To eat or not to eat...

So, I've had a few people comment on/ask about my eating habits recently. Eating is one of those strange rituals we have as humans. It's an act that is necessary to our survival, yet we seem to take it to another level- it's social, it's a statement, and sometimes, it's even art. As Remy the rat (above) says in "Ratatouille," humans "don't just survive, they discover, they create...I mean, just look at what they do with food!"*

The first food question I get asked quite a bit is "you're vegetarian?" I'm often taken aback by how this surprises or bothers some people, but first, I shall italicize the inflections, because this can actually be three different questions:

"You're a vegetarian?" The "v" word. To many people, this is a bad thing. As if I am putting my life at risk by not eating the corpse of a rotting animal three times a day. Indeed, I am probably putting the lives of others at risk and keeping the entire American economy teetering because beef is not what's for dinner. Furthermore, I'm probably vocally political and annoying. Most likely, I will lecture you about the evils of Nike, scold you for having a goldfish bowl, or make you feel bad for liking "Transformers," rather than delighting in an obscure, heavily depressing documentary about how bad you should feel every day of your life for even existing.

"You are a vegetarian?" Which brings me more to my point. This is asked by people who swear they have seen me eat meat at some point in time. Didn't I, that one time, eat a piece of steak? And didn't I, that other time, enjoy a bowl of steamed mussels with saffron sauce?

Why yes, I did. In fact, when asked if I'm a vegetarian (which usually comes up only because I've ordered something with tofu or have asked someone to leave the ubiquitous "chicken" off of whatever dish), my answer is usually: no. I don't typically eat meat, but I "can." For the most part, I don't like it. It just doesn't appeal to me. It's not a black and white "decision" or a "statement." I also don’t care for cooked green bell peppers, but this doesn’t bother people as much as my distaste for pork.

(And for the record, while I do find that there are better shoe brands to choose from and do occasionally enjoy the obscure, depressing documentary, I loved "Trasformers" and have two fish bowls.)

This all began for me while I was living in Paris. I'd often see "beef" on the menu. Just like that- in quotes. "Steak" frites, for example. When I asked why this was the case in the less expensive restaurants, I was told that "beef" or "steak" usually meant "horse." I had a horse. I adored him. I also had a rabbit, which someone tried to force feed me at a fancy Parisian restaurant. Once, when my rabbit was cornered by my dog, it screamed. Yes, rabbits scream, and I remember it vividly. To me, eating horse or rabbit is the equivalent of eating my cats. Now, eating cat is generally thought to be taboo, but all of this made me wonder, why?

Why is it okay for us to abuse and cruelly slaughter one kind of animal and not another? When we hear about someone kicking a cat or beating a dog, most of us are horrified- indeed there are laws against it. The kind of cruelty animals raised for meat endure is unimaginable. They are usually malnourished or force-fed and many of them never even see the light of day. Chickens have their beaks broken off so that they don't fight in their close quarters, employees of slaughterhouses have been caught many times "playing" with the animals before boiling (to de-feather) and skinning them alive. Some of them aren’t even well enough to stand by the time they are brought to the slaughter house. If the image of a skinned, sick or crippled cow covered in blood and writhing in pain is not enough to make you think twice about that hamburger...

And that's all I ever ask anyone to do: think. If you're fine with all of that, so be it. As long as you have a reason other than "the commercials/news/my dad told me," I respect it whether I agree or not. We learn to tune so much out simply because it makes us uncomfortable. We in turn numb ourselves by overindulging in what we think makes us happy or getting angry at others for shattering our illusions. Our culture has a special place reserved on every plate for chicken, beef, or pork, but I don't think it always needs to be that way. I think the "fake" chicken nuggets taste just as good, if not better, than the dead ones. If everyone replaced that meat spot on their plate with a substitute just once a week, it would have a major impact on the environment and their health.

On that note, the other question I get asked is “how do you stay so thin?” Usually, this question is asked of me because I am eating French fries or chocolate cake.

That’s a far simpler answer than the vegetarian thing: I never diet. That being said, I also don't eat those things all the time. I think the best way to set yourself up for failure is to tell yourself you can’t do something. It turns that thing into something else... something "tempting" and "forbidden." Once it becomes that forbidden thing, it’s hard to get out of the habit of seeing food as a part of a battle. Then when we "give in," we give in good! We go way too far, eat way too much, and do it while feeling guilty or convincing ourselves that it’s what we really, really want or need to be happy. But what’s the point of eating, then, if it’s either mindless or torture? Just like with the vegetarian thing, I "can" eat French fries every day, but I find that I don’t actually want to. In the words of Anton Ego (yes, I’m quoting this film a lot- I adored it and it's about food, so back off!!!!) I stay thin because:

"I don’t like food, I love it. If I don’t love it, I don’t swallow!"

