Don’t Give Up on Healthy Eating

Sometimes life seems to conspire against our good intentions when it comes to healthy eating. Tomatoes don’t ripen. That bundle of herbs we intended to use wilts on the window ledge. McDonald’s ends up the only “food source” available within a very tight window of time (my experience recently when sprinting to catch a plane). We all have days where no matter how hard we try to eat well our efforts are thwarted, and it can be tempting to just give up. But if you trip on the way out the door, do you toss in the towel and conclude you’ll never make it down the street? Of course not. You straighten up, find your balance, remove any obvious obstacles and continue to put one foot in front of the other.

The truth is, it isn’t about the stray French fry or the well-intentioned vegetables that didn’t get eaten. It’s about the cumulative effect, the overall trajectory, of each and every choice we make about our food. We all have different schedules, budgets, priorities and responsibilities that pull us in different directions and sometimes those directions will lead to a meal we’re not so happy about. But if we intentionally make nourishing choices most of the time, then ultimately we’re on the right track.

If you find yourself in a bind this week that prevents you from eating the way you want, don’t let it send you into a tailspin. Instead, plan your next meal to be a more conscious one and notice how you differently you feel after each. That, in and of itself, is positive progress and the foundation of mindful, healthy eating for a lifetime.

Practice Pleasure

When I lived in Paris, I never saw a French woman sneak into a patisserie or assume a guilty hunch over their dessert. Yet it’s true that the French are a lighter lot than we Americans. Entire books have been written pondering this paradox, but today I want to focus on one key aspect: pleasure. The French know how to enjoy their food and this week, with the celebration of Bastille Day, is a great time for us to do so too.

Learning how to enjoy our food is about more than just happy thoughts. One initial study showed that tuning in to our food can lessen the likelihood of binge eating and reduce feelings of anxiety and depression. Another study of brain activity revealed that the anticipation of eating is what triggers a pleasure response in obese people, rather than the actual food itself. The message in both of these findings? When we learn to take pleasure from each and every bite, it will help us break harmful eating patterns and establish healthier ones.

Not sure how? Try these five steps:

Step 1: Recognize that no food is off-limits. Do you see French women skipping over fruit tarts in favor of something “lighter?” Low-fat Oreos probably aren’t going to bring you as much pleasure as a slice of chocolate cake will.

Step 2: Wait to eat until you’re hungry; wait to eat a treat until you really crave it.

Step 3: Eat slowly and pay attention with as many of your senses as you can while you gauge how much pleasure you’re getting from each bite.

Step 4: When you realize that the flavor has dulled or that you’re not really thinking about the food in front of you anymore but about a pile of clothes you need to take to the dry cleaners, or an e-mail you need to send, or what you’re going to make for tomorrow’s dinner, stop. Put your fork down and push the plate away.

Step 5: Notice how you feel and note how many bites you’ve actually taken–probably less than ten. There. You’ve proven to yourself that you can enjoy your favorite foods without feeling guilty or compromising your weight or health.

This week, practice these steps. Soon you’ll be oh-so-Francais by enjoying food . . . without overindulging.

Happy Quatorze Juillet!

Have a Social Hour

All the way through early summer, peas and favas are at the market. Now some will look at those piles of pods, shake their heads and think “too much work,” and I’m the first to agree that frozen peas can be a saving grace on a busy weeknight. But there’s another way, too, to view the labor-intensive process of prepping spring produce–as a treat in and of itself to be relished rather than rushed. It’s a mindful eating practice in the form of sharing the prep work.

Maybe it’s the communal bowl set out to catch the fruits of your labor. Maybe it’s the tactile act of nudging peas out of their pods, popping favas out of their skins, whittling baby artichokes into edible wonders. Whatever it is, something clicks to allow conversation to unfurl at its own speed, to let strands of thought unspool silently in our minds without feeling the need to speak out loud.

Most people, I’ve found, have sepia-tinted memories of sitting on a sunny stoop with someone–a child, a grandparent–with a bowl between them. Just yesterday, my mom and I were shelling favas for our Easter meal when she shared a memory of shelling peas with her mother–a moment I’m sure I’ll recount to my own daughter a month, a year, a decade from now. It’s a timeless act that, amidst this busy world, people tend to tuck away and cherish deep in their hearts.

And I haven’t even mentioned the joy these little gems bring to the plate.

So for one meal this week have a few friends over, wrangle the kids together, invite your spouse to sit for a spell and prep some seasonal produce . . . all the better if you have a sunny day and a stoop.

Celebrate!

It all started with a box of salt cod I bought on a whim on Friday. I know it’s an odd ingredient, but salt cod reminds me of Greece. And I’d just finished the (hopefully final) edits on my novel (that alone is a good reason to celebrate), which is partially set in Greece. And thinking of salt cod and Greece made me think of the feasts we used to have there–tables groaning with food. So on Saturday, I began shredding the fish and my husband started making calls, and by 8:00 we had a festive crew nibbling on fried salt cod fritters with skordalia (kind of like super-garlicky mashed potatoes beaten with olive oil), vinegary beet salad, charred lamb chops and the pungent yogurt dip called tzatziki.

Now, nutritionists might thumb their noses at our feast and, divided up into grams of fat and sodium, they’d be right to do so. Lord knows, I’ve spent most of my life feeling guilty about living it up after decades of diet indoctrination. But I truly believe that there’s a place for meals like these. Rick Bayless, in his book Mexican Everyday, talks about how occasional celebrations are a natural balance to everyday moderation; “No one ever got fat on a weekly feast, but missing that feast can leave you with strong cravings (both physical and spiritual) all week long.”

I agree. Along wigh moderation, celebration is a foundation of a mindful eating practice. So I went into this weekend with eyes wide open, trusting that Sunday through Friday I would eat simply and wholesomely, that this celebration was yang to the more restrained weekday yin, and that I needed both to remain balanced. And I’ll tell you, what a world of difference it makes entering a Monday feeling fulfilled rather than remorseful.

So this week (or next if you’re not into spontaneity), I challenge you to have a feast. Make a roast, bake a cake, revel in the meal and the company. The one ingredient you’re not allowed to include? Guilt.

Savor One Thing at Each Meal this Week

Here’s your mindful eating practice exercise for this week: At every meal, savor one thing. I mean really, truly tune in. It could be the sharp, lemony aroma of cilantro in a salsa. It might be the way a tannic red wine grips you at the back of the throat. It may be the way your daughter squishes her face up as she chews her broccoli. Whatever it is you choose to notice, I promise it will take zero extra time out of your day. Yet it will have a profound impact on how you feel walking away from that meal.

Jay Dixit writes in a Psychology Today article, “When subjects in a study took a few minutes each day to actively savor something they usually hurried through . . . they began experiencing more joy, happiness, and other positive emotions.” In my own life, I’ve found that locking on to a particular moment is like boring a well into my soul’s memory.  Amidst a blur of activity, my thoughts become more and more concentrated until they hit the roomy, spacious place of connection. It is there that I feel wholly nourished. And while the moment itself may only last a few seconds, the experience–senses, emotions, thoughts–is engraved so deeply that I can dip into it and be replenished whenever I choose.

Savoring the moment is one of life’s great conundrums: it sounds so easy and yet takes such deliberate effort. I urge you to give it a try this week, though–with this arugula pesto if it tickles your fancy–and see how it nourishes you.