I’ve been talking to nutritionists and diet experts for an upcoming story on the rights and wrongs for the holiday season.

It’s damn depressing. I’m afraid these folks — who have great intentions and fine ideas — would be wide-eyed and horror stricken at my homemade mashed potatoes. Two sticks of butter and a tub of Philadelphia onion and herb cream cheese (the light version) are tossed into the swirl of spuds, then topped with Italian spices and occasionally a slice of Swiss cheese. Once on the plate, a scoop or two of chili con carne tops the potatoes; a couple liberal squirts of ketchup top the chili.

Seconds? Just about always!

I’m sure the diet police would tell me to eat this speciality dish only in the presence of a cardiologist or a funeral director. “May as well wash that down with a glass of Fire Chief,” they might say. “It’s not going to hurt you any less!”

I didn’t have the heart to mention my recipe to the experts. We’re talking about potatoes mixed with chicken broth; cauliflower mashed into a mashed potato-like consistency; carrots topped with nutmeg or ginger instead of butter. The smart ones call the really good foods — like that scoop of apple-walnut dressing with gravy — “indulgences.” Kind of means occasional reward.

Good thing I usually skip dessert, because there are plenty of reduced options and substitutions to make pies and cakes healthier.

I did learn about calorieking.com today. And also learned something about my calorie-kicking idea of last fall. Like a fool, I decided to give up beer — the celebrated elixir of life — for three months. Went on the Irish cream bandwagon instead, and spent Saturdays in thrall to Bailey, Caroline and St. Brendan. I figured a five-ounce glass of cream over the ice was a seasonal way to lose the craving for beer ... and save ground in the calorie war.

The seeds of crime bear bitter fruit, and I was to learn an allegiance to the creamy smooth liqueur offers the same benefit. Calorieking said one damn ounce of Bailey’s tips the caloric scale at 156. Five ounces mean 780 calories. And five five-ounce “indulgences” each Saturday night ran my tab to 3,900 calories. What? Dairy equals calories? You mean it’s fattening?

That 3,900 was compared to the 600 or so calories I generally ring up with six servings of Coors Light, enjoyed behind closed doors, off the roads and in front of my fireplace.

So, I am back in servitude to Adolph Coors. Perhaps forever. In two weeks, I will have a few before Thanksgiving dinner.

But I’ll be thinking about some of the other things I’ve learned from the dietitians — things I can really do:

* Have an extra large salad before looking at the mashed potatoes and dressing. Filling up on veggies is better than scooping seconds or thirds of those loaded spuds.

* Control portions. Small scoops are smart.

* Once finished with dinner ... and considering seconds ... I’ll wait 15 minutes. Your body might actually get the message that stomach reserves are at capacity.

* Drink plenty of water during the meal. Great with a splash of lemon.

The one thing the diet gang never considers is ... Grandma. How do people get away from Thanksgiving, Christmas or New Year’s celebrations without big plates, seconds and naps on the couch? And if they offer the “portion control” line to Grandma, don’t they risk icy, silent stares? Or worse, tears?

If the nutritionist can answer that one, they really do know their stuff!