HOW TO BE IN THE MOMENT – Tip #102

 Savor the luscious fusion of sense and emotion.

There’s a place where all the sense impressions that come into you churn and stew with stuff that’s looking for a way out.

You keep what you need, but the essence, the aroma of it, exudes through your skin, inviting more, inviting others.

(Happy Thanksgiving to my U.S. readers!)

HOW TO BE IN THE MOMENT – Tip #102

Savor the luscious fusion of sense and emotion.

There’s a place where all the sense impressions that come into you churn and stew with stuff that’s looking for a way out.

You keep what you need, but the essence, the aroma of it, exudes through your skin, inviting more, inviting others.

(Happy Thanksgiving to my U.S. readers!)

HOW TO BE IN THE MOMENT – Tip #15

Try a food or dish you've never tasted before.

 


 












Food is fluent in any language. Let it be your guide to distant lands, your introduction to other cultures and new friends.

At home or abroad, explore new flavors; challenge your tastes; 
feed your sense of adventure.

HOW TO BE IN THE MOMENT – TIP #18
Chew your food longer.

There’s this amazing little place where even the simplest of dishes 
is explored, savored as if it were the last meal of your life.

It’s a place where eating’s not rushed, never a chore. So bring 
all your senses and appreciate the glorious gift of food.

THE ART & SCIENCE OF FOOD – A Memorial Day Salute – PART 2

A HAPPY, THOUGHTFUL MEMORIAL DAY TO ALL!
As we enjoy the first of America's great patriotic, all-consuming, over- consuming summer holidays, I thought a few words about  the wonders of 
food might be fitting.

It makes me sad to see how many people seem to approach eating as just one more necessary chore. Do you simply consume your food, or do you experience it?

THE GREAT GRILLED CHEESE AND HOT DOG SCAM
When I was a kid, no one ever gave me the choice of whether or not to eat my vegetables. Mom knew what was good for us, and, except for the occasional bootlegged candy bar or soda, we ate and drank what she served. Balanced meals and a sense of food adventure were part of our family culture.

Today, though, I have to marvel at the little co-dependencies I see played out in so many American families. Parents start their enabling by asking their kids what they want to eat. Are you kidding me? Their kids—having picked up the no-vegetables! mantra from friends and/or media—inevitably make poor choices.

Worse yet, some parents don’t even ask; they just assume their kids won’t eat anything that’s really good for them, and then fulfill their own prophecy. This little scam is then reinforced by the kids’ friends and their parents, and restaurants, which assume the only thing a kid’s ever going to want is a grilled cheese or a hot dog. And we wring our hands about the epidemic of childhood obesity!

Parents just assume their kids won’t eat anything that’s really good for them, and then fulfill their own prophecy.

Just today I saw a TV commercial in which a young mother's standing in her kitchen, pondering a sort of holographic version of the nutritional food groups pyramid. She blithely dismisses every item on the chart that's green, saying something like, "No way my kids are gonna eat these things!" The solution she and the sponsor propose: one of those engineered nutritional drinks originally prescribed for kids temporarily unable to eat solid food. So, if you can't beat 'em, fool 'em!

How sad that kids—with lots of help from all the wrong places—are losing touch with real food! For this wonder seeker, the saddest part of this is seeing them robbed of their natural sense of adventure.

Decide for yourself what your kids should eat ... then leave them with just one choice: eat this or starve.

What can we do to reclaim wonder-full eating for our kids and grandkids? Probably the single best approach: turn off the TV. Decide for yourself what your kids should eat—maybe offering a couple of healthy options—and then leave them with just one choice: eat this or starve.

Short of that draconian measure, my daughter has a smart policy with her headstrong four-year-old: the "no thank you" bite. When the little girl balks at eating something, she must eat at least one bite before she's excused from the table. Then there's always the good old dessert come-on. (I knew there was a logical raison d'etre for dessert!)

"As a child my family's menu consisted of two choices: 
take it or leave it." ~ BUDDY HACKETT

THE ART & SCIENCE OF FOOD – A Memorial Day Salute

Memorial Day's about remembering and celebrating!

