My Turn: The minefield came with salsa

We all know that the food and restaurant industries are dead set against anyone on a diet. I don’t know how anyone who likes to eat out isn’t immense. If I think about it, the people I know who maintain a decent weight must either exercise their buns off (yes, literally) or not like to eat. You can’t have it any other way, it seems.

So I’m having lunch at a popular Mexican restaurant. It’s so festive, with pretty pink lights all over, comfy booths and kitschy decor. While I’m waiting, my sweet waitress asks in her bubbly voice if I want a Pretty Pink Margarita while I wait. “No, thanks, I’ll have just water.” Oh, maybe just a Corona? “No, I’ll have just water.” Now at this point, I feel bad. Not only am I apparently dull as dishwater, but I’m also sort of being mean to her. I keep saying no, and she’s just trying to make me feel good and bring me nice, festive things.

Then, a bucket of crispy tortilla chips comes out, all warm and fresh, with a beckoning bowl of fresh salsa. I eat one chip. Delicious. My mind nearly tricks me into thinking that the chips are just a vessel for the virtuous salsa with its tomatoes and cilantro, so light, so healthy. The smart thing to do would be to send the entire bucket back, but I think I have faith in my willpower. Then the friendly waitress returns to offer some guacamole. There is probably nothing I’d like more, but once again I am rejecting her kind offer.

Looking over the menu, I’m thinking, there has to be something fairly virtuous here. But I’m at a Mexican restaurant, and I really like Mexican food, so I don’t want to have something non-Mexican, like salmon. I’ve also seen the websites (buzz killers, really) that delineate the calorie count of most of my favorite Mexican dishes. Enchiladas, nearly 1,000. Burritos with chicken, cheese, guac and sour cream, nearly 1,000. Tacos — what can I say? I like them crispy — nearly 1,000.

Then I’m wondering if they have a children’s menu, so I could at least count on the portions to be more moderate. But I suddenly remember, it’s a federal crime to order off the children’s menu if you are over 12. Or at least against restaurant rule books.

I end up ordering the tostadas. And I slip a few more mouthfuls of the virtuous salsa down with the chip vehicles it came with. But I don’t really make a dent in the bucket the chips came in. Thank goodness.

At the end of the meal, I’m content. After all, I’ve contained myself, been truthful and vigilant about what I’m up against, and with my new, larger-waisted pants, I’m still comfortable after eating what I want to eat.

Not bad. I might even go out for Thai food tomorrow. See what I’m up against there.

Silk lives in Pacific Palisades with her husband, Dan, and three kids. She has an MBA (but rarely uses it) and writes a blog, judemablogma.blogspot.com, to capture her observations on life as she knows it.

My Turn is a forum for readers to recount an experience related to health or fitness. Submissions should be no more than 500 words. They are subject to editing and condensation and become the property of The Times. Please e-mail health@latimes.com. We read every essay but can’t respond to every writer.