I’ve been thinking about blogging about food for some time. Although I’ve written about it previously (see Apron With Oil Burns), I still have not managed to figure out why this issue is so hard for me to digest.
First is the ultimate reality: Without food, I die. In order to survive, one must eat. So in terms of survival, I really have no choice but to keep my belly full.
Second is the consumerist aspect of food: In order to have food, you need to buy it. And even if you cook, you need to buy the ingredients. How absurd is it that we need to PAY for this thing that is meant to keep us alive? Imagine if we had to pay for oxygen. Seems pretty preposterous, but on the other hand, in a capitalist society, everything is a potential for financial prosperity.
Third is health: I am so bored with all these studies that show tomatoes are healthy, and wine is healthy, and sugar is bad, and salt is destructive, and being vegetarian is good, and being vegetarian is bad, and being vegan is horrible, and being vegan is the best thing to happen to your organism. I don’t know who or what to believe anymore. I don’t believe doctors worth a shit. And I can’t take other people’s experience with one type of food or another as an example because my body doesn’t function the way other people’s bodies function, and it may respond to any given nutritional intake differently.
(As a side note: I will never be vegan because I love milk chocolate too much to give it up, and my life without a decent amount of ice cream is no life. And I will never be vegetarian because I fucking LOVE chicken! Whether they’re being tortured or not is totally irrelevant. Chicken rocks! Besides, I don’t like any kind of nuts and am not a big fan of lentils or chic peas or beans by any means. So the only protein I’m willing to get is from eggs, fish and meat).
Finally is my own personal experience with food: From a very young age, I’ve been a tough cookie. My taste buds have developed pretty quickly and I knew what I like and what I don’t like. And if I didn’t like something, I will not eat it if it were the last thing in the fridge. And if you tried to sneak it into my plate, I will still notice it’s there, then pull a Stewie Griffin on your ass, toss the plate on the floor and order you to make it again. Although I’ve managed to tune my taste buds to things like olive oil, garlic, and just recently, humus and falafel, I still will not touch eggplant, spicy foods, schwarma, pickles, sprouts, and other random stuff with a ten-foot pole.
I’ve been underweight ever since I can remember. Although I eat less than what the average woman my age eats, those who know me well enough also know that I do not suffer from any eating disorder. I am skinny because that’s just the way the Mother Goddess, in Her infinite wisdom, created me… and also because I take after my mom who is just as skinny as I am. The only time I voluntarily starve myself is either when I’m fasting on a High Holiday (which is only once a year), or when I’m utterly depressed and look for an appropriate way to hurt myself, opting for living on water for a couple of days (which hasn’t happened since over three years ago, and will hopefully never happen again).
My problem with food is mostly related to my dysfunctional digestive system. As I’ve written before, my digestive system is a sadistic little fuck. It loves to see me suffer and it uses food to torture me. Every once in a while, I fantasize about getting an enema just so I can chill for a while and not have to worry about constantly being within walking (or running in a panic) distance from a toilet.
Also, due to my genetic condition, my jaw and my esophagus muscles are not responding as well as I’d like them to. I have trouble chewing properly, and if I eat something too solid, chances are it will get stuck in my throat. Nowadays, I can’t eat grapes, plums or apples without peeling them first. There goes my fiber.
Aside from that, there are so many things I like to eat but force myself to not eat them for fear of incurring my intestinal wrath. Mostly things like dairy products, which I love because Israeli dairy industry is yuminess incarnate, can sometimes make me paranoid about my bowl movements (check around for the nearest toilet and plan my route). And it’s not because I’m lactose intolerant or whatever, because dairy things don’t always cause a digestive malfunction for me. But if I’m in a fragile nutritional state, following a particularly frightening episode on the toilet or following a 25-hour long fast, my dairy intake must be kept to a strict minimum.
So until I can find some peace in my kitchen cupboards and get my stomach to respond to my desperate cries for a ceasefire, I guess I’ll stick to avocado sandwiches and rice.
Peace, love and fuck this, give me cheese cake!