Eater's Remorse

We are all flesh...which means we are all struggling to keep reins on some tendency that could be emotionally, spiritually or physically detrimental. This is the story of one of my many such struggles...

On Sunday afternoon, I engaged in some borderline gluttony at the Brunch Buffet at Anzu Restaurant located inside San Francisco's Hotel Niko. The food was exquisite down to the last crumb. But somewhere between the shortribs and the tiramisu, I started having flashbacks reminiscent of the Vietnam War of the wanton pigging-out that I used to do as a kid...and next thing I knew I was sitting there leaned back in my chair, belly distended, the top button of my slacks undone à la Al Bundy, and wondering a) what had happened to my life and b) what had happened to the butter for my dinner rolls. Then it dawned on me. The horrific reality is that I would most likely see where it had all gone when I stepped on the scale the next morning.

Note: I do not exaggerate when I say how good this food was. It better have been, as much as the bill came out to be. However, the fact that I had to practically promise the restaurant my first child and let them put a lien on any property I may acquire in the future in order to afford that meal may have also contributed to my acting a fool with my spoon and fork. I was determined to eat my money's worth; even if I had to take breaks and see a doctor in between helpings.

As I mentioned earlier, the way I totally went to town on that buffet table was nothing new; however it was something I hadn't done in a really long time. I have struggled with poor eating habits, emotional eating, eating disorders, crash diets, etc., for about the past 20 years. Come on now-I'm black. I think dietary issues come on the standard model, and I know that we are not the only ethnic group still trying to get it together in this area. We celebrate, grieve, work, entertain, worry, and reward-with a bottle of hot sauce somewhere within a 3-foot radius. If a person's culture were a cell-like the kind than make up an organism-food, I'd say, could be likened to one of those little colored circle/ball/thingies that makes up the strands of the DNA double-helix inside the nucleus. (Yeah, I went there.) In other words it's hugely important on an individual and social level-unfortunately it is often the wrong amount of the wrong kind for the wrong reasons and not enough of the right elements to counteract the inevitable consequences (obesity, heart disease, diabetes...need I go on?)

And that's what happened to me. I grew up surrounded by food lovers and great cooks on two different coasts, and as a result, I grew up loving food-making it as well is consuming it. TV, and books opened my piqued my interest in gourmet cuisine, and my multicultural California upbringing ignited a curiosity and subsequent love for international foods (especially Mexican-I should've known by the way I could put away enchiladas that I was destined to speak Spanish); but my summers in Ohio and Georgia kept me connected to my culinary roots ("soul food"; fried chicken, cornbread and collard greens being particular favorites). And sweets-oh I couldn't wait until I was old enough to use the oven by myself to be able to start making my own cookies, pastries and breads. These were the treats, the rewards for good behavior, or the comforting morsels on a rainy day. My mom bought me an Easy-Bake oven but I should have known when I tried to make a full-size cornbread in it that I was ready for bigger (and tastier) things.

So what was the problem? Who doesn't want to eat something good? The problem is that eating was ALL I wanted to do-that and read books, play dolls and write stories and sew. Sedentary activities, never anything physical (unless I was swimming, which I could only do in certain months of the year). Team sports were just way too intimidating and kids were mean. My right leg is longer than my left, so everything I did ALWAYS looked funny. So I just stuck to what I was good at. And even when doing something I enjoyed, basically I was just biding my time until it was time to eat again. I remember taking road trips in the summer with my biological father and only half-paying attention to the sights along the way-I was looking for the next Waffle House, Cracker Barrel or McDonald's I could spot. So what if I was no longer hungry because I had just eaten an hour ago? Did it matter that my stomach hurt because I had eaten it all at lightening speed as if someone were threatening to take my plate away? Nope. I could always stand a little more sweet, a little more salty, a little more buttery-to me it just made life worth living. My relatives chided me for being fatter every summer but I just mentally shifted the blame right back to them. After all, they were the ones feeding me. I didn't have a job...

So by the time I was 11 I weighed 190 pounds. I remember looking at the scale and crying, but it still didn't deter me from asking for money for Hot Cheetos and Grape soda the very next day. Even if my well-meaning parents tried to put limits on what I ate, I'd sneak and eat what I wanted. But with Junior High came self-consciousness, and with that came Slim-Fast, Richard Simmons' Deal-A-Meal, the ORIGINAL Weight Watchers, the Cabbage Soup diet, the Apple diet, even Susan Powter's "Stop the Insanity." Yeah. REALLY. But I always felt deprived. It didn't help that the emotional ups and downs of transitioning into adulthood only seemed to be endurable with a side of fries or smothered in alfredo sauce. The weight just kept creeping on (See center photo) ...until I got to be about 275 pounds and didn't notice when or how it happened (just like last Sunday!). Once I was an adult, necessity forced me to change my eating habits for good and I got amazing results, but then I was so obsessed with maintaining them that I became bulimic, and then that got old,so then I just kind of settled into a modified, less Tasmanian-Devil-like version of eating "whatever"-not necessarily being cautious, but not going overboard and eating everything in sight either. But I started gaining weight back the more careless I let myself get, and I just didn't want to go through again what I'd already lived and suffered too long. I'd say that it has been only in the last 12 months, really, that I have finally found my peace with food, not because I want to be pretty; not because I want approval, but just to feel good physically and emotionally and accomplish my goals. I make better choices, and as a result I find myself craving healthier foods. And I love to exercise! I still look funny while doing it but it's something I can do and I value the fact that my body even works. I don't obsess because I don't have time or energy for it (and I still like food), but I'm in control. It feels good to be in control.

But the Hotel Niko fiasco was kinda of a "check-engine" light for me, so to speak. It reminded my that my old ways, while quiet most of the time, have as much potential to strike again as the San Andreas fault. I will re-iterate that I have no eater's remorse from that day (I worked out really hard all week and I paid good money to eat!), but I know that next time I don't have to eat as much, or, as an alternative, I can eat more of the "good" stuff, like veggies, lean meats and whole grains. Just like with all things we struggle against, much of our success or failure in overcoming an obstacle lies in our view of it. Food is part of the fun, sure, but it doesn't have to be the ONLY fun. And will always have another chance to enjoy some dish I love. I don't have to have a slice of pizza just because it's there, especially not of I'm not even hungry. I have a job, I can buy some tomorrow. Or I can choose to have chicken salad instead of fried chicken. Or have the chicken but make it one piece instead of three. I don't have to pay attention to any inner entity telling me what to do to my own body. I got this. Or at least I keep telling myself. And on the days that I don't have it? I do like I do with everything else-I PRAY!