Dude food lesson No. 1: Mexican is pretty much an honorary food group

The first morning of my foray into manly eating, I peer into my near-empty fridge. Nary a fresh vegetable in sight. Perfect, I think. I 'm ready to go. I grab the biggest bowl in the cupboard and pour cereal until it overflows. I plop down on the couch and flip on the TV. This is going to be a cinch.

I text my brother to let him know that I've started my eating plan. "Your local Taco Bell thanks you," he types back, reminding me that Mexican is basically a dude's default cuisine.

The sparse offerings of my fridge give me just enough to whip up a couple of cheese quesadillas in less time than your average commercial break. Though my brother's words echo in my mind, I can't bring myself to hit up Taco Bell quite yet. Instead, for dinner I order from my neighborhood Mexican joint -- a rare treat. Though my masculine instincts point me toward the wet burrito, I quiet them and opt for my favorite dish, a generously portioned platter of chicken enchiladas. Baby steps, I tell myself I slather sour cream over my cheese-filled tortilla tubes and wonder if I'm about to have the best week of my life.

I stop eating about six tortilla chips short of feeling uncomfortably bloated. I'm full, satisfied and my Mexican platter has given me all the energy I need for this evening's activity: a Netflix marathon. Though my mind wanders during my TV binge, and I realize, if I'm honest with myself, I'm only a few hundred calories over what I normally consume in a day. I guess old habits die hard, but I'm starting to see the light: I can eat whatever I want without consequence -- or so I think.

Time spent preparing food: 7 minutes
Calories consumed: 1,860
Current mental state: Like I'm king of the world

Dude food lesson No. 2: Convenience is king

If I've learned one thing from my husband, it's to never pay full price for anything. If I've learned two things from my husband, it's that men are ultimately utilitarian creatures. I should be able to feed myself in the fewest amount of minutes and steps possible. That's why my eating plan hinges primarily on convenience and efficiency.

In the morning I wolf down a protein bar. At lunch, I attack my Mexican leftovers (I know, I know, if I were really eating like a guy there would be no leftovers, but I'm still dealing with a limited amount of real estate in my stomach). I snag a bag of Doritos for a snack and decide to order takeout for dinner. So far, so good. I've wasted exactly zero minutes on food prep, unless you count the 30 seconds I spent reheating my lunch

Unfortunately, when the time comes to place my Seamless order, I momentarily lose sight of my mission. Out of habit I order my usual: Pad Thai with tofu. I mourn the loss of an opportunity to have filled my plate with red meat, or even chicken, and I vow to double down on the protein tomorrow.

Time spent preparing food: 0 minutes
Calories consumed: 2,020
Current mental state: Like I've seen heaven and it's full of takeout joints

Dude food lesson No. 3: You can never have too much protein

Today's breakfast is a modest pair of Pop-Tarts, but at lunch sh*t gets real. Lured in by the not-so-subtle tagline, "Eat like a man," I eagerly plunked a Hungry-Man Select in my grocery cart. At two to three times the size of my typical Amy's frozen meals, the box alone is a sight to behold. Then there are its contents.

As the packaging touts, my meal (fried chicken, mashed potatoes, corn and a brownie) packs a whopping 41 grams of protein. In smaller print, I read that it also contains 41 grams of fat -- plus a day's worth of sodium. The chicken tastes surprisingly OK. I do my best to choke down the flavorless potatoes and corn (you'd think all that sodium would at least make my taste buds happy). The microwaved brownie is an unexpected high point. But in spite of my manly lunch's sky-high protein count, I find my stomach rumbling well before my next meal. My spirit flags a bit, and I cannot stop guzzling water.

For dinner I fire up the oven for the first time all week. I pan sear rib-eye steak (medium rare, natch) and bake half a bag of frozen steak-cut fries. The Flintstones-esque steak that eclipses most of my plate screams masculinity and brings the day's protein count to about 110 grams -- probably about twice my recommended daily intake. My husband recommends that I dip my french fries in the steak drippings. He's right; it's delicious.

I'm probably slowly crawling down the path to malnutrition, but I can't deny how much I enjoyed dinner. Maybe I'll extend my dude diet for an entire month.

Calories consumed: 2,337
Time spent preparing food: 27 minutes
Current mental state: Cautiously optimistic

Dude food lesson No. 4: French fries are basically a vegetable

Another morning, another protein bar and coffee. Yawn. (By the way, if you haven't picked up on this yet, according to dude rules, breakfast is the least important meal of the day.)

At lunch I hit up the food truck parked in front of our office. The chef suggests I order Cali burger, which is loaded with bacon and blue cheese. It's literally the size of my head. I reluctantly agree to a side of fries and immediately regret wearing a form-fitting pencil skirt. After I soldier through (most of) my burger, I spend the rest of the day contemplating the consequences of unzipping my skirt at my desk. I decide it's not a conversation I want to have with HR.

Miraculously, by dinnertime, I'm able to stomach more meat. Also: more fries. (For those of you keeping track at home, this is the third time I've had fries this week and -- spoiler alert -- it's not the last). Turns out, for guys, potatoes are a totally acceptable vegetable -- even when julienned, fried, frozen and reheated. This is the point where I first start to fantasize about eating green things. I'd kill for a nice kale salad. Hell, I'd be tempted to eat even iceberg lettuce straight from the bag, potato-chip style.

Calories consumed: 2,763
Time spent preparing food: 20 minutes
Current mental state: Panicky. (I really need some greens, y'all)

Dude food lesson No. 5: You can add meat to just about everything

When a coveted grilled cheese food truck rolls up this afternoon, I feel a pang of longing for my old eating habits. Normally I'd gravitate to something a little fussy, like a gruyere melt and dainty a cup of tomato soup. But today I select the most overstuffed sandwich on the menu: The fully loaded grilled cheese, which features sharp cheddar, pulled pork, caramelized onions and a healthy serving of macaroni and cheese stuffed between two buttery pieces of bread. I can practically smell the machismo (or maybe it's just the barbecue sauce?). For good measure, I order a side of tater tots and some ranch dressing for dipping. When I return to my desk after eating, I swear I feel my arteries start to shrivel.

I've started to notice that I'm falling into a cycle of intense but brief fullness followed by violent hunger, and I wonder if the lack of fiber in my diet is the culprit. For dinner I make three-quarters of a box of spaghetti for myself. To my surprise I eat every last strand and still go to bed hungry. This probably had something to do that the jar of meat sauce I purchased turned out to be meat-flavored rather than filled with any actual meat. Maybe it's the hanger talking or maybe I'm turning into a monster, but I am incensed by the existence of a product that tastes like meat, but doesn't contain it.

Calories consumed: 2,645
Time spent preparing food: 12 minutes
Current mental state: Somewhere between angry and uncomfortable