Giving Thanks for Food

Note: For more information on the Am I Hungry? program, visit www.amihungry.com or my website.

I’ve been leading an Am I Hungry? Mindful Eating workshop series this fall, and by happy coincidence, this week’s session is on “how” we eat. As I reviewed the materials, it struck me how appropriate this was in leading up to Thanksgiving, since the session includes expressing gratitude for our food, focusing on the present moment, and enjoying the whole experience.

It seems particularly relevant this year, when more than ever I feel like I’m being rushed through Thanksgiving, that it’s simply an obligatory pause on the way to Christmas. I’ve been seeing ads for Black Friday, holidays lights on houses, and Christmas specials airing even before Thanksgiving. This breathless feeling reminds me of why it’s important to slow down and truly enjoy each holiday (and day!) as it comes, not just as a race to get to the next.

With that in mind, I’ve been thinking about all the things for which I’m grateful. In no particular order, here are some of the items that come to mind related to food.

I am grateful to have food, and enough of it. Although I’ve never met someone who’s gone through a famine, I know it’s still a reality for many people in the world. I am privileged to have enough to eat on a daily basis, even if I don’t always remember to acknowledge that.

I am grateful for everyone who provides me with food. Among these are: a friend who has been my “kale supplier” for the past two years, which in turn has gotten me to experiment and enjoy kale more than I ever would have guessed; another friend who shared some of her garden’s abundance with me and prompted me to find a recipe that used beet greens that I enjoyed; the vendors and workers at the Farmer’s Market, where I can buy seasonal, local food on a regular basis; the wonderful Rosemont Market, just a few minutes walk from my house, that also carries a lot of local produce, meat, fish, and dairy; and all the other people involved in the planting, harvesting, packaging, and shipment of all the food I eat.

I am grateful to the land that produces this food, and the animals that live off it so I can also live off of them, for the rain and sun and microbes and worms and all the other countless beings that help us all to grow and live.

I am grateful for the kitchen gadgets and utensils that help make cooking a joy instead of drudgery – my fridge and freezer to keep things cold, my Cuisinart to easily chop and puree things, my stove with its harnessed fire to cook things (even if I’d prefer gas over electric), my knives and forks and spoons, my plates and bowls and cups, my ice cream machine and cookie sheets and so much more.

I am grateful for the Internet, to be able to search for things to make that fit my allergy restrictions, and also to find numerous options for food preparation so that I can experiment with almost anything I can think of. (For instance, I’m looking forward to trying cranberry sorbet on Thanksgiving.)

I am grateful to live in a place that loves and celebrates food, with many wonderful restaurants that focus not only on a menu that tastes delicious but is thoughtful about how those meals are sourced.

And as always, I am endlessly grateful that I now find food a cause for joy and pleasure, instead of shame and guilt. This is something that I discovered a bit late, but in many ways that makes my appreciation all the greater.

As we approach this Thanksgiving holiday, I hope that you, too, can pause a moment to savor it for what it is, to think of everything for which you’re grateful – and then to enjoy the meal and people you’re with and create a day full of warm memories.

Hand in the Cookie Jar

I’ve been thinking about the expression “caught with your hand in the cookie jar.” The phrase is synonymous with being caught doing something wrong, but the more I think about it, the more uncomfortable it makes me. It implies that getting a cookie is an illicit act, something of which to be ashamed.

Why is this? What’s so wrong about getting a cookie? Why have a cookie jar if you don’t expect people to eat the cookies?

But of course it’s not that simple. Generally, society tells us that you’re only supposed to eat cookies, or any sweets, at certain times (after dinner, for instance, not before), and that if you’re overweight, you should never be eating them. After all, if you’re fat, you should be trying to get thin, and that means you’re only supposed to eat healthy foods in small amounts, period.

This sort of judgment means that anyone heavy who actually eats something sweet and/or fatty in front of others is likely to feel the need to defend what they’re eating, regardless of time of day or if other people are eating the same thing. They may be temped to say things like, “I had a salad for lunch,” or “I went to the gym,” or anything to justify the fact that they’re – gasp! – eating a cookie. Not that it necessarily helps. The judgment is usually still there.

That’s why, if this happens often enough, they’re not likely to be eating sweets in front of others much at all (see my earlier post about being obese and eating in public). At least, that’s what happened with me. I got so angry about being judged and constantly found wanting for my food choices that I discovered all kinds of ways to sneak foods.

That made the time when my mom caught me all the more awful. This was during one of the many occasions when I was trying to lose weight. In this case Mom had convinced me to try a program called Shapedown. But I still wanted sweets, which prompted me to go shopping with her one day and sneak off to buy a couple of candy bars – Snickers and Charleston Chew.

The problem was, I didn’t have anywhere to put the candy bars except to bundle them in my jacket. But because it was a warm day, bringing my jacket into my bedroom when we got home was definitely suspicious. So Mom followed me. When she saw me with the candy bars, her look of disappointment was devastating on so many levels. The only good thing is that it was a tipping point. It got me to finally tell her that the constant pressure about my weight was just making things worse, and she decided to back off on that front.

Which leads to the real irony of the situation: if I hadn’t been so defensive about what I ate, feeling like I had to do it in secret, I might never have been tempted to go off and buy the candy bars to begin with. I don’t know that for sure, but I do know that since I stopped trying to restrict my eating, I have naturally gravitated to healthier foods, because they make me feel better.