I simply try to make consuming food something I enjoy and savor rather than something that is easy, fast, indulgent, or can occupy my hands while I’m watching television or working. Last night, I ate a huge salad consisting of things that were grown right in my yard- fresh leaves of lettuce, green beans, bok choi, fresh herbs. It was more than food, it was an experience! It took me back to planting the seeds months ago and watching them sprout and grow.

(Peaches from a friend's peach tree)

When it comes to the food that I put in my body, I don't like just gulping something down mindlessly. I love to cook, I love flavor and ritual. To quote Remy again: "If you are what you eat, then I only want to eat the good stuff! " Whether that includes meat or French fries or not...

*If you have not seen this film, you are not allowed to read my blog until you do.

American Quilt, Part 5- Fine Dining

A bad sign: "Do Not Play the Piano!" I've hated this sign all my life- hated the fact that it is usually hanging on a piano. What else is a piano for, if not to play? They ought to stick a different sign on it: "Reduced to Furniture." This was the first thing I saw upon entering the restaurant.

The second thing I saw was a series of grotesque, stuffed animal carcasses, all of which were posed to look tame and smiling. I stood by the brass "Please Wait to be Seated" plaque and waited, staring at their vacant expressions. And I waited to be seated. And waited...

I finally grabbed my own menu and sat myself at the bar. Most menu items contained one or more forms of beef and cost $15 or more a plate, so I settled on a wine dinner. I asked for a wine list. Of course, there was no wine list. The waitress pointed at the bottles on the bar.

Now, I'm fine with cheap wine. Some cheap wines are very good. I try not to be a snob about such things, but when the fanciest wine on the menu is Kendall Jackson, you know you will not be drinking anything spectacular (and the dinner prices had given me false hopes). I pointed at "red" and she poured me a glass. And I mean a "glass." Think of a glass of water. Take the water out. Replace it with wine. It was a good 16 ounces of cheap, red wine! I'd never had a pint of wine before (though I can no longer say that). I happily lapped it up in an attempt to calm myself. I cracked open my new book and began reading.

David Sedaris is an amazing writer. He has a way of turning any awkward situation into a humorous, thoughtful, and touching story. Like I said- a perfect traveling companion for a vacation like this. My mind was in tune with his long before I opened the book. Opening the book helped, though. As did the wine.

Suddenly, I found my situation... charming. The smiling mountain lion on the mantle, propped (quite unnaturally) next to a fake fern was... sweet. The elk head, turned in a gaping smile, tongue wagging was... quaint. Why, even the curling iron plugged in by the cash register behind the bar made a quirky sort of sense! "Of course," I thought, "what better place to curl one's hair?"

My fellow diners with their screaming children suddenly endeared themselves to me. These people probably worked very hard for their vacation. We all work hard here in the U.S. of A. After we work hard and earn our vacations, we just want to go someplace where we can eat a fancy steak, let our kids run wild, and sit under the gazing eyes of a murdered animal. Not exactly my idea of "vacation," but I was happy for my fellow travelers. They seemed very satisfied (though to be fair, they probably weren't staying in one of the six remaining so-called poolside rooms). The family in front of me found it somehow... cultured to pass around the plastic toothpick dispenser after their meal. Their children crawled on the floor, moving from table to table in search of... something.

"Up, Mitchell! Up!" the mother commanded brightly, as if Mitchell was a pup in training.

High on wine and compassion, I walked out to the lobby where I would simply inform the woman behind the desk that my phone didn't work. She began every sentence by trailing off as if she'd hoped they would finish themselves.

"Oh! Oh... I'm... oh... so sorry... um..." "Not a problem! I was just calling to complain about the dog next door..." "Oh...oh..." "No, no. It's okay, but I also wanted to book a massage. Can I do that from here?" "Oh, yes! Yes, by all means. Oh..."

She offered me the phone. I smiled and took it from her, feeling guilty that I had mentioned the dog (she was clearly concerned), and called down to book my massage. The woman on the other line asked me if I wanted Carol or Sue. I said that I knew neither, but I'm sure that they were both just fine.

"But which one do you want?" she insisted. "I have to put you down for one or the other!" "But all I know about them is their names," I replied, defensively. "Fine. Nine A.M. with Carol."

And with that, she hung up. Just another odd employee, I'd guessed. In the back of my mind, I was somewhat fearful of what a massage was, if "customer service" was such a foreign concept. But I couldn't be bothered by that now. I was heading out to do what I came here for: soak in the hot springs! Surely that would melt away all of the day's headaches...