When snow is in the forecast, so is comfort food - Ervolino

Ah, winter!

Mother Nature and Netflix conspired against me last week.

First came the “advance forecast,” which occurred 12 hours into the new year.

SNOW!

Maybe.

I know TV meteorologists are just doing their jobs. And they’re accurate more often than not.

But I’m not sure the public is being served by being told that we may get anywhere between half an inch and 9 feet.

After two snowless years, these “maybe” forecasts set off alarms, prompting all the joy, dread and wacky hysteria that goes along with such news.

Almost immediately, television anchors began teasing us with archival footage of blizzards and whiteouts and 18-wheelers veering off icy mountaintops.

Even my own internet outpost, NorthJersey.com, ran a photo of a man waist-deep in white stuff.

The accompanying headline forced me to wonder how much snow I was going to get.

Answer: About $140 worth.

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In the spring, a young man’s fancy turns to thoughts of love. (And, yes, you may quote me.)

In winter, my fancy turns to thoughts of …

Snow?

No. Groceries.

And I’m not talking bean sprouts and mung beans, here. Winter weather calls for serious winter grub.

Stews made with beef, lamb and red-nosed reindeer. Tons of pasta. Buckets of mashed potatoes. Wheelbarrows filled with chicken and biscuits.

I NEED REAL FOOD, DAMMIT!

Strangely, the day before I planned to shop for my (maybe) snowy weekend, I happened to watch a new miniseries on Netflix called “You Are What You Eat: A Twin Experiment.”

The premise was intriguing. A study had been put together to gauge the effect of different diets on sets of identical twins. One member of each pair was put on a vegan diet. The other was given an omnivore diet.

As I understand it, 22 pairs of siblings took part in the study, but only four pairs appeared in the show. And they were a diverse group. Men and women. Heavy and thin. So on and so forth.

The first episode was kind of fun. But then, out of nowhere, came all this unexpected info about how carnivores are destroying the earth.

Are the gases released by cows and other edible ruminants really worse for the environment than automobiles?

Is “free-range” just a joke, when it comes to chickens?

Are salmon farms endangering the wild salmon population?

And what about that poor woman in North Carolina who has to duck into her house when the enormous animal farm next door shoots plumes of hog manure into the air?

Every so often, the series drifted back to our twins. Otherwise, it seemed intent on scaring the living daylights out of anyone who’s ever eaten a bacon double cheeseburger.

Like most carnivores who don’t kill their own food, I have done my best not to think about where all of those wings, chops and skirt steaks come from.

Every so often, though, I try to guess how many pounds of chicken are in my fridge. And my neighbor’s fridge. And the fridges of everyone on my block, and in my town, county, state and country.

Gazillions?

I’d like to think all these breasts and thighs are made from scratch in some magic meat machine, because when I allow myself to face the truth, I feel weird, guilty and sick.

Then I feel hungry.

Years ago, I asked a friend, who was still a smoker, what he thought of all those nasty anti-smoking commercials on TV.

He said they upset him so much, he had to immediately go outside and have a cigarette.

After watching the third episode of “You Are What You Eat,” I desperately needed a steak.

But instead of shopping for meat on the Thursday before the snow, I went to a produce place I like in Hackensack. They sell fish, cheese and tofu and aisles of fruits and vegetables. No meat.

And that’s just fine. I happen to love fish. And I love fruits and vegetables. Hey, food is food. And if you’re creative, you can make some sensational meatless meals.

To prove it, I drove home from the produce store, loaded up my fridge and pantry and made myself a big hero sandwich using sliced mozzarella, mashed chick peas, chopped celery, sun-dried tomatoes, onions, parsley, chopped garlic and olive oil.

YUM!

It was delicious. So was the fish dinner I made that night.

But on Saturday, as the flurries began to fall, my meat anxiety set in. And at 4 p.m., I ran to the grocery store for steak, sausages, chicken thighs and ground turkey. And six pork chops.

The thin ones.

By Sunday I felt bloated, miserable and fat, like a large, depressed eco-terrorist. Naturally, I blamed the snow.

A caring friend said more snow was possible and then meekly asked if I might try Ozempic this winter.

After shrugging, I said, “I don’t know. Maybe. Does it go with steak?”

This article originally appeared on NorthJersey.com: NJ snowstorms can bring need for comfort food - Ervolino