A HAPPY, THOUGHTFUL MEMORIAL DAY  
TO ALL!
As we head into the first of America's great patriotic, all-consuming, over-consuming summer holidays, I thought a few words about  the wonders of food might be fitting.

There's more to appreciating this miraculous world than the arm's-length sort of discovery we so often associate with wonder. Some wonders we eat. The son of a restaurateur, I learned early and well to appreciate good food and to enjoy exploring new tastes.

Before I could even feed myself, my dad had a wonderful little trick for encouraging me to eat. He’d pretend his hand was a mechanical lift and the spoon its bucket. Straight up from the plate it would go. Chug-a-chug-a-chug. At mouth level, it would creak to a stop, shift gears and grind its way toward my mouth. I couldn’t wait to open the hatch and begin processing that load of whatever it was!

By the time I was three, Mom and Dad had convinced me that broccoli was really little leprechaun green trees, and Brussels sprouts, miniature cabbages. For some reason, appealing to my imagination like this was enough to get me to eat them—and I still do. In fact, both broccoli and Brussels sprouts are among my favorite green veggies.

You don’t have to be coerced to enjoy eating. Aside from the obvious (liking the way things taste), there are lots of ways to appreciate food.

EATING AS ART

Aren't the things we eat beautiful?

First there are the visual delights of food. Most of us appreciate a meal more when it’s presented to us in an attractive way. In fact, a significant part of becoming a good cook involves choosing and arranging food elements that complement each other visually on the plate. On the other hand, I’ve eaten things I couldn’t have stomached if I’d allowed myself to look at them very long: oysters come to mind, as do chapulines (fried grasshoppers).

I love a certain breakfast café in our neighborhood because they serve their coffee in clear glass mugs. I can pour in my cream and watch the perfect little “thunderheads” that bloom in the rich brown liquid as the cream billows and then settles, still cool, on the bottom.

Most people think putting butterscotch on their ice cream is about a five-second job. I like to take my time, drizzling it as finely as I can before the stream begins to break. This way, I can draw shapes across the creamy white mounds or hold it perfectly still and watch the delicate amber thread stack up in tiny coils.

How about that first bite through the warm, crackly chocolate surface into the cold creamy center of a Dairy Queen chocolate-dipped cone?

Then there’s the tactile aspect of eating. We’re not supposed to play with our food, but tell that to a one- or two-year-old. As adults, maybe we don’t throw our peas or smear our banana on the wall, but we still appreciate the way our food feels. What can beat the wonderful contrast between the tender inside and crispy surface of well-done hash brown potatoes?

Who can say they don’t love the sweet crystalline coolness of a bite of fresh watermelon (not to mention the ageless fun to be had with its seeds). And how about that first bite through the warm, crackly chocolate surface into the cold creamy center of a Dairy Queen chocolate-dipped cone?

EATING AS SCIENCE

There are all kinds of little science experiments you can do with your food and drink. For example, I still love to put my thumb over the end of a soda straw, lift out a column of soda and then lift my thumb to deposit it in my mouth.

 

I “discovered” surface tension by filling a glass to the very brim with milk and finding that, when I added a little more, it would actually go above the rim before it overflowed. I watched in great wonder the magical, dancing strings of carbon dioxide bubbles that materialize out of nowhere in a glass of beer.

I used to hate oatmeal. Since it was often about the only thing served for breakfast at summer camp, I eventually learned to like it, but not without inventing an element of play. I’d dig out the center of the sticky, steamy mass to form a little pond. Then I’d fill it with milk and sprinkle brown sugar “sand” all around the “shore.” This didn't just make eating oatmeal more fun, it also was a great way to make it cool faster.

Stricter parents might have taught me a lesson about waste by making me eat the vile potion.

Maybe it was inspired by the story of Jesus feeding the multitude with a few loaves and fishes. When I really, really liked something on my plate and knew there’d be no seconds, I decided that, at least theoretically, I could make it last forever. All I had to do is keep taking no more than half of whatever amount remained.

