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In Defense of Food Page 19


  To ma­ke the ove­rall re­com­men­da­ti­on to “pay mo­re, eat less” mo­re pa­la­tab­le, con­si­der that qu­ality it­self, be­si­des ten­ding to cost mo­re, may ha­ve a di­rect be­aring on the qu­an­tity you’ll want to eat. The bet­ter the fo­od, the less of it you ne­ed to eat in or­der to fe­el sa­tis­fi­ed. All car­rots are not cre­ated equ­al, and the best ones-the ones re­al­ly worth sa­vo­ring-are simply mo­re sa­tisf­ying, bi­te for bi­te. To bor­row Pa­ul Ro­zin’s term, ex­cep­ti­onal fo­od of­fers us mo­re “fo­od ex­pe­ri­en­ce”-per bi­te, per dish, per me­al-and as the French ha­ve shown, you don’t ne­ed a lot of fo­od to ha­ve a rich fo­od ex­pe­ri­en­ce. Cho­ose qu­ality over qu­an­tity, fo­od ex­pe­ri­en­ce over me­re ca­lo­ri­es.

  EAT ME­ALS. This re­com­men­da­ti­on so­unds al­most as ri­di­cu­lo­us as “eat fo­od,” but in Ame­ri­ca at le­ast, it no lon­ger go­es wit­ho­ut sa­ying. We are snac­king mo­re and eating fe­wer me­als to­get­her. In­de­ed, so­ci­olo­gists who study Ame­ri­can eating ha­bits no lon­ger or­ga­ni­ze the­ir re­sults aro­und the inc­re­asingly qu­a­int con­cept of the me­al: They now me­asu­re “eating oc­ca­si­ons” and re­port that Ame­ri­cans ha­ve ad­ded to the tra­di­ti­onal big three-bre­ak­fast, lunch, and din­ner-an as-yet-untit­led fo­urth da­ily eating oc­ca­si­on that lasts all day long: the cons­tant sip­ping and snac­king we do whi­le watc­hing TV, dri­ving, and so on. One study fo­und that among eigh­te­en-to fifty-ye­ar-old Ame­ri­cans, ro­ughly a fifth of all eating now ta­kes pla­ce in the car.*

  That one sho­uld fe­el the ne­ed to mo­unt a de­fen­se of “the me­al” is sad, but then I ne­ver wo­uld ha­ve tho­ught “fo­od” ne­eded de­fen­ding, eit­her. Most re­aders will re­call the be­ne­fits of eating me­als wit­ho­ut much promp­ting from me. It is at the din­ner tab­le that we so­ci­ali­ze and ci­vi­li­ze our child­ren, te­ac­hing them man­ners and the art of con­ver­sa­ti­on. At the din­ner tab­le pa­rents can de­ter­mi­ne por­ti­on si­zes, mo­del eating and drin­king be­ha­vi­or, and en­for­ce so­ci­al norms abo­ut gre­ed and glut­tony and was­te. Sha­red me­als are abo­ut much mo­re than fu­eling bo­di­es; they are uni­qu­ely hu­man ins­ti­tu­ti­ons whe­re our spe­ci­es de­ve­lo­ped lan­gu­age and this thing we call cul­tu­re. Do I ne­ed to go on?

