This weekend I finally made it to the Common Ground Fair in Unity, Maine. I’ve heard about it for years, but I didn’t quite know what to expect, although the one thing everyone assured me was that it would have lots of good food. And it did, but what struck me more than that was the beauty of the food.
I didn’t pay as much attention to the prepared foods, but I will say that the lamb shish kabobs, alternating pieces of perfectly cooked meat with tender apple, roasted onion, and sweet peppers was enough to convince me that’s what I wanted for lunch (well, that and the smell). I also loved looking at the different hues of the honey, from clover to wildflower to blueberry to raspberry, ranging from very pale to a deep amber. And of course the creaminess of ice cream (a little too evident in the hot, melting sun).
More than that, I was struck by the gorgeous beds of rainbow Swiss chard, the tiny hot red peppers that looked like Christmas ornaments against the shiny green leaves, the tables full of produce that had won prizes. I loved seeing not only the “perfect” ones but those that we don’t normally see in the supermarket, such as the braided carrots, or the butternut squash in the shape of a horseshoe. Those differences remind me that the food is real, that it comes from the ground and is grown by people, not just mechanically produced.
And I thought how wonderful it was to reward people for growing the best produce, or raising the best animals, or producing the tastiest jam. Too often we forget (or simply don’t know) the effort that goes into the food we eat, making it easy to not fully appreciate the end result.
Today, therefore, I have been enjoying not just the taste and smell of my food, but its physical beauty. My breakfast of a frittata, golden-yellow, lightened here and there by sprinkles of goat cheese, dotted with the brightness of red peppers, and the soft, light green of my perfectly-shaped pear. At lunch, the darker crust on my grilled cheese sandwich with the lighter brown of the toasted part, the brilliance of my just-tender green beans, and the variegated red and green of my Macintosh apple. For dinner, I eagerly anticipate the yellow of my heirloom tomato (I forget the variety), contrasted sharply with a fresh basil leaf and mozzarella cheese, and the darker green of spinach peeking out from my white bean and fennel soup.
More than that, as I appreciate and savor the beauty, as well as the taste, I am grateful to all those who spend their lives in service to food. I will enjoy it all the more as a result.
Sunday, September 26, 2010
Sunday, September 19, 2010
Mindful Eating
One of the things the “Am I Hungry?” program encourages is for people to eat mindfully, to avoid distractions of TV, work, reading, driving, etc. and instead focus on and fully appreciate the food. To do this, it’s recommended that we eat slowly, with small bites, putting the fork down between mouthfuls, and pausing to fully appreciate the sight, smell, texture, and aftertaste of the food.
In some places this is the norm, but in America, this is not something most of us are good at. We’re all about the fast food, literally and figuratively. Part of it is that we’re often pressured to multi-task and to be as efficient as possible. But I think it’s also a question of expectation and abundance.
If we always expect to have the food, it’s easy to take it for granted, to not give it full attention. But what about those who don’t have much food, who can’t assume that they can always have more, or that it will always be there?
One of my favorite examples of this is Charlie Bucket in Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, when Charlie savors each small morsel of his annual birthday chocolate bar, making it last as long as he possibly could. But a more recent and real-life example is in the book I Remember Warm Rain. In the story “Ponce de Leon Walk”, Kahiye Hassan talks about adjusting to life in Portland, Maine, after coming from Kenya.
In it, he talks about going to a little grocery store on Congress Street, which was very different than stores from his home. “I had assumed that mangoes and coconuts would always be part of my life, but this store didn’t even have mango juice.” (p. 97) What the store did have was a treat from Kahiye’s youth that he never expected to find – strawberry jelly. He said, “The long-lost odor alone made me feel full.” Using his finger as a spoon, he scooped out some jelly, put it in his mouth, and let it linger. “The taste softened my tongue; the seeds did not interfere with the essence of the flavor or diminish the taste. They were the taste, providing flexibility to the tongue. For days I munched the strawberry jelly from my hidden stash… and came up with many ways to eat it.” (p. 98)
And so as I try to shut out the distractions of my daily life and focus on my food, I will remember this – to be grateful for what I have, because even in this land of abundance, I don’t know how long I will have it. Considering it that way, it becomes precious, not something I will simply stuff in my mouth while sitting at my desk or in front of the TV, or hurriedly eat on the way to something else.