Most of these games were constructive in that they eventually led to my eating something I might otherwise have left on my plate. Others were not so practical, like my chemistry experiments combining a sample of every dish, drink and condiment on the table in a revolting gray-green pool on my plate. Stricter parents might have taught me a lesson about waste by making me eat the vile potion. I like to think that the long-suffering my parents showed was not merely tolerance, but perhaps a bit of wisdom.

"No man is lonely eating spaghetti; it requires so much attention."    CHRISTOPHER MORLEY

SPIRAL BOUND – Ahead of Cabbage

Red cabbage is my reminder, today, of our deep-seated need to tend the flame of color, even as winter’s consuming breath tries to extinguish it from the landscape.

Could there be any vegetable color so rich, so passionate, as this lucid purple, this nearly perfect fusion of red and blue?

And color’s just the blush of wonder, for it so often resides in layers, revealed only to one who cares to see deeply, generously. Cabbage does not disappoint.

Thick pinnate veins suggest distinct leaves wrap the hefty sphere. Only the satisfying “chunk!” of cleaving reveals the true wonder of the layering—a compound spiral maze* of folded fetal forms.

         

Peel it and the leaves seem distinct, but when you trace one’s cross section, it looks for all the world like one continuous, wrapping sheet. Can you follow one leaf from fat center node all the way to its edge?

Is such beauty too good to eat? Perhaps, but for bringing still more senses to play in this game of appreciating everyday miracles. There’s cool, crunchy, slightly peppery wonder in that too.

*There are many types of spirals to be found in Nature. Red cabbage’s pattern is a compound spiral following what’s called the Fibonacci ratio, whose sequence runs 1, 1, 2, 3, 5, 8, 13... (each subsequent number being the sum of the two preceding ones). 
See more of Nature's spirals.

SLOW FOOD – And That's An Order!

The caricature in my high school yearbook showed me shoving three hot dogs, buns and all, into my mouth at the same time.

I just assumed that, come mealtime, I’d sit down, the food would be there and I’d eat it.

Being the son of a restaurateur, you'd think I'd have known and appreciated
food more than that. Someone like me was supposed to dine, not wolf it down
like a starving man. I suppose, like most teenagers, I didn’t have much time for eating—or anything that didn’t involve learning, sports or my friends. I must
have just assumed that, come mealtime, I’d sit down, the food would be there
and I’d eat it.

At any rate, it took a stint in the US Army for me to realize that food was no
longer something I could—or would—take for granted.

                                            ~//~          ~//~          ~//~

ON EDGE
It was July, I was at Fort Dix, New Jersey for basic training, and I was the lowest of the low. I don’t think I’ve ever experienced such an oppressive collusion of heat, humidity, physical exertion and psychological intimidation.

After a grueling day of drilling, marching and physical training, punctuated by verbal and physical harassment, even that staple of institutional feeding, “shit on a shingle” (creamed beef on toast) was looking mighty good to me.

Our drill instructors made us perch on just the 

front two inches of our chairs while we ate.

But the powers that be, in their efforts to strip us recruits of any pretense of autonomy, weren’t about to make anything easy, not even a well-deserved meal. In a trick borrowed from the Marines, our drill instructors made us perch on just the front two inches of our chairs while we ate.

You can imagine how hard it is to relax and enjoy a meal with your tailbone grinding on that unforgiving edge, your thighs straining to support some of your weight. The good news was that, at worst, we’d only have to endure the pain for ten minutes; that’s how long they gave us to eat.

And, as if that weren’t enough abuse, the guy serving mess that night (that pimply, gap-toothed guy from Arkansas, drunk with power from his recent promotion to corporal), might have been having a bad day—or maybe just hated you because you went to college—in which case you got only half a portion.

So, as much as I’d have loved to really enjoy those grudging morsels, I learned to shut up and chow down. In fact, if such a thing were possible, I learned to eat even faster in the Army than I did in high school.

The whole experience was about as close to incarceration as I ever hope to get. All the while I dreamed of freedom—especially the freedom to take my time and really savor a meal.

FOOD FIGHT
Ever since my last day at Fort Dix, I’ve seized that dream. So much so that a present-day update of that high school caricature would more accurately show me leisurely sniffing the bouquet of those hot dogs. A real lunch laggard, a dinner dawdler, or...no, I've got it: a mealtime mullosk.

