Map of Scars

“You should wear with pride the scars on your skin / They’re a map of the adventures and the places you’ve been.” – Poi Dog Pondering, song “U Li La Lu”

When I first heard those lyrics, I thought rather wistfully that it was lovely idea but not one that applied to me. After all, it’s not as if my scars were from anything noble, like injuries incurred while saving someone’s life, or particularly adventurous, like an accident or incident that made a good story. No, my scars were mostly either inane, such as from slipping on ice when in a hurry, or from something that made me ashamed – namely, my weight.

I refer to my stretch marks, the constant evidence and reminder of how heavy I once was. How could I consider these a map of “adventures” when they seemed more a map of failures, each thin, silvery line evidence of eating too much candy, cake, brownies, ice cream, potato chips, cookies, pies, pastries, or whatever else I could get my hands on?

The irony is that they didn’t bother me that much when I was overweight, largely because I was so generally upset about my size that something so specific wasn’t even on my radar. Besides which, I had a certain image in my head of what I would look like post weight loss, and it didn’t include those marks; somehow, it never clicked in my mind that they were permanent.

Achieving my goal weight, then, was a rude awakening, with not only the reality of the scars but of loose skin. I felt like an odd sort of imposter, as if I was deceiving people by looking “normal” so long as my torso, thighs, and upper arms were covered, only to reveal the hidden and ugly truth should I dare emerge in a one-piece bathing suit (anything less wasn’t even conceivable).

This is not something I remember hearing about with any diets, which is perhaps why it caught me so off guard. I always assumed that positive body image and normal weight went hand in hand, but I was wrong. They don’t seem to have anything to do with each other, at least for me.

What did directly relate to my body image were my thoughts. I considered my map of scars and loose skin as something shameful, and it made me all the more self-conscious of them and unable to truly accept myself, even after everything I’d accomplished with weight loss and other areas of my life.

But what if, somehow, I could follow that song’s advice? What if I could claim and even be proud of my body?

That’s when I realized that clinging to the habits of shame and secrecy that went with overeating lingered on as long as I held onto the idea of what I had expected or felt I should look like. And that would carry over into my relations with others, who could likely sense that I wasn’t quite whole, no matter how I might appear.

And so I let go of that fantasy, that I could one day look at myself and not see any evidence of my history with weight. It was freeing in a way I hadn’t expected, but also deeply healing. It meant I was no longer rejecting the person I had been, acting as if I wished she had never existed. I had struggled so long to keep her hidden, but when I could embrace her and all of my past, I remembered that my days of being overweight had much good in them as well as much pain, and that I would not be who I am today without both those sorrows and joys.

And so now, looking at myself, I no longer shy away, nor do I fear what others might think. If they judge me, that is their concern, not mine; I no longer judge myself, and that is what matters. This is me, all of me, my past and present and someday future. It certainly has been an adventure, and I hope one that will continue for years yet, with this map of scars reminding me to be proud and accepting of it all.

Gratitude for Food

Like many people in this country, I have never been in danger of going hungry, not for any length of time. I am well acquainted with hunger, but more as a seasoning than a way of life. I have never had to worry about not being able to afford food, or worse, about food simply not being available.

This made reading about a true famine all the more powerful, particularly since I wasn’t expecting it. I was reading TheBoy Who Harnessed the Wind by William Kamkwamba and Brian Mealer, a memoir that I thought was about how William taught himself about electricity and created his own windmill out of random junkyard items to bring light to his family’s house in Malawi. That was part of it, certainly, but only part, because to fully understand what led him to this point, he had to explain about his life growing up, which was completely unlike anything I have ever experienced.

One of the biggest differences was that his family and almost everyone around them was dependent on the food that they grew – no supermarkets for them – and since they didn’t have any irrigation, when the rain didn’t come as expected, the entire country suffered terribly from famine.

