Monica Yant Kinney: Sort of a GPS for the dieter

I've never met Allan Borushek - "The Calorie King" - but he's usually with me wherever I go.

His handy little book fits nicely in my purse, helping me decide when to resist tasty temptations and when to give in and chow down. If I'm stumped, I gaze at his wise eyes and mustard-yellow crown and ask, "What would The King do?"

To make myself feel extra awful, I also consult Eat This, Not That, from Men's Health magazine's best-selling "food swap" series. (I got it from a friend who spent her teen years making me Butterfinger Blizzards - 105 percent of daily saturated fat! - at Dairy Queen. Maybe this was her way of apologizing.)

Eat This, Not That is a mouthwatering guide to human vice. It presumes Americans will never kick our horrible habits, so we might as well try to modify them.

From this book, I learned that it's safe to "run to the border" - as long as I choose Taco Bell's fresco offerings and avoid any item labeled stuft. (Other menu code words for dietary doom? Sweet and sour and smothered.)

The book dubs Panera's Italian Combo, with its 56 grams of fat, "a weapon of mass destruction." It warns against the "hidden danger" - 953 calories! - of veggie burgers.

And as a helpful hint for those with sweet teeth, Eat This, Not That reveals that Krispy Kreme makes a whole-wheat glazed doughnut with 2 grams of fiber. That's practically health food. I'll take two.

In the coming months, diners in Philadelphia and South Jersey will be able to leave The Calorie King and his companions behind. Both the city and the Garden State have enacted laws requiring chain restaurants to post nutritional information at eye level - the better to make you carefully contemplate that Starbucks muffin-and-mocha.

Philadelphia's effort, sponsored by health-conscious City Councilwoman Blondell Reynolds Brown, will roll out in stages in the coming weeks. Beginning April Fool's Day, even clueless fast-food fanatics will learn the difference between a Big Mac and a Whopper Jr.

(When in doubt, skip the fries. Your heart will thank you.)

Jon Corzine signed a similar law on his way out of the New Jersey governor's office this week, a winning move by the losing candidate.

This time next year, it should be impossible to get a Cinnabon in Cinnaminson without a side order of reality. To remain blissfully ignorant about those empty 730 calories, you'll have to drive over the bridge to Bucks County.

Restaurant lobbyists fought the menu-labeling laws, knowing full well that consumers might be sickened by what they learned.

But even chain eateries' own nutritional analysis can be suspect. Tufts University researchers recently found an 18 percent differential in the caloric content of items at 29 restaurants. Denny's grits tested at 258 calories, not the 80 claimed. But a slice of Domino's thin-crust cheese pizza had fewer calories (141 to 180) than the chain reported.

Local dietitian Althea Zanecosky doesn't fret over the fine print.

"Even if the estimates are off," she told me, "a little information is better than no information." And a little knowledge may go a long way in strange culinary times.

Jared Fogle earns a living promoting his Subway diet - only to face tabloid mocking this month for gaining back 40 of the 245 pounds he said he lost eating sandwiches.

Undeterred, Taco Bell recently launched its trademarked "Drive-through Diet," with ads featuring a gorgeous gal who claims she lost 54 pounds munching Mexican food.

Zanecosky remains dubious of all-or-nothing eating plans, but argues that menu labeling can't hurt.

"So many people are so lost," she said. "These laws can help them make better decisions about what they eat. Or they can choose to ignore them."

This is America, and it's a dangerously delicious world out there. Make every bite count.