believing that there would be fewer whispered questions if I was completely open about what I’d done and what was happening as a result.

But four years later I don’t drink. I could. There’s nothing to prevent me from doing so. After my probation was over and I received my law license, I did drink again for a while. But it wasn’t going to end well and I knew it. So, as I write this, drinking isn’t something that I do and I hope I will be able to make that claim for a long time.

“You used to be fun,” a few (possibly well-intentioned, but completely tone deaf) people have claimed. It’s all I can do to not physically assault the people who make these comments. I assume they don’t know the backstory and don’t realize that this has actually been a struggle for me. I still do things that I think are fun, and yes, I still occasionally go to the bar. The boyfriend drinks, albeit not much. My brother, my colleagues and my friends drink. But it doesn’t make me feel weird. It doesn’t put me in an awkward position, and there is zero chance that I am going to snatch your whiskey and Coke out of your hand and chug it. Besides, there are way too many calories in that.

It boggles my mind to think about how many calories I used to consume in the form of alcohol. As a food writer, I make no bones about how much I love eating. I think about food all the time — I plan next Sunday’s soup as soon as this Sunday’s leftovers are packed away. I would so much rather enjoy a slice of beef tenderloin or a croissant the size of my head than a Miller Lite. (Yes, I drank Miller Lite. I hang my head in shame.)

Don’t get me wrong — there is nothing wrong with you drinking. Probably. Most people can absolutely enjoy their pumpkin beer and hard cider and red wine, and I hope that they do. But when you see me drinking water or pop or coffee, don’t ask me 71 times if I want you to get me a drink. If I did, I would tell you. Would you offer a candy bar to a diabetic? Insist that they take it? Tell them that they used to be way more fun, way crazier when they used to go into sugar comas?

I do still go to bars occasionally, although I think my status as a thirtysomething is rapidly pacing me out of the target bar star demographic. Some of the places have great food. I order my water or my club soda with a slice of lime and am content to spend time with my friends and be in bed by 10 p.m., waking up refreshed and sans headache.

If you came to my kitchen, you might find some booze. I use it to cook sometimes, and I recently converted a giant jug of vodka into vanilla extract. So, maybe I’m not as fastidious as I should be, but I’m satisfied with where I’ve ended up.

Gabrielle Johnson is the “she” half of the monthly City Pulse restaurant review column “He Ate/She Ate,” which runs the second issue of every month. She also maintains the blog “Eating Lansing.”