There's a small French gastroteque in New York's West Village that I absolutely love. When two of my lovely, but non-residing-New-York-friends came to visit last week it was the first place I suggested. And it was again the local of choice this weekend when my dear friend Ashlea returned to the city after two months away on the Cape. (The food is delicious, the decor is endlessly inviting, and the attractive men behind the bar don't hurt).
They serve, among other things, a pesto dish that I am convinced tastes like a doughnut (a doughnut being the highest level of food perfection, in my book). But what I left thinking about this last time was their shaved brussels sprouts dish--mostly because I thought, you know, I bet I could make something like this (and I bet it would be quite healthy and inexpensive).
Trader Joe's sells a bag of prepackaged shaved brussels sprouts that I cut up just a wee bit more. I then added parmesan cheese, toasted (always, always toasted--it brings out the flavor) pine nuts, and a bit of olive oil and sea salt.
That's it! Five ingredients.
(Note: pine nuts are as expensive as liquid gold so I suggest buying them in bulk at Costco, Sam's Club, or Trader Joe's. Buvette's dish uses walnuts as their nut of choice, so that's always an option).
food and health
wisdom (nourishment) from dear sugar.
there have been two books in my life where i've said, if i had all the money in the world (or even just enough) i'd buy this for everyone i know.
for every woman i've ever known (for every woman everywhere, actually): what french women know: about love, sex, and other matters of the heart
and for every person ever (men and women alike): tiny beautiful things
tiny beautiful things is a compilation of many of cheryl strayed's columns as dear sugar writing for the rumpus. {i've posted some of those columns/ letters here before.}
last week and the week before when i was thinking about this idea of to nourish i was reading tiny beautiful things for the second time when i happened upon a letter by a woman in her mid-fifties who had just ended her marriage with her husband and was venturing into that terrifying world of meeting men and making love and forging real connections (a difficult thing for anyone, at any age).
much of her letter revealed a certain level of disease with her body. all women, all ages, we all have it, don't we?
and so i wanted to share some of what sugar//ms. strayed wrote. (to nourish).
(please note: what follows can be found in its entirety on page 178 of tiny beautiful things. what follows are just bits and pieces i wanted to share. all words are by the unparalleled cheryl strayed.)
"I've advised people to set healthy boundaries and communicate mindfully and take risks and work hard on what actually matters and confront contradictory truths and trust the inner voice that speaks with love and shut out the inner voice that speaks with hate. But the things is--the thing so many of us forget--is that those values and principles don't only apply to our emotional lives. We've got to live them out in our bodies too.
Yours. Mine. Droopy and ugly and fat and thin and marred and wretched as they are. We have to be as fearless about our bellies as we are with our hearts.
Real change happens on the level of the gesture. It's one person doing one thing differently than he or she did before...It's you and me standing naked before our lovers, even if it makes us feel kind of squirmy in a bad way when we do. The work is there. It's our task. Doing it will give us strength and clarity. It will bring us closer to who we hope to be.
You don't have to be young. You don't have to be thin. You don't have to be "hot" in a way that some dumbfuckedly narrow mindset has construed that word. You don't have to have taut flesh or a tight ass or an eternally upright set of tits.
You have to find a way to inhabit your body while enacting your deepest desires. You have to be brave enough to build the intimacy you deserve. You have to take off all your clothes and say, "I'm right here."
There are so many tiny revolutions in a life, a million ways we have to circle around ourselves to grow and change and be okay. And perhaps the body is our final frontier. It's the one place we can't leave. We're there till it goes. Most women and some men spend their lives trying to alter it, hide it, prettify it, make it what it isn't, or conceal it for what it is. But what if we didn't do that?
We don't know--as a culture, as a gender, as individuals, you and I. The fact that we don't know is feminism's one true failure. We claimed agency, we granted ourselves the authority, we gathered the accolades, but we never stopped worrying about how our asses looked in our jeans. There are a lot of reasons for this, a whole bunch of Big Sexist Things We Can Rightfully Blame. But ultimately, like anything, the change is up to us.