That reminds me of people who disdain diets by saying things like, “Do you really want your last meal to be a salad?” But in my mind, whether it’s a salad or a four-course elegant meal, it doesn’t matter what the last meal is if it’s not something that we savor and make worth remembering.
In some places this is the norm, but in America, this is not something most of us are good at. We’re all about the fast food, literally and figuratively. Part of it is that we’re often pressured to multi-task and to be as efficient as possible. But I think it’s also a question of expectation and abundance.
If we always expect to have the food, it’s easy to take it for granted, to not give it full attention. But what about those who don’t have much food, who can’t assume that they can always have more, or that it will always be there?
One of my favorite examples of this is Charlie Bucket in Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, when Charlie savors each small morsel of his annual birthday chocolate bar, making it last as long as he possibly could. But a more recent and real-life example is in the book I Remember Warm Rain. In the story “Ponce de Leon Walk”, Kahiye Hassan talks about adjusting to life in Portland, Maine, after coming from Kenya.
In it, he talks about going to a little grocery store on Congress Street, which was very different than stores from his home. “I had assumed that mangoes and coconuts would always be part of my life, but this store didn’t even have mango juice.” (p. 97) What the store did have was a treat from Kahiye’s youth that he never expected to find – strawberry jelly. He said, “The long-lost odor alone made me feel full.” Using his finger as a spoon, he scooped out some jelly, put it in his mouth, and let it linger. “The taste softened my tongue; the seeds did not interfere with the essence of the flavor or diminish the taste. They were the taste, providing flexibility to the tongue. For days I munched the strawberry jelly from my hidden stash… and came up with many ways to eat it.” (p. 98)
And so as I try to shut out the distractions of my daily life and focus on my food, I will remember this – to be grateful for what I have, because even in this land of abundance, I don’t know how long I will have it. Considering it that way, it becomes precious, not something I will simply stuff in my mouth while sitting at my desk or in front of the TV, or hurriedly eat on the way to something else.
That reminds me of people who disdain diets by saying things like, “Do you really want your last meal to be a salad?” But in my mind, whether it’s a salad or a four-course elegant meal, it doesn’t matter what the last meal is if it’s not something that we savor and make worth remembering.
Monday, September 6, 2010
Food in the Office Part 2 - Why?
In my last “Am I Hungry?” class, we were talking about different triggers for eating. Some are physical (thirst, fatigue, etc.), some are emotional (I think most people can guess what those are!), and some are environmental (holidays, associations with activities like popcorn with movies, etc.).
When we got to the environmental triggers, I raised my hand and talked about the ridiculous amounts of food in the office. Then the facilitator asked me a very interesting question. “Why is it that you think they provide all this food?”
I’d thought a little about that in the back of my mind over the years, but this really made me sit down and consider. What, in fact, is the point of all of this? I don’t think they really want us to have heart conditions, or develop diabetes, because then our insurance premiums would go up. So there must be something else to it, but what?
After a moment I realized what it was. “It’s their way of trying to keep morale up. If they give us all this tasty food at the office, maybe we won’t feel so badly about being there.”
This isn’t just my opinion, either; I know it for a simple fact. Our office manager (slash benefits coordinator slash receptionist slash travel manager) will occasionally make cookies in the little toaster oven, and the last time she did it, I talked to her a little about it. “I wanted to do something to give people a little pick-me-up,” she said. “I know things are really hard right now, and this seemed to help.”
Of course it helped – how can your mood not improve if you want down the hallway and smell fresh-baked cookies? But it’s terribly sad at the same time. If things are bad enough that we have to give ourselves sugar highs to get through the day, that doesn’t speak very well for the company in general.