  All this is so well un­ders­to­od that when pol­lsters ask Ame­ri­cans if they eat to­get­her as a fa­mily most nights, they of­fer a re­so­un­ding-and re­so­un­dingly unt­rue-reply in the af­fir­ma­ti­ve. In fact, most Ame­ri­can fa­mi­li­es to­day re­port eating din­ner to­get­her three to fo­ur nights a we­ek, but even tho­se me­als be­ar only the fa­in­test re­semb­lan­ce to the Nor­man Rock­well ide­al. If you ins­tall vi­deo ca­me­ras in the kitc­hen and di­ning-ro­om ce­ilings abo­ve typi­cal Ame­ri­can fa­mi­li­es, as mar­ke­ters for the ma­j­or fo­od com­pa­ni­es ha­ve do­ne, you’ll qu­ickly dis­co­ver that the re­ality of the fa­mily din­ner has di­ver­ged subs­tan­ti­al­ly from our ima­ge of it. Mom might still co­ok so­met­hing for her­self and sit at the tab­le for a whi­le, but she’ll be alo­ne for much of that ti­me. That’s be­ca­use dad and each of the kids are li­kely to pre­pa­re an en­ti­rely dif­fe­rent entr­йe for them­sel­ves, “pre­pa­ring” in this ca­se be­ing a synonym for mic­ro­wa­ving a pac­ka­ge. Each fa­mily mem­ber might then jo­in mom at the tab­le for as long as it ta­kes to eat, but not ne­ces­sa­rily all at the sa­me ti­me. Tech­ni­cal­ly, this kind of fe­eding co­unts as a fa­mily din­ner in the sur­vey re­sults, tho­ugh it’s hard to be­li­eve it per­forms all the cus­to­mary func­ti­ons of a sha­red me­al. Kraft or Ge­ne­ral Mills, for ins­tan­ce, is now de­ter­mi­ning the por­ti­on si­zes, not mom, and the so­ci­al va­lue of sha­ring fo­od is lost. It lo­oks a lot mo­re li­ke a res­ta­urant me­al, whe­re ever­yo­ne or­ders his or her own dish. (Tho­ugh the ser­vi­ce isn’t qu­ite as go­od, be­ca­use the entr­йes don’t ar­ri­ve at the sa­me ti­me.) Of co­ur­se, pe­op­le tend to eat mo­re when they can ha­ve exactly what they want-which is pre­ci­sely why the ma­j­or fo­od com­pa­ni­es ap­pro­ve of this mo­der­ni­zed fa­mily me­al and ha­ve do­ne everyt­hing in the­ir con­si­de­rab­le po­wer to fos­ter it. So they mar­ket dif­fe­rent kinds of entr­йes to each mem­ber of the fa­mily (low carb for the di­eting te­ena­ger, low cho­les­te­rol for dad, high fat for the eight-ye­ar-old, and so on), and en­gi­ne­er the­se “ho­me me­al rep­la­ce­ments,” as they’re known in the tra­de, so that even the eight-ye­ar-old can sa­fely mic­ro­wa­ve them.

  But the big­gest thre­at to the me­al-as-we-knew-it is su­rely the snack, and snac­king in re­cent ye­ars has co­lo­ni­zed who­le new parts of our day and pla­ces in our li­ves. Work, for examp­le, used to be a mo­re or less fo­od-free stretch of ti­me bet­we­en me­als, but no lon­ger. Of­fi­ces now typi­cal­ly ha­ve well-stoc­ked kitc­hens, and it is ap­pa­rently con­si­de­red ga­uc­he at a bu­si­ness me­eting or con­fe­ren­ce if a spre­ad of ba­gels, muf­fins, past­ri­es, and soft drinks is not pro­vi­ded at fre­qu­ent in­ter­vals. At­ten­ding a re­cent con­fe­ren­ce on nut­ri­ti­on and he­alth, of all things, I was as­to­un­ded to see that in ad­di­ti­on to the co­pi­o­us buf­fet at bre­ak­fast, lunch, and din­ner, our hosts whe­eled out a co­pi­o­us buf­fet half­way bet­we­en bre­ak­fast and lunch and then aga­in half­way bet­we­en lunch and din­ner, evi­dently wor­ri­ed that we wo­uld not be ab­le to sur­vi­ve the long cros­sing from one me­al to the next wit­ho­ut a bet­we­en-me­al me­al.