Don't they realize the freedom, the privilege, the gift of an unhurried meal?

I see so many poor folks rushing their meals these days, acting as if eating were the last thing in the world they want to be doing. Don't they realize the freedom, the privilege, the gift of an unhurried meal?

Slow food?

Now I’m certainly no connoisseur, so it doesn’t take fancy cooking to please me. But I know good food when I taste it and appreciate the dining experience on many levels. Whether it’s a burger and shake or sake-poached prawns with rutabaga confit, I enjoy every nuance of presentation, taste and texture. Not to mention the good conversation a leisurely meal so often nourishes.

For this I must thank my parents, of course. It was they who set such a good example for me of patience, discrimination and moderation. But I give even more credit to Corporal Billy-Bob or whatever his name was and United States Army for teaching me about freedom.

So...this might be a good time to apologize to my family and friends for the countless aggregate hours they've patiently—and not so patiently—waited for me to finish my meals. I hope this helps explain my odd behavior.

THE YUCK! STOPS HERE – The Culture of Kids and Food

There's more to the splendor of this world than the arm's-length sort of experience we generally associate with discovery and curiosity. Some wonders we eat.

How do you feel about eating? Is it just another necessary chore for you? Do you simply consume your food, often on the run or while you're doing something else? Does healthy food appeal to you? Are you an adventurous eater?

I'm fortunate to be the son of a restaurateur, so I learned early and well to take my time appreciating good food and to enjoy trying new tastes. This, along with my passion for promoting everyday awareness, leads me to think quite often about eating, and to wish everyone could see it, not as just another task, but as an adventure, a nourishing, sensory experience.

DOWN THE HATCH
Our attitudes about food and eating take shape early in life.

When I was a kid, a healthy, balanced diet and a sense of food adventure were both part of our family culture. No one ever gave me the choice of whether or not to eat my vegetables. Mom knew what was good for us and, except for the occasional bootlegged candy bar or soda, we ate and drank what she served. And, as far as I could tell, this was true for most of my friends too.

Dad, of course, was a student not only of the restaurant business, but of food and its meaning to people. Wherever we went, around town or away on vacation, he loved to try new restaurants and study how they did things.

Straight up from the plate it would go.
Chug-a-chug-a-chug!

Even at home, my parents tried to make eating new things fun. Before I was three, I was convinced my Brussels sprouts were miniature cabbages and my broccoli fat little green trees. I sculpted my Cream of Wheat into a little pond and filled it with milk. For some reason, this simple imagery was enough to get me to eat these things back then—and I still do.

My dad had another trick. He’d pretend his hand was an excavator and the spoon its bucket. Straight up from the plate it would go. Chug-a-chug-a-chug! At mouth level, it would creak to a stop, shift gears and grind its way toward my mouth. I couldn’t wait for the chance to open the hatch!

THE GREAT GRILLED CHEESE AND HOT DOG SCAM
Today, though, I have to marvel at the little food co-dependencies I see played out in so many American families. Parents start their enabling by asking their kids what they want to eat. Are you kidding me? Their kids, not yet capable of good judgement and having picked up the No-vegetables! mantra from friends and/or media, inevitably make poor choices.

Worse yet, some parents don’t even ask; they just assume their kids won’t eat anything that’s really good for them, and then do everything they can to fulfill their own prophecy. This little scam is then reinforced by the kids’ friends and their parents, and restaurants, which just assume the only thing a kid’s ever going to want is a grilled cheese or a hot dog.

And we wring our hands about the epidemic of childhood obesity!

Parents just assume their kids won’t eat anything that’s really good for them, and then...fulfill their own prophecy.

Not long ago I saw a TV commercial in which a young mother's standing in her kitchen, pondering a sort of holographic version of the nutritional food groups pyramid floating above the center island. She blithely dismisses every item on the chart that's green, thinking aloud something like, "No way my kids are gonna eat these things!"

