| As
I prepare for a food and nutrition class I’m teaching,
I’m focusing on pleasure. I realize this amounts
to little more than heresy in the modern world of deprivation
dining. To deny oneself sugar, to abstain from gluten,
dairy, saturated fat, wheat, is tantamount to sainthood.
We mean well, but when we constantly deprive ourselves
of foods that are frankly pleasurable, aren’t we
also depriving ourselves of some large measure of joy?
When we speak of being nourished, we imply that we’re
taking food in—not that we’re shunning or
rejecting it. But what, exactly, are we taking in? Is
being nourished merely a matter of consuming the proper
foods in the correct amounts, of procuring the right balance
of vitamins, minerals and phytonutrients? It doesn’t
seem so. I think when we speak of being nourished, we
are speaking of the sum total of our food experience.
We’re taking in not only a certain lineup of nutrients,
but also the company we’re with when we eat, the
atmosphere of the dining locale, the air around us, the
taste of the food, its feel in our mouths.
So, as I look at the notes for my class, I think of all
the many things we want and need from food. We want food
to help us lose weight, lower cholesterol, reduce blood
pressure, prevent cancer, work harder, train better and
generally render us infallible. For those with a boot
camp mentality, a strict get-healthy-and-never-age diet
is enough. The rest of us want—and need--more.
We want pleasure. We want food to taste good, to arouse
and delight our senses, to feel velvety or coarse on the
tongue, to vary in texture, temperature, flavor. More
than just tasting good, we want food to make us feel good.
We want it to comfort us when we’re sad, keep us
company when we’re lonely, soothe us when we’re
anxious or afraid, make us happy when we’re not,
bring us joy and peace when we’re feeling put upon,
indulge us when we’re deprived. (For an insightful
look at these topics, see the work of Marc
David, local nutritionist, author and expert on pleasure.
His book, Nourishing
Wisdom, remains one of my favorites.)
But indulging in food often involves a pursuit of pleasure
that promotes guilt, rather than deep satisfaction, or
nourishment. For many of us, “indulging” is
equivalent to committing nutritional suicide. We indulge
with cheap, highly processed foods--ice cream, donuts,
heavily salted French fries, cookies by the dozen, the
boorish commoners of the food world.
But what would happen if we indulged with more refined
fare, with rich, sensual foods that are whole, unadulterated,
magnificent in their simplicity? Think of truffle oil
or extra-ripe avocados, of heirloom tomatoes sliced thick
and served with layers of fresh basil, coarse salt and
good olive oil; think of creamy Greek yogurt, fresh figs,
Catalan olives, chanterelle mushrooms, juicy blackberries—these
are the foods that give me great pleasure, and that leave
me feeling deeply nourished.
So, perhaps there is a way to simultaneously fulfill most
of these wants and needs, allowing food to indulge and
comfort us, and to bring us both pleasure and nutrition.
And notice that most of these sensuous, indulgent foods
can easily be incorporated into nearly anyone’s
version of a “healthy” diet, be it low-glycemic
index, organic, vegetarian, dairy-free or gluten-free.
(Fat free? Don’t even get me started on that subject.)
What if, instead of saying no to “bad” foods,
we instead began to say “yes” to good foods--to
clean, organic, whole foods? Wouldn’t that be a
big step in the right direction toward nourishment?
More food for thought: what if we took the idea of pleasure
and joy into our food selection and preparation as well?
Years ago, when I cooked for groups of people in a spiritual
environment, we in the kitchen came to cook after meditating,
in a tranquil state of mind. We moved slowly and spoke
in calm, happy voices, occasionally punctuating the air
with laughter. We learned to sing beautiful Hindu chants
as we chopped onions and stirred beans.
The great peace and calm in the kitchen, the sweetness
of the atmosphere, the melodic, rhythmic sounds of devotional
chants—all conspired to render a meal as simple
as dahl and rice a gourmet masterpiece. This sense of
reverence for the practice of nourishing our bodies extended
to how we ate the food. We paused before eating. We ate
first with our eyes, taking in the colors and textures
of the food. As we ate, we chewed slowly, breathed deeply,
paused often to notice how the food was feeling in our
bodies.
I’d like to say these practices are so automatic
to me now, they’re almost second nature. It’s
not true. Most of the time, I do pretty well. But I still
find myself from time to time falling into bad habits—eating
at my computer as I write (or, worse, as I drive), rushing
to get dinner on the table before my little boy catapults
yet another peanut-butter laden spoon across the kitchen.
Which brings me to my final point. Incorporating pleasure,
joy and peace into cooking and eating is a lifelong practice.
Like any practice, it requires patience, determination
and, ultimately, compassion, understanding and forgiveness.
So I leave you with this: as you venture forth into the
world (and Whole Foods Market), perhaps you will choose
your foods with what makes you happy, knowing that will
also leave you more soundly nourished. As you enter your
kitchen to prepare your next meal, perhaps you will breath
a little more deeply, move a little more slowly, smile
a little more often. As you eat, perhaps you will look
more softly into the eyes of your dining companion and
notice the great pleasure, joy and peace of eating.
The following recipe is from my good friend
Trusan Comstock, pastry chef and fellow foodie. If you
are fearful of the cream in the recipe, I leave you with
tow thoughts: first, everything in moderation (you can
make the truffles as tiny as you wish, and just have one).
Second, to paraphrase the late Julia Child, "If your
're afraid of cream, use butter."
Chocolate Truffles
1 pound organic, semi-sweet dart chocolate,
chopped into small pieces
1 cup organic heavy cream
Organic dark cocoa for coating
Place chocolate in a medium mixing bowl.
In a small pan,heat cream over medium high just until
boiling. Remove from heat immediately, and pour cream
over chocolate; stir until chocolate is soft and melted.
Let stand for 15 minutes, then refrigerate, covered, until
firm. Scoop out truffle mixture with a spoon or melon
ball scoop; form into balls of your preferred size, roll
in cocoa, and refrigerate until serving.
Lisa Turner is a food and nutrition writer in Boulder,
Colorado. She writes food columns for local and national
magazines, teaches at Bauman College of Holistic Nutrition
and Culinary Arts, and eats chocolate every chance she
gets.
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