  I may be sho­wing my age, but didn’t the­re used to be at le­ast a mild so­ci­al ta­boo aga­inst the bet­we­en-me­al snack? Well, it is go­ne. Ame­ri­cans to­day mark ti­me all day long with nib­bles of fo­od and sips of soft drinks, which must be cons­tantly at the­ir si­des, lest they ex­pi­re du­ring the ha­ul bet­we­en bre­ak­fast and lunch. (The snack fo­od and be­ve­ra­ge in­dustry has su­rely be­en the gre­at be­ne­fi­ci­ary of the new so­ci­al ta­boo aga­inst smo­king, which used to per­form much the sa­me ti­me-mar­king func­ti­on.) We ha­ve re­en­gi­ne­ered our cars to ac­com­mo­da­te our snacks, ad­ding big­ger cup hol­ders and even ref­ri­ge­ra­ted glo­ve com­part­ments, and we’ve re­en­gi­ne­ered fo­ods to be mo­re easily eaten in the car. Ac­cor­ding to the Har­vard eco­no­mists’ cal­cu­la­ti­ons, the bulk of the ca­lo­ri­es we’ve ad­ded to our di­et over the past twenty ye­ars has co­me in the form of snacks. I don’t ne­ed to po­int out that the­se snacks tend not to con­sist of fru­its and ve­ge­tab­les. (Not even at my nut­ri­ti­on con­fe­ren­ce.) Or that the por­ti­on si­zes ha­ve swel­led or that the snacks them­sel­ves con­sist ma­inly of cle­verly fla­vo­red and con­fi­gu­red ar­ran­ge­ments of re­fi­ned car­bohyd­ra­tes, hydro­ge­na­ted oils, corn swe­ete­ners, and salt.

  To co­un­ter the ri­se of the snack and res­to­re the me­al to its right­ful pla­ce, con­si­der as a start the­se few ru­les of thumb:

  DO ALL YO­UR EATING AT A TAB­LE. No, a desk is not a tab­le.

  DON’T GET YO­UR FU­EL FROM THE SA M E PL ACE YO­UR CAR DO­ES. Ame­ri­can gas sta­ti­ons now ma­ke mo­re mo­ney sel­ling fo­od (and ci­ga­ret­tes) than ga­so­li­ne, but con­si­der what kind of fo­od this is: ex­cept per­haps for the milk and wa­ter, it’s all highly pro­ces­sed non­pe­ris­hab­le snack fo­ods and ext­ra­va­gantly swe­ete­ned soft drinks in hefty twenty-oun­ce bot­tles. Gas sta­ti­ons ha­ve be­co­me pro­ces­sed-corn sta­ti­ons: et­ha­nol out­si­de for yo­ur car and high-fruc­to­se corn syrup in­si­de for you.

  TRY NOT TO EAT ALO­NE. Ame­ri­cans are inc­re­asingly eating in so­li­tu­de. Tho­ugh the­re is re­se­arch sug­ges­ting that light eaters will eat mo­re when they di­ne with ot­hers (pro­bably be­ca­use they spend mo­
re ti­me at the tab­le), for pe­op­le pro­ne to ove­re­ating, com­mu­nal me­als tend to li­mit con­sump­ti­on, if only be­ca­use we’re less li­kely to stuff our­sel­ves when ot­hers are watc­hing. This is pre­ci­sely why so much fo­od mar­ke­ting is de­sig­ned to en­co­ura­ge us to eat in front of the TV or in the car: When we eat mind­les­sly and alo­ne, we eat mo­re. But re­gu­la­ting ap­pe­ti­te is the le­ast of it: The sha­red me­al ele­va­tes eating from a mec­ha­ni­cal pro­cess of fu­eling the body to a ri­tu­al of fa­mily and com­mu­nity, from me­re ani­mal bi­ology to an act of cul­tu­re.

  CON­SULT YO­UR GUT. As the psycho­lo­gists ha­ve de­monst­ra­ted, most of us al­low ex­ter­nal, and mostly vi­su­al, cu­es to de­ter­mi­ne how much we eat. The lar­ger the por­ti­on, the mo­re we eat; the big­ger the con­ta­iner, the mo­re we po­ur; the mo­re cons­pi­cu­o­us the ven­ding mac­hi­ne, the mo­re we buy from it; the clo­ser the bowl of M&Ms, the mo­re of them we eat. All of which ma­kes us easy marks for fo­od mar­ke­ters eager to sell us yet mo­re fo­od.