The culture isn't going to give you permission to have "robust, adventurous sex" with your droopy and aging body, so you're going to have to be brave enough to take it for yourself.
I know as women we're constantly being scorched by the relentless porno/Hollywood beauty blowtorch, but in my real life I've found that the men worth fucking are far more good-natured about the female body in its varied forms than is generally acknowledged. "Naked and smiling" is one male friend's only requirement for a lover. Perhaps it's because men are people with bodies full of fears and insecurities and short-comings of their own. Find one of them. One who makes you think and laugh and come. Invite him into the tiny revolution in your beautiful new world.
WEEKLY WELLNESS// we're eating our veggies this week.
Weekly Wellness is a community driven project to help each of us adopt a more mindful lifestyle. It is a twelve week experiment wherein we (Laura, myself, and whoever else wants to join) commit to one small change for each of those weeks in an effort to see how even a small shift can reap big rewards. (For the introduction read this and this.)
I must apologize for missing last week's recap. What follows here doesn't deal with one specific week of the challenge, but I wanted to share it nonetheless. While I'm not one to usually pay attention to stats and numbers, I can tell when a post is read more than others, and I'm constantly surprised that the posts dealing with health and body issues are among the top. It is my great wish that there is information contained in what I've written over the years that others find helpful. (This is my way of saying: thank you--for your continued support and kind, kind words).
I didn't know what a calorie was until I went to college.
I mean, I have a vague recollection of the 2,000 calories per day dictum, but beyond that, nothing--I had never looked at a nutrition label in my life.
I grew up on chicken and rice and peas. Every night. For dinner. Bless, my mom because she made the dinner each night and around the table we sat--food only part of the experience. But, to this day, if I ever go out, chicken is not my food of choice. I've had enough of that bird to last a lifetime.
When I got to college and gained the standard freshman fifteen the proposition of losing weight was daunting. And that was the task at hand: losing weight. Not switching to a healthier diet, or a healthier lifestyle, not learning to read the whole of the nutrition label, but learning to lose weight and quickly. And what that meant was learning to read calories.
And learning to read calories was, as it turns out, my very own Pandora's Box.
My pediatrician recommended Weight Watchers. And then my gynecologist, as well. And so I embarked upon that path. And I did what I was told. I ate the fruits and vegetables and I made sure to eat no more than my 20 points, and no less either.
And it was so easy. So easy that I wondered how anyone could ever struggle with their weight when, with the right information, to lose it was the easiest thing in the world.
Oh, the hubris.
Oh, the hubris.
Now of course I look back and can see I was a woman obsessed--a woman who went to bed each night with the pain of hunger just below my ribs--a woman fed by information that was totally and completely wrong.
I lost my period immediately.
And so I went to the same doctors who had suggested the diet plan and I told them I didn't have a period and everyone told me not to worry, it'd be sure to return.
And it did. Months later, when I began to eat again.
I followed the plan. I ate the allotted points. And those allotted points added up to roughly 1,000 calories.
1,000 calories is not enough for a woman of my height. At 1,000 calories I was starving myself. This is not opinion. This is fact. And I know this now because other (more informed) doctors have told me this. Someone once commented on one of my posts saying that Weight Watchers is not about deprivation, it would never endorse starvation. But I'm just laying out the facts: I ate the points suggested to me for my weight and height--in a program recommended by more than one doctor and I starved. Until my body couldn't starve any more. And it did what it had to do to make me eat: I began to binge.
You know how if a person hasn't slept for a certain amount of time (I'm talking days) the body will collapse--actually inducing sleep? Or if blood isn't getting to the head fainting occurs so that the head is on the same level of the heart and blood can reach it more easily? The body takes control. It takes over.
