Many of my jeans no
longer fit me. I have only one
pair of slacks – at least 15 years old – that I can wear, and that is because
of its elastic, expandable waist- band.
None of my suits fit, and many of my shirts can just about be buttoned
around my expanded mid-section. I
cringe at what I see when I look in the mirror, and every night I lie in bed
vowing that I can do and I will do, whatever it takes to lose this
uncomfortable, and unsightly belly.
And everyday, as lunchtime approaches with the first pangs of hunger, I
completely disown that vow. Did I
make a vow? What vow? That must have been someone else
getting in my head.
I love food and I love
eating. I enjoy the flavors of my
favorite foods, and the goal of abolishing hunger is quickly replaced by the
desire to maximize the pleasure for my taste buds. This experience plays out every day, at every meal, whether
I’m eating alone, with Patience, or with others.
Food nurtures the soul
as well as the body. Growing up in
a family and community of immigrants and first generation Italian-Americans I
learned that all social interactions – gatherings of family and/or friends,
weddings, funerals, and casual impromptu get-togethers - all centered around food. It could be as simple as coffee and
pastry or as elegant as a full course meal, but the sharing of food and the
kitchen or dinning room table was inexorably linked to the interaction of
family and friends.
So now, in my battle
with the expanding waist line, I not only have to overcome the sensual attraction
of wonderful flavors, but also a cultural heritage that has stained the fibers
of my being. And that’s not all!
The aromas of the
kitchen – garlic sautéing in olive oil, basil, oregano, and Parmigianino cheese
– all evoke memories of my mother’s kitchen and her wonderful cooking. And it is impossible for me to sit
before a plate of pasta and not remember my father. Cooking and eating has become an important link to my
past and to my parents. Whether it
is the satisfaction of preparing a simple dish of pasta with olive oil and
garlic, or the small fruit glass of red wine at lunch, I am, for that brief
moment, with my mother and father.
I am what I am.
My weight…oh yea…well I
can deal with that tomorrow.
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