  As in so many are­as of mo­dern li­fe, the cul­tu­re of fo­od has be­co­me a cul­tu­re of the eye. But when it co­mes to eating, it pays to cul­ti­va­te the ot­her sen­ses, which of­ten pro­vi­de mo­re use­ful and ac­cu­ra­te in­for­ma­ti­on. Do­es this pe­ach smell as go­od as it lo­oks? Do­es the third bi­te of that des­sert tas­te anyw­he­re ne­ar as go­od as the first? I co­uld cer­ta­inly eat mo­re of this, but am I re­al­ly still hungry?

  Sup­po­sedly it ta­kes twenty mi­nu­tes be­fo­re the bra­in gets the word that the belly is full; un­for­tu­na­tely most of us ta­ke con­si­de­rably less than twenty mi­nu­tes to fi­nish a me­al, with the re­sult that the sen­sa­ti­on of fe­eling full exerts lit­tle if any inf­lu­en­ce on how much we eat. What this sug­gests is that eating mo­re slowly, and then con­sul­ting our sen­se of sa­ti­ety, might help us to eat less. The French are bet­ter at this than we are, as Bri­an Wan­sink dis­co­ve­red when he as­ked a gro­up of French pe­op­le how they knew when to stop eating. “When I fe­el full,” they rep­li­ed. (What a no­vel idea! The Ame­ri­cans sa­id things li­ke “When my pla­te is cle­an” or “When I run out.”) Per­haps it is the­ir long, le­isu­rely me­als that gi­ve the French the op­por­tu­nity to re­ali­ze when they’re full.

  At le­ast un­til we le­arn to eat mo­re slowly and at­tend mo­re clo­sely to the in­for­ma­ti­on of our sen­ses, it might help to work on al­te­ring the ex­ter­nal clu­es we rely on in eating on the the­ory that it’s pro­bably bet­ter to ma­ni­pu­la­te our­sel­ves than to al­low mar­ke­ters to ma­ni­pu­la­te us. Wan­sink of­fers do­zens of help­ful tips in a re­cent bo­ok cal­led Min­d­less Eating: Why We Eat Mo­re Than We Think, tho­ugh I warn you they’re all va­gu­ely in­sul­ting to yo­ur sen­se of yo­ur­self as a cre­atu­re in pos­ses­si­on of free will.

  Ser­ve smal­ler por­ti­ons on smal­ler pla­tes; ser­ve fo­od and be­ve­ra­ges from small con­ta­iners (even if this me­ans re­pac­ka­ging things bo­ught in jum­bo si­zes); le­ave det­ri­tus on the tab­le-empty bot­tles, bo­nes, and so forth-so you can see how much you’ve eaten or drunk; use glas­ses that are mo­re ver­ti­cal than ho­ri­zon­tal (pe­op­le tend to po­ur mo­re in­to squ­at glas­ses); le­ave he­althy fo­ods in vi­ew, un­he­althy ones out of vi­ew; le­ave ser­ving bowls in the kitc­hen rat­her than on the tab­le to dis­co­ura­ge se­cond hel­pings.