The solution she and the sponsor propose: one of those engineered nutritional drinks originally prescribed medically for kids temporarily unable to eat solid food. So…I guess the message is if you can't beat 'em, join 'em! Hey, I've got an idea: take a lovely fish fillet, some brown rice and a crown or two of broccoli and compress it into something that looks and tastes like a potato chip. Come to think of it, why not just condense it all down to a pill and sneak it into that hot dog!

THE YUCK! STOPS HERE
How sad that kids—with lots of help from all the wrong places—are losing touch with real, healthy food! For this wonder seeker, the worst part of this is seeing them robbed of their natural sense of adventure. Unfortunately, this is happening at the same time that kids are becoming more and more alienated from Nature. It's all part of the same invisible tragedy, one which will inevitably prove very costly for both a generation of children and for society.

What can we do to reclaim healthy, adventurous, wonder-full eating for our kids and grandkids? Probably the single best approach: turn off the TV. Decide for yourself what your kids should eat. Offer them a couple of healthy options—and then leave them with just one choice: eat one of these or starve.

Decide for yourself what your kids should eat...
and then leave them with just one choice: eat 
this or starve.

My daughter uses a couple of somewhat less severe solutions with her headstrong five-year-old. First, the good ol' dessert come-on: finish your veggies or no cookie. And, if it's something she's never tried before, there's the "no thank you" bite: eat at least one bite before you're excused from the table. This way, she at least has the chance to discover, for herself, if she might not actually like things her little friends are being taught to hate.

NO McTHANK-YOU!
Parents: make the wonders of food part of your family culture. Think of your kids' nutrition in as uncompromising a way as you think of their safety. Start early. Set a few basic rules. Make sure the rules go with them to school, to friends' houses and to restaurants. Talk to your relatives and your kids' friends' parents about supporting your decisions.

Push the envelope a bit. No one learns anything without first venturing into unfamiliar territory. It's the same with food. Experiment now and then with dishes typical of other cultures. Travel as much as you can with your kids, and bypass the McDonald's in favor of places where the locals eat.

At home, declare at least a couple of evenings a week as family mealtimes in which you take time to really enjoy the food—and the company. Why not make one dinner a month a theme dinner featuring a dish—and perhaps simple decorations and music—from another culture.

Be flexible, but firm. Make it positive—all about opportunities, adventure, fun. Involve your little ones in some guided decision-making about what you're cooking, and then let them help in the preparation.

Travel as much as you can with your kids, and bypass the McDonald's in favor of places where the locals eat.

OUT OF THE CLOSET
Some foods I now enjoy very much were among those I didn't care for as a child. If my parents had caved in to my complaints back then, I might easily have put those things into my "can't stand it" compartment—never again to see the light of day. As it turns out, my parents' de-mystification of those items left me free to try many of these foods again as an adult. This is how I developed tastes for oatmeal, black olives, cantaloupe, bleu cheese and liver, among others.

How would you describe your family's food and eating culture? Do you have some closeted food tastes? Have you ever given another chance to something you hated as a kid? Have any of your kids or grandchildren surprised you with the maturity or adventurousness of their food tastes?

We'd love to hear about your experiences!

PLAY WITH YOUR FOOD – Part Two

It makes me sad to see how many people seem to approach eating as just one more necessary chore. Do you simply consume your food, or do you experience it?

THE GREAT GRILLED CHEESE AND HOT DOG SCAM
When I was a kid, no one ever gave me the choice of whether or not to eat my vegetables. Mom knew what was good for us, and, except for the occasional bootlegged candy bar or soda, we ate and drank what she served. Balanced meals and a sense of food adventure were part of our family culture.

Today, though, I have to marvel at the little co-dependencies I see played out in so many American families. Parents start their enabling by asking their kids what they want to eat. Are you kidding me? Their kids—having picked up the no-vegetables! mantra from friends and/or media—inevitably make poor choices.

Worse yet, some parents don’t even ask; they just assume their kids won’t eat anything that’s really good for them, and then fulfill their own prophecy. This little scam is then reinforced by the kids’ friends and their parents, and restaurants, which assume the only thing a kid’s ever going to want is a grilled cheese or a hot dog. And we wring our hands about the epidemic of childhood obesity!

Parents just assume their kids won’t eat anything that’s really good for them, and then fulfill their own prophecy.