None of the members in William’s family died from it, which is particularly miraculous considering that his mother was nursing an infant during that time, and they went down to one tiny meal a day, at night. It meant that William was ecstatic when he and his cousin were able to scrounge a goatskin on Christmas, so they could boil it, scrape it, and eat it. Other people were reduced to eating the government-provided seed for their next planting, only to become ill from the pesticides on the seeds. While the mill was in operation, people literally licked the floors to get any last scrap of maize flour. Some ate pumpkin leaves.

But others simply had nothing to eat. As William said, “As if overnight, people’s bodies began changing into horrible shapes….” (p. 126) Some people became gaunt, as with the images of famine we usually see, but others swelled up with fluid, looking plump while they starved to death.

This was not a small part of the story. Around fifty pages were devoted to it, bringing home the reality that for everyone William knew, this constant hunger was simply a way of life, or for many a way of death. It was part of what shaped him, made him determined to do something to get irrigation to his family so that they did not depend on the rains and would never experience that sort of hunger again.

Reading all this, trying to understand what it might be like but really having no concept, I was suddenly angry. Angry at people who starve themselves deliberately for fashion, but also angry at myself for not always taking time to appreciate my food.

It made me remember that even for those who aren’t religious, the idea of saying grace in some shape or fashion before a meal can be profound if we are truly open to it.

To express in some way how deeply thankful we are for the food we have, enough that our bellies can have something in them during the day as well as at night, that we don’t have to watch people collapsing and dying of hunger on the street or worry that we will do the same, that we do not need to make ourselves sick by eating things that were never truly meant as food.

To be grateful to get the nutrients we need so that we don’t almost faint from hunger, to be able to not only eat but eat well, with variety and abundance and delicious flavors, that we can even contemplate worrying about eating too much or having that cookie or brownie or piece of cake or candy.

I am embarrassed for myself that I do not remember this often enough, that I grow complacent and take it for granted, when it truly should be something valued and appreciated in every aspect, and never taken for granted. After all, we can never assume that we will have enough, that we will always have money for food, that we will always have the opportunity to satisfy our hunger.

It makes me think of hunger, too, in a different way. I know that physiologically food tastes better when you’re hungry, but it seems psychologically more satisfying as well. If you experience hunger, even in a small part, it is a reminder of what a gift the food truly is.

And so I am trying to be more mindful of this, and think about what William wrote about his experience of finally being able to eat as much as he wanted again: “The kernels [of maize] were meaty and warm and filled with the essence of God. I chewed slowly and with great satisfaction, knowing I’d waited for so very long. Each time I swallowed was like returning something that was lost, some missing part of my being….” (p. 146)

If I pay attention, I, too, can feel that sense of something returned to me, a wonderful and deeply moving recognition of the sacredness of food and this act of eating. May I remember it always. 

A Mindful Eating Experience

I was planning on writing about something else this week, but after having a truly mindful lunch yesterday (something that’s been slipping for me since the holidays), I felt inspired to write about that experience instead.

I was excited about the meal even before I was hungry, since it was a new recipe a Bermuda Salad from the Moosewood Cookbook. It has steamed green beans, blanched red onions, cheddar cheese (of the almond variety, in my case), and parsley, all marinating in a nice dressing of salt, pepper, olive oil, red wine vinegar, and garlic. I also added some quinoa to give a little more bulk, and had an apple on-hand.

After preparing that, the rest of my morning was spent doing a fair amount around the house, as well as a little shoveling from the blizzard we were getting. Since I’d only had a light breakfast, by the time I sat down to lunch, I was definitely hungry, having a sort of “running on empty” sensation. This made me appreciate my food even more.

Even so, I paused to admire the colors of the salad – lovely green of the beans and parsley, pinkish-red of onions, orange of cheese. I also took a moment to be grateful for the food, as well as for being in a warm, safe place on such a cold, blustery day. Then I began to eat.

With a new recipe you never quite know what to expect, but I wasn’t disappointed. The onions gave a hint of sweetness, the vinegar a touch of acidity, all blending with the other flavors to form a lovely whole. The beans also had a slight snap, which added a nice textural element. Then when I turned to the apple, it had a good crunch as well as perfect balance of sweet and tart to finish the meal.