  EAT SLOWLY. Not just so you’ll be mo­re li­kely to know when to stop. I me­an “slow” in the sen­se of de­li­be­ra­te and know­led­ge­ab­le eating pro­mo­ted by Slow Fo­od, the Ita­li­an-born mo­ve­ment de­di­ca­ted to the prin­cip­le that “a firm de­fen­se of qu­i­et ma­te­ri­al ple­asu­re is the only way to op­po­se the uni­ver­sal folly of Fast Li­fe.” The or­ga­ni­za­ti­on, which was fo­un­ded in res­pon­se to the ar­ri­val of Ame­ri­can fast fo­od in Ro­me du­ring the 1980s, se­eks to re­ac­qu­a­int (or in so­me ca­ses ac­qu­a­int) pe­op­le with the sa­tis­fac­ti­ons of well-grown and well-pre­pa­red fo­od enj­oyed at le­isu­rely com­mu­nal me­als. It so­unds li­ke an eli­tist club for fo­odi­es (which, alas, it so­me­ti­mes can be), but at its most tho­ught­ful, Slow Fo­od of­fers a co­he­rent pro­test aga­inst, and al­ter­na­ti­ve to, the Wes­tern di­et and way of eating, in­de­ed to the who­le ever-mo­re-des­pe­ra­te Wes­tern way of li­fe. Slow Fo­od aims to ele­va­te qu­ality over qu­an­tity and be­li­eves that do­ing so de­pends on cul­ti­va­ting our sen­se of tas­te as well as re­bu­il­ding the re­la­ti­ons­hips bet­we­en pro­du­cers and con­su­mers that the in­dust­ri­ali­za­ti­on of our fo­od has dest­ro­yed. “Fo­od qu­ality de­pends on con­su­mers who res­pect the work of far­mers and are wil­ling to edu­ca­te the­ir sen­ses,” Car­lo Pet­ri­ni, Slow Fo­od’s fo­un­der, has sa­id. When that hap­pens, “they be­co­me pre­ci­o­us al­li­es for pro­du­cers.” Even con­no­is­se­urs­hip can ha­ve a po­li­tics, as when it de­epens our ap­pre­ci­ati­on for the work of the pe­op­le who pro­du­ce our fo­od and ru­ins our tas­te for the su­per­fi­ci­al ple­asu­res of fast fo­od.

  It is no ac­ci­dent that Slow Fo­od has its ro­ots in Italy, a co­untry much less ena­mo­red of the “folly of Fast Li­fe” than the Uni­ted Sta­tes, and you ha­ve to won­der whet­her it’s re­alis­tic to think the Ame­ri­can way of eating can be re­for­med wit­ho­ut al­so re­for­ming the who­le Ame­ri­can way of li­fe. Fast fo­od is pre­ci­sely the way you’d ex­pect a pe­op­le to eat who put suc­cess at the cen­ter of li­fe, who work long ho­urs (with two ca­re­ers per ho­use­hold), get only a co­up­le of we­eks va­ca­ti­on each ye­ar, and who can’t de­pend on a so­ci­al sa­fety net to cus­hi­on them from li­fe’s blows. But Slow Fo­od’s wa­ger is that ma­king ti­me and slo­wing down to eat, an ac­ti­vity that hap­pens three ti­mes a day and ra­mi­fi­es all thro­ugh a cul­tu­re, is pre­ci­sely the wed­ge that can be­gin to crack the who­le edi­fi­ce.

  To eat slowly, in the Slow Fo­od sen­se, is to eat with a ful­ler know­led­ge of all that is in­vol­ved in brin­ging fo­od out of the earth and to the tab­le. Un­de­ni­ably, the­re are ple­asu­res to be had eating that are ba­sed on the op­po­si­te-on kno­wing pre­ci­o­us lit­tle; in­de­ed, they so­me­ti­mes de­pend on it. The fast-fo­od ham­bur­ger has be­en bril­li­antly en­gi­ne­ered to of­fer a suc­cu­lent and tasty first bi­te, a bi­te that in fact wo­uld be im­pos­sib­le to enj­oy if the eater co­uld ac­cu­ra­tely pic­tu­re the fe­ed­lot and the sla­ugh­ter­ho­use and the wor­kers be­hind it or knew anyt­hing abo­ut the “arti­fi­ci­al grill fla­vor” that ma­de that first bi­te so con­vin­cing. This is a ham­bur­ger to hurry thro­ugh, no qu­es­ti­on. By com­pa­ri­son, eating a grass-fed bur­ger when you can pic­tu­re the gre­en pas­tu­res in which the ani­mal gra­zed is a ple­asu­re of anot­her or­der, not a simp­le one, to be su­re, but one ba­sed on know­led­ge rat­her than ig­no­ran­ce and gra­ti­tu­de rat­her than in­dif­fe­ren­ce.