And as with all food remedies, this one is, in the words of the Muppet Beeker, “Sadly temporary.” Eventually the cookies are eaten, and the smell fades, and we’re left back where we started, except with a sugar crash to cope with as well. So while I appreciate that our office manager genuinely cares about wanting the people in the office to feel better, there might be better ways of doing it.
When we got to the environmental triggers, I raised my hand and talked about the ridiculous amounts of food in the office. Then the facilitator asked me a very interesting question. “Why is it that you think they provide all this food?”
I’d thought a little about that in the back of my mind over the years, but this really made me sit down and consider. What, in fact, is the point of all of this? I don’t think they really want us to have heart conditions, or develop diabetes, because then our insurance premiums would go up. So there must be something else to it, but what?
After a moment I realized what it was. “It’s their way of trying to keep morale up. If they give us all this tasty food at the office, maybe we won’t feel so badly about being there.”
This isn’t just my opinion, either; I know it for a simple fact. Our office manager (slash benefits coordinator slash receptionist slash travel manager) will occasionally make cookies in the little toaster oven, and the last time she did it, I talked to her a little about it. “I wanted to do something to give people a little pick-me-up,” she said. “I know things are really hard right now, and this seemed to help.”
Of course it helped – how can your mood not improve if you want down the hallway and smell fresh-baked cookies? But it’s terribly sad at the same time. If things are bad enough that we have to give ourselves sugar highs to get through the day, that doesn’t speak very well for the company in general.
And as with all food remedies, this one is, in the words of the Muppet Beeker, “Sadly temporary.” Eventually the cookies are eaten, and the smell fades, and we’re left back where we started, except with a sugar crash to cope with as well. So while I appreciate that our office manager genuinely cares about wanting the people in the office to feel better, there might be better ways of doing it.
Saturday, August 28, 2010
"Am I Hungry?" Reflections
Going through the “Am I Hungry?” training now is a bit strange, in a way, since I went through a lot of this on my own when I was losing weight, but I had to figure it out for myself. Some of what I’d experienced was already fairly present in my mind from writing about my experience, but it’s becoming even clearer now.
I remember how much I used to eat because of stress. If anything bad or difficult happened, generally the first thing I did was reach for the food. When I was in the process of losing weight, tried to get away from that, but it wasn’t easy. I particularly remember one time when I’d had a really hard day, things were getting ugly with my dad’s ex-wife, and just generally I was feeling overwhelmed. When I got out from work, I had a wavering moment, because the bus dropped me off right in front of a little convenience store that also sold things like subs, pizza, chicken fingers, and French fries. I was craving the chicken fingers and French fries, but by then I knew that I only want those specific foods because I was stressed. I managed to walk away from it, and kept going for a short walk before feeling better and returning home for a lighter dinner, when I was actually hungry. And I remember how that felt like such an accomplishment, to recognize that moment and to change what I might have done previously.
When I was younger I also ate a lot for comfort. If I was sad or disappointed or lonely, again, I typically turned to food, often cookies or cakes or anything sweet. It took me a long time to get past that, and to figure out other ways of dealing with that need for comfort. Another moment from when I was losing weight was when I felt that urge to eat for comfort, but I didn’t go for it. Instead, I realized that the comfort I was looking for was something to connect me to my childhood. So I put in one of my favorite movies from growing up, Ghostbusters, and did cross stitch instead. I termed it “comfort viewing” instead of “comfort eating”. And I did feel better, without the added stress of gaining back some of the precious lost pounds.
In watching some of the videos and hearing Michelle talk about getting to the root of some of our eating problems, I remember that my own initial reasons for eating were probably stress and boredom and loneliness, but then it snowballed. My parents and other family members became concerned about my weight, and that quickly became the major focus. And so I discovered later on that I desperately wanted my family to accept me for who I was, regardless of the weight. All my attempts to lose weight had therefore failed, because it was to please them, and it was also because part of me felt like I shouldn’t lose weight until I had gained that acceptance. When I finally started losing weight, I realized that I couldn’t let my health and happiness be impacted by other people’s views of me. I had to accept myself, and once I started doing that, and realizing that I wanted to be healthier for me – that was when I succeeded.