As I ate, I didn’t read (my usual distraction) or do anything except focus on the food and watch the snow whirling about the windows. I didn’t get bored; quite the opposite. I found myself remembering growing up, helping to pick and snap green beans with my mom. I thought about the farmers who grew the onions, and wondered about whoever first decided to make “cheese” out of almonds.

Watching the trees outside sway in the buffeting wind, I thought about apple picking, how the orchards where I like to pick were enduring the same weather, and how the apple was a testament to everything its parent tree survived in order to produce it, as well as the miracle of the small seeds within that could grow another such tree.

I also noticed how the food impacted my body. I could literally feel the bites nourishing me, my energy returning as I chewed and swallowed, replacing the emptiness with a sense of wellbeing and focus.

Finishing it all off with a mug of warm tea, I felt replenished in so many ways, gaining energy not only from the food but from the mindfulness of it, of allowing myself time to truly engage in what I was doing and appreciate it in all aspects. And it was a useful reminder to me of why this is important to do, especially when I feel like I don’t have time – because that is when I need those moments of tranquility and recharging the most.

David's Opus Ten Experience

Notes: This is going to be a longer-than-usual entry, to talk about my dining experience at David’s Opus Ten. Also, for more information about the Am I Hungry?Ò program, visit www.amihungry.com or my website.

In the Am I Hungry? program, we talk about how it can be good to find ways to connect with people that don’t revolve around food. Nor am I much of a believer in trying to justify eating a certain amount or type of food simply because it’s an event that only comes once a year. That being said, sometimes it’s wonderful to splurge a little for a very special occasion and spend it with someone you care about.

The most recent example of this for me was last week when I treated a friend of mine to part of a very fancy dinner as a birthday present. Since she’ll be moving out of Maine later this year, it’s the last birthday that we’ll easily be able to celebrate together. Plus, she’s a foodie, as am I, but she doesn’t get much opportunity to have a truly fine dining experience.

And this was definitely an experience. I’ve been to lots of nice restaurants at this point, both with family and through work, but it’s never been anything quite like our visit to David’sOpus Ten.

The restaurant is brand new, and a unique concept in Portland, Maine, since it’s within the regular David’s restaurant, with just 18 seats and one sitting per night. The reason why it’s only one sitting is because it’s a fixed price, multi-course tasting menu – on weeknights it’s seven courses, and on weekends it’s nine courses. We went on Saturday, and we were there for 3 ½ hours, but it didn’t feel like it.

We were seated right away at a table on one side of the small area, cozy with soft lights and fabric streamers over the ceiling. Our waiter told us that we had just one choice to make, whether or not we wanted the wine pairings for the food. (My friend opted for that, and although I didn’t, I did sample a couple of her glasses.) After that, we just sat back and enjoyed visiting mingled with the parade of delectable treats.

We started off with a small appetizer of house-cured charcuterie, carved right in the room, a little cheese, wonderful crackers with rosemary and cranberries that were crunchy and sweet to contrast with the salt of the ham and the olives served in a warm brine. That was to wake up our palates and whet our appetites (not that they needed much whetting).

Then we got bread (both of us deciding not to worry about being gluten-free or other allergies for the evening) – a selection of small rolls of peasant bread, olive oil roll, a mini croissant (they were so cute!) and a log-shaped roll with a row of salt on top. Along with that was olive oil for dipping, or if we preferred fresh butter with toasted sea salt. The bread continued to come throughout the evening; as soon as one was gone, another would take its place. I only had a few, trying to be somewhat mindful of that, knowing we had lots of other goodies coming, but those few were quite tasty.

After that was our first course: “morel and chanterelle mushroom gratin and mushroom-Madeira cream shooter.”