  To eat slowly, then, al­so me­ans to eat de­li­be­ra­tely, in the ori­gi­nal sen­se of that word: “from fre­edom” ins­te­ad of com­pul­si­on. Many fo­od cul­tu­res, par­ti­cu­larly tho­se at less of a re­mo­ve from the land than ours, ha­ve ri­tu­als to en­co­ura­ge this sort of eating, such as of­fe­ring a bles­sing over the fo­od or sa­ying gra­ce be­fo­re the me­al. The po­int, it se­ems to me, is to ma­ke su­re that we don’t eat tho­ught­les­sly or hur­ri­edly, and that know­led­ge and gra­ti­tu­de will inf­lect our ple­asu­re at the tab­le. I don’t or­di­na­rily of­fer any spe­ci­al words be­fo­re a me­al, but I do so­me­ti­mes re­call a co­up­le of sen­ten­ces writ­ten by Wen­dell Berry, which do a go­od job of get­ting me to eat mo­re de­li­be­ra­tely:

  Eating with the ful­lest ple­asu­re-ple
­asu­re, that is, that do­es not de­pend on ig­no­ran­ce-is per­haps the pro­fo­un­dest enact­ment of our con­nec­ti­on with the world. In this ple­asu­re we ex­pe­ri­en­ce and ce­leb­ra­te our de­pen­den­ce and our gra­ti­tu­de, for we are li­ving from mystery, from cre­atu­res we did not ma­ke and po­wers we can­not comp­re­hend.

  Words such as the­se are one go­od way to fos­ter a mo­re de­li­be­ra­te kind of eating, but per­haps an even bet­ter way (as Berry him­self has sug­ges­ted) is for eaters to in­vol­ve them­sel­ves in fo­od pro­duc­ti­on to wha­te­ver ex­tent they can, even if that only me­ans plan­ting a few herbs on a sunny win­dow­sill or fo­ra­ging for edib­le gre­ens and wild mush­ro­oms in the park. If much of our ca­re­les­sness in eating owes to the ease with which the in­dust­ri­al eater can simply for­get all that is at sta­ke, both for him­self and for the world, then get­ting re­ac­qu­a­in­ted with how fo­od is grown and pre­pa­red can pro­vi­de a use­ful re­min­der. So one last ru­le:

  CO­OK AND, IF YOU CAN, PLANT A GAR­DEN. To ta­ke part in the int­ri­ca­te and end­les­sly in­te­res­ting pro­ces­ses of pro­vi­ding for our sus­te­nan­ce is the su­rest way to es­ca­pe the cul­tu­re of fast fo­od and the va­lu­es imp­li­cit in it: that fo­od sho­uld be fast, che­ap, and easy; that fo­od is a pro­duct of in­dustry, not na­tu­re; that fo­od is fu­el, and not a form of com­mu­ni­on, with ot­her pe­op­le as well as with ot­her spe­ci­es-with na­tu­re.

  So far I am mo­re at ho­me in the gar­den than the kitc­hen, tho­ugh I can ap­pre­ci­ate how ti­me spent in eit­her pla­ce al­ters one’s re­la­ti­ons­hip to fo­od and eating. The gar­den of­fers a gre­at many so­lu­ti­ons, prac­ti­cal as well as phi­lo­sop­hi­cal, to the who­le prob­lem of eating well. My own ve­ge­tab­le gar­den is mo­dest in sca­le-a den­sely plan­ted patch in the front yard only abo­ut twenty fe­et by ten-but it yi­elds an as­to­nis­hing cor­nu­co­pia of pro­du­ce, so much so that du­ring the sum­mer months we dis­con­ti­nue our CSA box and buy lit­tle but fru­it from the far­mers’ mar­ket. And tho­ugh we li­ve on a pos­ta­ge-stamp city lot, the­re’s ro­om eno­ugh for a co­up­le of fru­it tre­es too: a le­mon, a fig, and a per­sim­mon. To the prob­lem of be­ing ab­le to af­ford high-qu­ality or­ga­nic pro­du­ce the gar­den of­fers the most stra­ight­for­ward so­lu­ti­on: The fo­od you grow yo­ur­self is fres­her than any you can buy, and it costs not­hing but an ho­ur or two of work each we­ek plus the pri­ce of a few pac­kets of se­ed.