In fact, I can’t even remember the last time I had a candy bar. It’s not because I’m worried about what other people will think, though, just that I don’t find them appealing anymore.

But I’m still a fan of cookies, even if I don’t have a cookie jar. If I did, though, I would hope that if I found someone with their hand in it, I wouldn’t mind or make them feel the need to explain themselves, no matter time of day, or the body size of the person involved. I hope I would simply choose to be flattered that they liked my cookies so much and leave it at that.

She's Being Good

Note: For more information on the Am I Hungry? program, visit www.amihungry.com or my website.

This past week a work conference I attended had an evening event that included dinner. Before the meal, wait staff circulated with various appetizers, all of which I passed up. On one of those occasions, the woman I was talking with accepted an appetizer and, when I demurred, said to the waitress, ”She’s being good.”

The comment bothered me, reminding me as it did how our society uses food as a means of judgment, of others and ourselves. After all, if I was being “good” by not having the appetizers, the inference was that those who were eating them were being “bad”. Yet while some might have assumed that I was being – and feeling – virtuous for resisting the cheese and crackers, mushroom poppers, fruit, shrimp skewers, and more, that couldn’t have been further from the truth.

I was not declining the food with a sense of deprivation or the idea that I was trying to be “good”. Rather, as we talk about in the Am I Hungry? Mindful Eating program, my goal was to feel good. And in this particular case, that meant deliberately eating beforehand so I wouldn’t be hungry at the dinner.

Since this may sound counterintuitive, I’ll explain. I knew from last year’s conference that even though the event started at 6:30, we wouldn’t be sitting down until at least 7:30, and likely not have food until 8, with the meal finally wrapping up at 9:30. Considering that my normal bedtime is between 9:30 and 10, this was very late for me to be eating.

Additionally, when I had been hungry at the event the year before, all I could really think about was food. I didn’t know when or what we’d be eating, and being quite hungry made it difficult for me to focus on the people I was with, or the exhibits at the museum.

Finally, experience has taught me that eating a large amount shortly before trying to sleep generally doesn’t work for me; it leads to a restless and sometimes largely sleepless night. Since I had two presentations the next day, I simply could not afford that.

Given that, this year my goal was to go to the event without worrying about the food. That’s why I deliberately ate enough to satisfy my hunger before I left.

The result was exactly as I had hoped. I spent the evening focused on the attractions and the people, having fun in the butterfly display, pretending to be afraid of a T-Rex, and chatting with clients and co-workers.

I did not feel deprived as I passed up the appetizers because none of them seemed spectacular – and I simply wasn’t hungry. During dinner, I had bites of the things I wanted to sample, and that was all I needed; I was perfectly okay leaving food on my plate because I wanted to sleep well and be refreshed for my obligations the next day. And I was.

I wish I had said some of this that night, even something as simple as, “No, I’m not being good, I’m just not hungry right now.” But I felt awkward venturing into such potentially fraught territory at that time, so I kept silent.

In the future, though, I will try to remind people, gently, that if I ever give the appearance of trying to “be good”, in reality I’m trying to act in a way that meet my true goal, which is, instead, to feel good.

Remembering With Food

Note: This is written based on my understanding of the Day of the Dead celebration. No offense is intended, and my apologies if I got anything wrong.

I don’t remember when I first learned about the Mexican Day of the Dead holiday, celebrated at the beginning of November, which includes the tradition of making the favorite foods of loved ones who’ve died, but I’ve always thought it was a lovely idea. After all, we connect so much around food, with traditions shared among family and friends, and we use it to expression affection. Why not continue that as a way of remembrance for those we’ve lost?

So I used the holiday as inspiration when I held memorial gatherings for my mom, five and then ten years after her death. My idea was that family and friends would gather to share memories and a meal of the foods Mom loved. The trick, of course, was remembering what she did love.

My brother recalled her fondness for raspberry ginger ale. My dad remembered shepherd’s pie and green beans. My aunt thought of the French-Canadian dish tourtiere. I knew how much she enjoyed corn (both on the cob and popped) despite her allergies, and that animal crackers were a staple snack in her classroom. One friend remembered love of peppers, and another of fiddleheads. Most everyone knew that raspberries were pretty much at the top of the list.

Sharing the foods triggered more memories. We reminisced about blueberry-picking adventures, visits to our favorite restaurant for deep-dish pizza and cheesy garlic bread, learning to make pancakes without milk (replace it with apple juice and hold the sugar), efforts to keep raccoons away from the corn in the garden, snapping green beans for canning, and more.

It made me realize that this is what I want food to be for me: not something to gobble as quickly as possible, or to feel guilty about, but rather a joyful, memorable experience that connects me to others.

And I couldn’t help thinking how vastly different this type of approach is when compared to Halloween, with the bags of mass-produced candy and treats handed out to random strangers coming to your door.

Don’t get me wrong – I love seeing cute kids in costume, especially creative ones, and it can certainly be fun to dress up, hang out with friends, etc. But when it comes to feeding ghosts of any kind, I prefer the Day of the Dead approach, finding warmth and nourishment in both the food and the memories.