This was a delicious start to the meal. The gratin had that wonderful earthly flavor of mushroom, but also a bit of sweetness, and the shooter was simply perfect for the cold evening (in the teens with a high wind). It was warm verging on hot, frothy and delightfully creamy, with the main complaint being it wasn’t a large enough cup to sip all evening.

But soon enough that was cleared away and we got our second course: “butter poached lobster, risotto cake, citrus truffle micro greens.”

Now, I’m not a big lobster fan, but this was cooked beautifully, tender and buttery, and the risotto at the bottom added a fuller texture, giving the dish a more substantial feel than the small bite seemed. The greens on top were a refreshing addition, helping to balance the richness of the cream.

For our third course, we were treated to: “peppered, lightly handled scallop on dates, bacon and brown butter, cucumber-blood orange slaw.”

 

I was excited about this from the start, simply because I like all the ingredients separately and was eager to try them together. I wasn’t disappointed. The scallop was perfectly cooked, yielding easily as I cut it, contrasting nicely with the saltiness of the bacon, the sweeter chewiness of the dates, and the acidity of the orange. The scallop seemed to melt in my mouth, and each bite was a lovely balance of flavor and texture.

Our fourth course was: “quail egg ravioli, chanterelle mushroom and toscana kale in foie gras butter nage” (and Chef David came out himself to finish it with a sauce that wilted the kale):

This was also delightful, particularly with the creamy sauce added (they gave us a big spoon specifically to scoop it out once the rest of the dish was gone). Everything melded together very well, with the heartiness of the kale standing up nicely to the cream and richness of the ravioli.

I should also add that between each course, my friend got a new glass for her wine pairing and we generally got new silverware. And when we went to use the restroom, we came back to find our napkins not just folded but tented on our table. The wait staff was constantly attentive, ensuring that our glasses of water were always topped off and that our bread plates were full, but they didn’t hover or interrupt us to ask how things were, just bringing us the different courses as they were available. It was one of the best services I’ve ever had.

I didn’t get a decent picture of the fifth course, a palate cleanser of a raspberry and apple sorbet, finished by Chef David with a splash of frozen basil infused vodka, poured out of a bottle that was kept chilled in a cylinder of ice. I don’t drink much at all (read: practically never) so the vodka was quite strong to me, but it paired well with the sorbet and definitely cleared my palate.

Then we were ready for the more substantial offerings, starting with our sixth course: “grilled quail, fois gras medallion and ‘buttered' toasted with cranberry-pear gastrique.”

 

I’d never had quail before, and while a little tricky to eat with a knife and fork (I did give up and use my fingers for the wing) it was superb. Very tender and juicy, with a delicate flavor (not like chicken, I might add) that went beautifully with the cranberries and gastrique.

For our seventh course we had: “lamb rack (off the rack), intense lamb jus with beets, sweets, beans and kale.”

I did wish we had more of the greens, since the flavor of the rest of the dish was so intense, but it was still great. The small side of beets and sweet potato was lovely, providing a different texture from the lamb. And the lamb itself I might have preferred cooked a little longer, but it was very good as it was, quite succulent and yielding easily to the knife, with a nice flavor.

Our eighth course was the first of the desserts: “red wine poached pear, sweet ricotta, sweet balsamic reduction.”

This was a more savory dessert, with the pear and the hint of sweetness from the ricotta, but they went very well together – although cutting the pear without a knife also required a little inventiveness.

And finally we concluded with the truly sweet: chocolate caramel bark, chocolate hazelnut truffles, and Sherry brandy Polvorones.

These were delightful. The polvorones were more savory, but the chocolate bark was wonderfully crunchy and sweet, and the truffles had a lovely, liquid center that burst in the mouth. It was a perfect bite to end the meal.

With each course, my friend and I paused our conversation to admire the food and presentation (and take photos!), then savor the first bite to get the full experience of the flavor. Although we were eating more than we necessarily needed, and we didn’t get to choose our food, it was still a wonderful experience of mindful eating for me, of focusing on every aspect of the food and atmosphere, and appreciating even more being able to share it with a friend.