That's what binging was. The body taking over. That's why it felt so beyond my control. Because I was starving, my body bypassed my conscious mind (my will power, if you will), and it fed me. A lot. Fed me to the point of over-feeding, because my poor body was so damn terrified that it would never be fed again. And then it clung to every single calorie and I watched, helpless, as the weight accumulated.
I was at war with myself--my body engaged in trench warfare, shoveling in food, because it couldn't trust that I would ever again feed it.
I was at war with myself--my body engaged in trench warfare, shoveling in food, because it couldn't trust that I would ever again feed it.
I still eat too much sometimes--enough that people would label it a binge. But I know better, it's not a binge, it's just too much food over a short period of time because I'm feeling guilty or bad or just worn down--the reasons are many and often without sense. But I am not driven to binge the way I once was. I am not possessed and out of control.
I used to say that recovery is like a grain of salt tunneling through a glacier. It takes ages. It took my body a really, really long time to trust me again. I would sit on the train and have an unhealthy thought like I've had enough today, I need to eat nothing else and I'd feel a tightening in my chest--like a large door closing and immediately I'd be hungry. I'm now pretty sure that tightening was panic on a cellular level--was my body recognizing the thought and preparing itself for what was to come.
It took a lot of time, and quite a bit of proof (food) too, for my body to forgive me and know that I'd never again withhold sustenance. And only once that trust was built was I returned to myself.
It's still a process. It's still slow. And that gran of salt is still trucking. And it moves by the small choices I make day after day, week after week. A little more water, a good book in my hand, more vegetables, and getting myself to the exercise class even when I think I might lose my lunch during the worst of the squats.
That's why I'm so enjoying the Weekly Wellness challenges that change with the weeks. Because it's to say, yeah, I'm doing this, I'm in this. I'm doing what I can to make my life better. It's not an overhaul--it's small, mindful choices tunneling through the crap of processed food and a society with ridiculous beauty standards and a whole diet industry that says the calorie count is the end all be all.
I had to learn how to unlearn what a calorie was. That's been the game-changer. Giving up the low-fat and fat-free and "healthy" foods. Forgetting the points assigned to eggs and tortilla chips. Trusting that my body will tell me when it's had enough if I can quiet my own fears and the hum of all-that-wrong-information enough to listen.
WEEKLY WELLNESS// cutting out fat talk and diet coke
Weekly Wellness is a community driven project to help each of us adopt a more mindful lifestyle. It is a twelve week experiment wherein we (Laura, myself, and whoever else wants to join) commit to one small change for each of those weeks in an effort to see how even a small shift can reap big rewards. (For the introduction read this and this.)
on fat talk:
a few years ago--just when i was starting to really get well--i dated a man.
and i was honest. as honest as i could be. (remember this?).
and he did what i would have done had i been in his position. he made jokes. and he made me laugh. and his jokes regarding my eating disorder and my health fostered a levity that made me feel normal. oh so normal. and that's not only what i needed, it's what i wanted.
but his jokes, well, they were most assuredly fat talk.
fat talk as humor.
tom (my very, very wise therapist who is an eating and weight disorder specialist) and i would go back and forth on this fat-talk-as-humor-thing. i want to be able to laugh at myself, i would say. i want to be able to make fun of the thing--diminish its power in this way. his response was essentially this: nope. you can diminish the thing and you can be self-deprecating, but not in this way. it's not necessary.
a few months later, after the man i was dating made an exit from my life (at my request), i found myself across the country sitting at a table with a group of people i barely knew. we were eating ice cream and later in the day we were going to play tennis. and i made a joke connecting the two. about how thank god for the tennis to work off the ice cream (something along those lines) and a young man across the table looked right at me and said, no, you don't get to do that. you don't get to make that joke. this is me looking out for you and saying, i'm not going to let you talk about yourself in that way. i'll never forget that moment--it remains one of the most mature (and sexiest) things a man has ever done for me.