I remember how much I used to eat because of stress. If anything bad or difficult happened, generally the first thing I did was reach for the food. When I was in the process of losing weight, tried to get away from that, but it wasn’t easy. I particularly remember one time when I’d had a really hard day, things were getting ugly with my dad’s ex-wife, and just generally I was feeling overwhelmed. When I got out from work, I had a wavering moment, because the bus dropped me off right in front of a little convenience store that also sold things like subs, pizza, chicken fingers, and French fries. I was craving the chicken fingers and French fries, but by then I knew that I only want those specific foods because I was stressed. I managed to walk away from it, and kept going for a short walk before feeling better and returning home for a lighter dinner, when I was actually hungry. And I remember how that felt like such an accomplishment, to recognize that moment and to change what I might have done previously.
When I was younger I also ate a lot for comfort. If I was sad or disappointed or lonely, again, I typically turned to food, often cookies or cakes or anything sweet. It took me a long time to get past that, and to figure out other ways of dealing with that need for comfort. Another moment from when I was losing weight was when I felt that urge to eat for comfort, but I didn’t go for it. Instead, I realized that the comfort I was looking for was something to connect me to my childhood. So I put in one of my favorite movies from growing up, Ghostbusters, and did cross stitch instead. I termed it “comfort viewing” instead of “comfort eating”. And I did feel better, without the added stress of gaining back some of the precious lost pounds.
In watching some of the videos and hearing Michelle talk about getting to the root of some of our eating problems, I remember that my own initial reasons for eating were probably stress and boredom and loneliness, but then it snowballed. My parents and other family members became concerned about my weight, and that quickly became the major focus. And so I discovered later on that I desperately wanted my family to accept me for who I was, regardless of the weight. All my attempts to lose weight had therefore failed, because it was to please them, and it was also because part of me felt like I shouldn’t lose weight until I had gained that acceptance. When I finally started losing weight, I realized that I couldn’t let my health and happiness be impacted by other people’s views of me. I had to accept myself, and once I started doing that, and realizing that I wanted to be healthier for me – that was when I succeeded.
Monday, August 23, 2010
Children Starving in Africa
I recently watched Dirt: The Movie!, a documentary about just that – dirt. It explores the effects of certain agricultural practices on the dirt that is our earth’s skin, and that supports us all, and cautions us that if we are not careful, we will lose so much of the topsoil that we will no longer be able to grow enough food to support our ever-burgeoning population.
This is a major concern, with many implications. For instance, one of the things that particularly struck me was in looking at one place (I believe in Africa) where there’s no food, or not enough, because of these very issues. The people there live with hunger on a daily basis. One way that they alleviate their hunger pangs, at least momentarily, is to actually make little cakes out of water and dirt.
I’ve been thinking a lot about hunger pangs myself recently, as part of my facilitator training for the “Am I Hungry?” program, but in a very different way. We talk a lot about learning to identify when we’re actually hungry, and one of the ways is if we suffer hunger pangs. What’s strange in our culture is that many of us are so disconnected from our bodies that we no longer recognize when we’re hungry or not. Some people eat so constantly that they never feel hunger pangs, or any other symptom of hunger.
One of the reasons some of us get to this point is because our parents urged us to eat everything on our plate, sometimes using guilt as a tool by telling us, “There are children starving in Africa.” (Or other country of choice.)
I think the intent behind this is to make us feel like we should take advantage of what we have and eat as much as we’re given. But how does it help those starving children if we overeat so much that we forget what it feels like to be hungry? We instead end up getting away from the rhythms of our body, eating even more food, and thereby taking up more resources that we don’t need.