Just today I saw a TV commercial in which a young mother's standing in her kitchen, pondering a sort of holographic version of the nutritional food groups pyramid. She blithely dismisses every item on the chart that's green, saying something like, "No way my kids are gonna eat these things!" The solution she and the sponsor propose: one of those engineered nutritional drinks originally prescribed for kids temporarily unable to eat solid food. So, if you can't beat 'em, fool 'em!

How sad that kids—with lots of help from all the wrong places—are losing touch with real food! For this wonder seeker, the saddest part of this is seeing them robbed of their natural sense of adventure.

Decide for yourself what your kids should eat ... then leave them with just one choice: eat this or starve.

What can we do to reclaim wonder-full eating for our kids and grandkids? Probably the single best approach: turn off the TV. Decide for yourself what your kids should eat—maybe offering a couple of healthy options—and then leave them with just one choice: eat this or starve.

Short of that draconian measure, my daughter has a smart policy with her headstrong four-year-old: the "no thank you" bite. When the little girl balks at eating something, she must eat at least one bite before she's excused from the table. Then there's always the good old dessert come-on. (I knew there was a logical raison d'etre for dessert!)

"As a child my family's menu consisted of two choices: 
take it or leave it." ~ BUDDY HACKETT

PLAY WITH YOUR FOOD – Part One of Two

Memorial Day's about remembering and celebrating!

A HAPPY, THOUGHTFUL MEMORIAL DAY TO ALL!
As we head into the first of America's great patriotic, all-consuming, over-consuming summer holidays, I thought a few words about  the wonders of food might be fitting.

There's more to appreciating this miraculous world than the arm's-length sort of discovery we so often associate with wonder. Some wonders we eat. The son of a restaurateur, I learned early and well to appreciate good food and to enjoy exploring new tastes.

Before I could even feed myself, my dad had a wonderful little trick for encouraging me to eat. He’d pretend his hand was a mechanical lift and the spoon its bucket. Straight up from the plate it would go. Chug-a-chug-a-chug. At mouth level, it would creak to a stop, shift gears and grind its way toward my mouth. I couldn’t wait to open the hatch and begin processing that load of whatever it was!

By the time I was three, Mom and Dad had convinced me that broccoli was really little leprechaun green trees, and Brussels sprouts, miniature cabbages. For some reason, appealing to my imagination like this was enough to get me to eat them—and I still do. In fact, both broccoli and Brussels sprouts are among my favorite green veggies.

You don’t have to be coerced to enjoy eating. Aside from the obvious (liking the way things taste), there are lots of ways to appreciate food.

EATING AS ART

Aren't the things we eat beautiful?

First there are the visual delights of food. Most of us appreciate a meal more when it’s presented to us in an attractive way. In fact, a significant part of becoming a good cook involves choosing and arranging food elements that complement each other visually on the plate. On the other hand, I’ve eaten things I couldn’t have stomached if I’d allowed myself to look at them very long: oysters come to mind, as do chapulines (fried grasshoppers).

I love a certain breakfast café in our neighborhood because they serve their coffee in clear glass mugs. I can pour in my cream and watch the perfect little “thunderheads” that bloom in the rich brown liquid as the cream billows and then settles, still cool, on the bottom.

Most people think putting butterscotch on their ice cream is about a five-second job. I like to take my time, drizzling it as finely as I can before the stream begins to break. This way, I can draw shapes across the creamy white mounds or hold it perfectly still and watch the delicate amber thread stack up in tiny coils.

How about that first bite through the warm, crackly chocolate surface into the cold creamy center of a Dairy Queen chocolate-dipped cone?

Then there’s the tactile aspect of eating. We’re not supposed to play with our food, but tell that to a one- or two-year-old. As adults, maybe we don’t throw our peas or smear our banana on the wall, but we still appreciate the way our food feels. What can beat the wonderful contrast between the tender inside and crispy surface of well-done hash brown potatoes? Who can say they don’t love the sweet crystalline coolness of a bite of fresh watermelon (not to mention the ageless fun to be had with its seeds). And how about that first bite through the warm, crackly chocolate surface into the cold creamy center of a Dairy Queen chocolate-dipped cone?

