Last night over dinner I quizzed my husband on what order he chooses to eat his food. In a perfectly predictable manner he eats his favorite parts of a meal first so that if he gets full halfway through the meal he will be certain to have had what he wanted. Seems logical right?
I on the other hand tend to eat things from least favorite to most, so that the last thing I eat is my favorite thing. Much like when I was a child and had to choke down my share of cow's tongue. I would force the bumpy, grainy meat down my throat, then reward myself for not throwing it up by munching happily on my asparagus and peas.
What I could never understand though was why they always served milk with cow's tongue...that was just gross.
In anycase...I do the same thing today even when I am not faced with such horrors as borscht and cow's tongue (and lord save me - liver). Take my daily fruit salad for instance. The cantaloupe goes first, then the honeydew. Now I like cantaloupe and honeydew fine, in fact I am very favorable towards honeydew, but when in contention with my third and fourth picks (watermelon and grapes) they fall short. I never mix up eating my fruit (like say eating a melon piece then eating a grape) all of them have to be eaten together, at the same time. Then they are broken down by appearance and size as well. Small goes first, juiciest pieces go last. In the end I am left with a salad plate full of grapes to munch on and leave me with a good grape-y feeling all the day.
I have, as my tastes and motor-skills improve, taken my need to separate and rank foodstuffs to a whole new level. I do it in my mouth. A scoop of my favorite ice cream (Coldstone's Sweet Cream with Gummi Bear mix-in's) provide me with infinite tongue exercise. First and foremost is my visual ranking. Red bears first, followed by yellow, green and white etc. Of course since it's mixed in sometimes I miss a couple of bears and end up having to eat a green bear after I've started on the white or something. And this is fine...which I think is a testament to my potential for sanity. I'm not going to be washing my hands five hundred times a day anytime soon.
However, once I have done a quick initial survey of my ice cream there is the problem of the scoop. If I scoop carefully I can get a bite of cream with just one bear present. Once scooped it should be a mere matter to consume. However, it's not. I have to separate, with my tongue, the cream from the bear, completely. I will not chew on the bear till the cream is melted and gone. To the normal onlooker it just seems like I'm enjoying my ice cream and savoring each creamy taste...but so much more is happening.
Once the bear has been separated and cleaned thoroughly, I start to swirl it around to make sure that the first bite will be the deadly jugular-esque guillotine bite. In short - First I bite the head off...then I suck the guts out...oh how they wiggle and squirm.
Okay, maybe not really. But I do bite the head first, then the arms and legs (tricky, cause your mouth is cold and your bear is small). Then I can either suck the rest of the gelatiny mammal to just the idea of sugar, or chomp it all up and start on the next bear.
People wonder why it takes me so long to eat ice cream.
After my discussion with my husband last night, and my observation of other restuarant-goers scarffing down their food indiscriminately - I think I might be weird. More so, because I see my denial of all the good parts of my meal as a challenge, a hurdle, and ultimately a self-punishment.
I'm notorious for not being able to finish my food. Eating is a very delicate thing with me. Eat too late and I can't eat a lot, eat too early and I can't remember to stop before I eat too much. Eat too fast - I get sick. Eat too slow, or allow me to talk during the meal, and I will fill myself on my own bloviating rather than my chicken ceasar salad. It makes me feel guilty. So many people have never seen just one full plate of food and I who am never in want for food can't even finish my own plate. It also makes me guilty when my husband is watching me. He takes me out to nice places, I get something I want and then barely touch it. I end up being that nightmare of all men who date, even if I do always take price into account when ordering food. I don't mean too, but I just can't eat that much at one time, my stomach will not hold it all.
That's where the self-punishment comes in. My husband has made a few jokes about my eating habits, but he never comes off as too annoyed or concerned with it. It may in fact be because he isn't annoyed or concerned, but the fact remains I feel guilty and I can twist that guilt in a hundred different ways till I feel like he is supremely disappointed in me and I have failed him. All from some leftover lettuce.
However, the guilt is relieved when I "punish" myself. If I eat my least favorite foods first and save the best for last...I will have to eat the whole thing in order to get to the last part. If I don't finish this hamburger, I won't get to eat any fries. And if I can't finish the whole meal, the only parts of it I was deprived of were the parts I really wanted...and it's all my own fault for not finishing my plate.
Of course all this is an inner monologue. And as I look back on it - probably a pretty freaky one. However, I get so tired of making so many decisions, of being so rigidly and boringly self-disciplined that I have to find secret ways of rewarding and punishing myself. I don't know where it came from, or why I still do it, other than it is a constant that makes life bearable and sometimes exciting. It extends far beyond food. My MP3 player is ordered in such a way that there are intervals between my favorite songs. So if I run through three Natalie Merchants songs that I sorta like I am rewarded by a quick rest with the Liz Phair song that I really like - and I'll have jogged for an extra 15 minutes longer than normal. If I spend my evening reading a good book then I must stay awake till 1am doing the laundry (instead of, you know, leaving it for later like a normal person.) If I skip washing the car tonight then I have to wax it the next time. Didn't do sit-ups yesterday? Can't wear the jean skirt today. Back and forth, back and forth.
And my life's enemy becomes myself. Perhaps I'm not crazy and other people employ these tactics to stay afloat and grown-up. Perhaps I was just infused with a healthy amount of unanswerable guilt as a kid. Perhaps my bouts of depression are all stemmed from my inability to let these little slip-ups go.
And perhaps my contemplation over a bowl of fruit can give me more insight into myself than I thought it could.
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6 comments:
I really never put much thought into how I eat; now you have me thinking how I ate dinner earlier.
Salad first. Can't have that last. Then meat, corn, more meat, corn, more meat.
Luckily, I'm old enough not to have anything I don't like. But, when I was younger, I would eat it last, hoping my parents would let me leave the table. Especially lima beans
And liver? Yummmmm!
One of the things I like the most about being an adult is the fact that I don't have to eat it if I don't want too.
And since I'm the one cooking, I can leave the yucky stuff out, like onions, garlic, jalapenos. Who needs 'em.
The only peculiar thing I can think of about my dietary habits is eating a hot dog. If the bun is too big I will eat around the sausage before tackling the meat - the tasty part for the last. Needless to say I don't eat hot dogs with girls around.
I don't really eat in any order (my husband does though, I've watched him. sides- one at a time, then the main dish.) I like to taste them all and vary it up. The only real thing I am picky about is texture. Some foods just need to crunch. Like tuna and icecream. Candy bars should be eaten chocolate coating first, then layer by layer till its gone. Kitkats and nutty butty's and reese's work well. As a kid, I would mix my peas (which I still abhor!) in with the mashed potatoes, to hide the yucky flavor and gooey texture. Blah, now I have chills just remembering. My kids don't have to eat food they don't like- ever.
Unfortunately, since I am suffering morning sickness, I am lucky if I eat anything at all. Not eating makes it worse, but everything is yucky. Maybe I could withhold blogging if I don't eat supper. No lunch? Then no Alias at 4! Good idea. Thaks.
I mean thanks, not thaks!
Mezba - I'm with you on the hotdogs, though I don't mind a longer bun. However, my favorite part is the end piece...so I try and save the ends for last and eat the middle first...which should probably be a "don't eat in front of men" practice too...except I don't actually care if they think I'm weird.
Dawn - Textures are important to me too. I like food based on the texture more on the taste - which is why I love my rice.
When I had morning sickness I would spend whole days living off of orange popsicles. I still threw up of course, but at least it didn't taste as bad and I wouldn't associate food with the taste of vomit.
But I feel for you, just remember...it will stop soon - it will.
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