I have an alternate suggestion. If you have enough money to buy more food than you will eat, perhaps you could cut back to only what you need. With any money left, put it towards ending hunger, in Africa as well as closer to home. I suspect that would make a much bigger difference towards those starving children and their parents than eating more than we actually need.
This is a major concern, with many implications. For instance, one of the things that particularly struck me was in looking at one place (I believe in Africa) where there’s no food, or not enough, because of these very issues. The people there live with hunger on a daily basis. One way that they alleviate their hunger pangs, at least momentarily, is to actually make little cakes out of water and dirt.
I’ve been thinking a lot about hunger pangs myself recently, as part of my facilitator training for the “Am I Hungry?” program, but in a very different way. We talk a lot about learning to identify when we’re actually hungry, and one of the ways is if we suffer hunger pangs. What’s strange in our culture is that many of us are so disconnected from our bodies that we no longer recognize when we’re hungry or not. Some people eat so constantly that they never feel hunger pangs, or any other symptom of hunger.
One of the reasons some of us get to this point is because our parents urged us to eat everything on our plate, sometimes using guilt as a tool by telling us, “There are children starving in Africa.” (Or other country of choice.)
I think the intent behind this is to make us feel like we should take advantage of what we have and eat as much as we’re given. But how does it help those starving children if we overeat so much that we forget what it feels like to be hungry? We instead end up getting away from the rhythms of our body, eating even more food, and thereby taking up more resources that we don’t need.
I have an alternate suggestion. If you have enough money to buy more food than you will eat, perhaps you could cut back to only what you need. With any money left, put it towards ending hunger, in Africa as well as closer to home. I suspect that would make a much bigger difference towards those starving children and their parents than eating more than we actually need.
Wednesday, August 18, 2010
The Joy of Cooking
I’ve recently seen some commercials for the new Lean Cuisine Market Creations. I don’t have this is exactly right, but they go something like this.
A woman in the kitchen says, “I find chopping vegetables relaxing after a long day of work.”
The scene freezes and a disembodied voice says something like, “Who really finds cooking relaxing at the end of a long day?”
it then cuts to this new Lean Cuisine product, a bag that has a mixture of vegetables and possibly some protein that you can just pop in microwave. The vegetables steam in the bag, and then you just put it on a plate and voila! As their website says, it’s “a truly enjoyable dinner experience without the fuss.”
But I actually take a bit of offense to this ad because I do enjoy cooking at the end of the day. After sitting at a desk and staring at a computer screen for hours, it’s a wonderful change of pace to do something tangible and physical. Chopping vegetables can also be quite cathartic, depending on how my day has gone.
I will admit, though, that I didn’t always feel this way. In fact, I didn’t realize how much I’d come to enjoy cooking until I had my surgery four years ago and couldn’t cook for a while. I was supposed to avoid bending my arms much, and preferably to keep them propped up on pillows at least for the first few days. Makes cooking a bit difficult.
Once I recovered, I realized how much I delight in this process. I can come home, put on some music, and chop and stir and season away, taking in the beautiful colors of the food, the enticing aromas, all the while knowing that I am creating something both nourishing and delicious. Why would I want to just stick a bag in the microwave and dump it on a plate? Not for me, thanks. I’ll stick with the joy of cooking.
A woman in the kitchen says, “I find chopping vegetables relaxing after a long day of work.”
The scene freezes and a disembodied voice says something like, “Who really finds cooking relaxing at the end of a long day?”
it then cuts to this new Lean Cuisine product, a bag that has a mixture of vegetables and possibly some protein that you can just pop in microwave. The vegetables steam in the bag, and then you just put it on a plate and voila! As their website says, it’s “a truly enjoyable dinner experience without the fuss.”
But I actually take a bit of offense to this ad because I do enjoy cooking at the end of the day. After sitting at a desk and staring at a computer screen for hours, it’s a wonderful change of pace to do something tangible and physical. Chopping vegetables can also be quite cathartic, depending on how my day has gone.