EATING AS SCIENCE

There are all kinds of little science experiments you can do with your food and drink. For example, I still love to put my thumb over the end of a soda straw, lift out a column of soda and then lift my thumb to deposit it in my mouth.

I “discovered” surface tension by filling a glass to the very brim with milk and finding that, when I added a little more, it would actually go above the rim before it overflowed. I watched in great wonder the magical, dancing strings of carbon dioxide bubbles that materialize out of nowhere in a glass of beer.

I used to hate oatmeal. Since it was often about the only thing served for breakfast at summer camp, I eventually learned to like it, but not without inventing an element of play. I’d dig out the center of the sticky, steamy mass to form a little pond. Then I’d fill it with milk and sprinkle brown sugar “sand” all around the “shore”. This didn't just make eating oatmeal more fun, it also was a great way to make it cool faster.

Stricter parents might have taught me a lesson about waste by making me eat the vile potion.

Maybe it was inspired by the story of Jesus feeding the multitude with a few loaves and fishes. When I really, really liked something on my plate and knew there’d be no seconds, I decided that, at least theoretically, I could make it last forever. All I had to do is keep taking no more than half of whatever amount remained.

Most of these games were constructive in that they eventually led to my eating something I might otherwise have left on my plate. Others were not so practical, like my chemistry experiments combining a sample of every dish, drink and condiment on the table in a revolting gray-green pool on my plate. Stricter parents might have taught me a lesson about waste by making me eat the vile potion. I like to think that the long-suffering my parents showed was not merely tolerance, but perhaps a bit of wisdom.
(TO BE CONTINUED)

"No man is lonely eating spaghetti; it requires so much attention."    CHRISTOPHER MORLEY

NO ACCOUNTING FOR TASTE – Eating Like You Mean It

Have you ever watched people eat? It’s really fascinating. Next time you’re in a restaurant, find someone at a nearby table you can observe without being too obvious. Count the number of times he or she chews a bite of food before swallowing it. You may be surprised.

You’ll find a few over-achievers like me who chew, try to talk a little without opening their mouths too far, chew some more, maybe take a sip of wine, chew yet again and then swallow. What, maybe 15 or 20 chews? But I think you’ll see many more who look for all the world like eating is absolutely the last thing they want to be doing.

I’ve observed many, many people—both men and women—who chew every mouthful only once or twice before swallowing it. And we’re not just talking soup here. Even inch-thick chunks of steak end up being swallowed nearly whole. One chew, swallow; say a few words; another forkful, chew, chew, swallow. Hell, why not just take your nourishment in a pill?

       Eating without chewing is like standing 
       on the rim of the Grand Canyon with your 
       eyes closed.

Eating without chewing is like standing on the rim of the Grand Canyon with your eyes closed. Enjoying an unhurried meal appeals to every one of our senses. I’m certainly no connoisseur, so it doesn’t take fancy cooking to please me. But I know good food when I taste it and appreciate the dining experience on many levels. Whether it’s a burger and shake or sake-poached prawns with rutabaga confit, I enjoy every nuance of presentation, taste and texture. Not to mention the good conversation a leisurely meal so often nourishes.



THE GREAT GRILLED CHEESE AND HOT DOG SCAM
When I was growing up, I don’t remember ever being given the choice of whether or not to eat my vegetables. My brother and I ate what was served. Simple, balanced meals and a sense of food adventure were part of our family culture.

I have to marvel at the little co-dependencies I see played out in so many American families today. Parents start their enabling by asking their kids what they want to eat. Are you kidding me? The kids—having picked up the no-vegetables! mantra from friends and/or media—inevitably make poor choices. Worse yet, some parents don’t even ask; they just assume their kids won’t eat anything that’s good for them, and then fulfill their own prophecy. This little scam is further reinforced by the kids’ friends and their parents, and restaurants, which apparently figure the only thing a kid’s ever going to want is a grilled cheese sandwich or hot dog. And we wring our hands at the epidemic of childhood obesity!

So, next time a server brings your meal and says "Enjoy!" take him at his word!