The first month of school, I was too scared to cook. I had finally arrived at the University of Gastronomic Sciences only to find myself, as expected, amongst like-minded people with illustrious backgrounds in food, strong opinions and taste buds. Rather than feel inspired, I felt intimidated and suddenly found myself paralyzed when I approached the kitchen.
Prior to graduate school, I had buried myself in cookery books and back issues of Gourmet, frequented the local Charlottesville farmers’ market, while I tested recipes in the comfort of my home. This lifestyle had satisfied me and I was content drinking tea or in some cases wine with older women in the country while I casually dabbled with food. With classically trained chefs, food activists, and aficionados now by my side, I felt like a joke.
“Blast! Why was I here? What did I have to offer?”
I had no culinary background nor was I a strict locavore as I had a long history of lapsing at Virginia country stores for my occasional fix of barbeque chips and a coke. And I certainly did not qualify as a gourmand despite my deep ardor for pate and all forms of patisserie. Was I even a foodie for that matter or a glutton? During that first month, I had serious doubts about my relationship with food. Was it real, authentic, or loyal? I had no idea.
If anything was true, I went with my gut. I was simply interested in food – curious about its hold on me and the inspiration and pleasure I drew from it. I was aware of its political implications and drawn to its ability to connect a wide variety of concerns. But was that enough? It felt weak amidst the backdrop of my classmate’s achievements, fierce passions, and knowledge.
My lamentations eventually morphed into thoughtful reflection. Soon, memories of my own culinary awakening emerged. San Francisco 2008, when I had the pleasure of skimming the poverty belt.
Here, I would spend my days plotting how to derive the most pleasure from each meal. This was not some gluttonous misadventure as my portions were usually and only affordably small. Consequently, I learned how to eat and developed a newfound appreciation for food. Since it was on my dollar, my dime, I had to make it worth the bite. Sometimes, I failed other times I triumphed. Either way, I began to learn and to understand more about the merits of taste and its invaluable connection to my appetite’s well being.
Looking back, I felt slightly jealous of my former self – not because she was slimmer, younger, but because she was still naïve about food. I had just emerged out of the abyss of culinary confusion following college, which had followed boarding school, where eating disorders were rampant and ten diet cokes per day were considered the norm.
This had always bothered me. “Hell! I thought. “This is down right Orwellian.” But I was too feeble to break away and remained a lowly cog in the system where I absorbed the status quo like osmosis.
But life after boarding school and college was different. Here, I found myself alone in a new city, living in a bungalow studio, and working in a grocery store. I sliced meat at the Bi-Rite grocery store in the Mission district of San Francisco and I loved it.
My arms were stronger and leaner than ever but my sense of taste was tenacious and keen. This grew with time and soon I developed a new taste for food that was easily surprised and endlessly curious.
Here, it became clearer to me that food was not simply a vehicle –“fuel” as my Dad, often asserted to get one from point a to point b. Of course, I recognized its nutritional value but I found that view of food quickly bored and discouraged me. Furthermore, I felt confused by the nutritional jargon often found in popular diet books. It seemed like a simple science – an equation that if you added one thing then another you would get this. Honestly, what was a calorie? What was the real threat? I remember hearing people in college and in high school praising diet coke because it had zero calories? What did that even mean? That it was devoid of nutritional value and taste? Where was the appeal in that? But, everyone drank it.
Working at Bi Rite, I would reflect on the dark ages as I indulged in cured meat, slipped slices of cheese from the cheese monger, and even tasted wine out back on my lunch break. With each taste came a handful of information – not how much fat was in the cheese or how many calories were in the mortadella. Rather, it was about who made the mortadella, its significance both to San Francisco and to the Italians who migrated there and why we used it in the muffaleta sandwich. I learned where the cheese was made, why they used goat milk and where it was sourced. Even the wine I guzzled came with a history and soon, I knew the producers in Sonoma by name, their back-story story and personal philosophy.
Standing at the meat counter, I would point out wine to customers as well as answer their questions. Soon, I realized that I knew more than how to consume. Rather, I knew how to eat. Consequently,I was very full – both of knowledge as well as a new sense of taste.
Soon, I found myself easily satiated by simple things, smaller portions, and usually with wine. There was little wanting, little craving, and soon my hierarchy of taste fell into place. I went with my gut but also with my mind. The two were on par for once – with a mutual understanding of each other’s needs and desires as well as their connection to food. It was no longer a matter of nutritional or caloric content but rather a matter of taste.
With these memories fresh in my mind, I quickly relinquished my fear that I was a “flailing foodie”. No doubt, I was qualified to be at the University of Gastronomic Sciences even if I did fancy a coke and bag of bbq chips once in a blue moon.
Soon, I charged forth unabashedly using anchovies in everything to indulging in gelato. I even attempted to make tonno di conglio while sipping Rose from a recent trip to Puglia.
But by mid-summer, I still did not feel like a real gourmand nor could I pinpoint what kind of “foodie” I was. But it did not matter.
When we learn how to eat, we become much more than a “foodie”, gourmand, or expert. Rather, we learn how to live, how to adapt our needs to the world’s rather than vice versa.
Here, we become new citizens of the world who are aware of the virtues and pleasures that lie in food. If we are simply cognizant of this fact, no labels – nor doubts need apply.
All I can say is that I really like this entry. Very thoughtfully written and entertaining.
Posted by: kelly | 05/24/2011 at 05:07 AM