I will admit, though, that I didn’t always feel this way. In fact, I didn’t realize how much I’d come to enjoy cooking until I had my surgery four years ago and couldn’t cook for a while. I was supposed to avoid bending my arms much, and preferably to keep them propped up on pillows at least for the first few days. Makes cooking a bit difficult.
Once I recovered, I realized how much I delight in this process. I can come home, put on some music, and chop and stir and season away, taking in the beautiful colors of the food, the enticing aromas, all the while knowing that I am creating something both nourishing and delicious. Why would I want to just stick a bag in the microwave and dump it on a plate? Not for me, thanks. I’ll stick with the joy of cooking.
Thursday, August 12, 2010
Food for Cattle
Yesterday when I came back from the Farmer’s Market, laden with produce, a man in the elevator asked me, “How does the corn look?”
“It looks good,” I said. “Everything does, actually.”
He shook his head. “I don’t know. I’m from New Jersey, and even though my wife says it’s different here, to me, corn is only meant for one thing – food for cattle.”
He left the elevator before I could think of how to respond. I’ve had issues with corn and the cattle industry ever since reading The Omnivore’s Dilemma, but this was the first time that I had ever actually encountered anyone who had internalized our society’s strange use of corn so deeply that he no longer considered it a food. I have to say it disturbed me deeply.
I still don’t know how we’ve come to this point, where we’ve encouraged so much growth of corn that we need to get rid of the excess by turning it into a sweetener and, perhaps worse, feeding it to animals. Cows’ stomachs aren’t meant to digest corn. Ours are. Why are the cattle eating the corn, then, instead of people? Particularly when it makes the cattle sick, so we have to give them antibiotics to keep them from dying too soon, and then we get to eat the meat from the unhealthy cows. How is this a win?
I still remember the sometimes extreme measures my mom would take in her attempt to keep our corn from being food only for the raccoons. Even though she was allergic to it and couldn’t eat much, she loved corn so much that she still grew some of it and tried all sorts of things to keep it safe. Perhaps the most memorable was putting my brother’s dirty socks out around the corn. Nothing really worked, but those few ears that we got were so precious and delicious and treasured. We wouldn’t have dreamed of giving them to an animal to eat.
I think I will stick with eating the corn myself, instead of eating the cattle that eats the corn, particularly these days when it’s fresh and sweet and delicious. I’ll let the cows eat the grass that I can’t, and we’ll both be much happier.
“It looks good,” I said. “Everything does, actually.”
He shook his head. “I don’t know. I’m from New Jersey, and even though my wife says it’s different here, to me, corn is only meant for one thing – food for cattle.”
He left the elevator before I could think of how to respond. I’ve had issues with corn and the cattle industry ever since reading The Omnivore’s Dilemma, but this was the first time that I had ever actually encountered anyone who had internalized our society’s strange use of corn so deeply that he no longer considered it a food. I have to say it disturbed me deeply.
I still don’t know how we’ve come to this point, where we’ve encouraged so much growth of corn that we need to get rid of the excess by turning it into a sweetener and, perhaps worse, feeding it to animals. Cows’ stomachs aren’t meant to digest corn. Ours are. Why are the cattle eating the corn, then, instead of people? Particularly when it makes the cattle sick, so we have to give them antibiotics to keep them from dying too soon, and then we get to eat the meat from the unhealthy cows. How is this a win?
I still remember the sometimes extreme measures my mom would take in her attempt to keep our corn from being food only for the raccoons. Even though she was allergic to it and couldn’t eat much, she loved corn so much that she still grew some of it and tried all sorts of things to keep it safe. Perhaps the most memorable was putting my brother’s dirty socks out around the corn. Nothing really worked, but those few ears that we got were so precious and delicious and treasured. We wouldn’t have dreamed of giving them to an animal to eat.
I think I will stick with eating the corn myself, instead of eating the cattle that eats the corn, particularly these days when it’s fresh and sweet and delicious. I’ll let the cows eat the grass that I can’t, and we’ll both be much happier.
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