it was also in that moment i understood what tom was talking about. i got it. i can be funny and i can be self-deprecating, absolutely. but i don't need to engage in fat talk to do it. those jokes are damaging. period. for the person saying it. and for those who are forced to hear it. and because we cannot know how damaging it is for those listening we must put an end to it. the language of fat and body and devaluation is small and insidious and climbs in under the skin. it affects our behavior before we even know it's happening.
for a good long while now i've been careful of fat talk. careful of engaging in it, quick to point it out (sometimes to the frustration of my friends who dammit, just let them be) but this week was different. there was something about making a formal commitment to abstain from it that was tremendously empowering. i felt lighter. those are the words i do not need. and without them a weight is lifted.
on water:
for the most part i gave up soda (coke and diet coke and pepsi and the like) a few years ago now. started drinking soda water instead--found that what i really wanted was the hit of carbonation more than the taste of the stuff. but there were always the small indulgences. the soda when eating out to dinner. or the can of diet coke at a friend's apartment. a diet-pepsi to get me through the occasional work day.
this week i didn't have any of those occasional cans. didn't even think about them or miss them or want them. it wasn't a conscious decision--just a really nice realization as i became more mindful of the water i was drinking.
a few weeks ago i sat in on a day-long conference centered around food and addiction and does food addiction actually exist? to be honest, much of what was said was over my head--the people speaking were scientists and researchers speaking to other scientist and researchers. but there was a moment when kelly brownell got up to speak (the man is a renowned expert on obesity--seriously look him up) and he was flipping through slides and he pulled up an image of coca plant. this in it's natural form is not dangerous to humans. process it enough and you get cocaine, extremely dangerous. process it even more and you crack cocaine. he then pulled up a slide of water. process it enough and you get coca-cola. diet coke. and on and on. his point was not that soda is as addictive as cocaine. it was that anything processed to that extent--that far removed from nature--is dangerous to consume. the effects of soda may not be immediate--or even fully known, but it certainly isn't good for us.
pass the water, please.
........................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................
now onto week two: REST!! to be completely honest, i'm not yet sure what this will mean for me. how can i rest better? my job and my life don't allow for a consistent sleep schedule because every day is different--some nights i don't get home from work until one. but i'm excited to figure out what this week will mean for me. does it mean keeping a cleaner apartment so that i feel more at ease when i'm in it? or climbing into bed as soon as i get home at night? does it mean making an effort to have a plan for my morning already in place the evening before? or maybe it's that one day i'll skip the gym and go for a full-body massage.
what does REST mean for you?
and how did you feel focusing on water consumption? read laura's insights here.
onward to...WEEK TWO: REST (and continued pledge to cut the fat talk).
on beauty.
i have this really tenuous relationship with beauty.
in that, most of the time, i feel anything but.
put me next to a beautiful woman and immediately i feel dwarfed her. an impostor.
and yet, as a woman, what i look like is one of the ways in which i define myself.
we all do--it's cultural and biological and darwinian and the full implications so far surpass my understanding it's unnerving.
i was having a heart to heart with my brother recently and we were talking about a particular woman we both know and he said to me, yeah, the average guy is gonna find her more attractive.
oh. huh. hmmm. i responded, lips pursed.
usually my brother gets away with saying things like this because he's honest and direct and there's nothing calculated about what comes out of his mouth. but this one stung a bit. it hit the achilles heel that is beauty--the thing we all care about but pretend not too for fear of appearing vain.
i'm sure there are those out there who would say, no, no, not me, i don't care about my appearance or what i look like or being thought beautiful--and maybe that woman does exist. but my guess is there is a spectrum of caring and we all fall somewhere on it. and if you think you don't then i'd call your attention to the scene in The Devil Wears Prada when Meryl Streep's character absolutely schools Anne Hathaway about her blue sweater. remember that one? oh, it's so good. well this issue is kind of like that one. i'd too would like to place no value on what i look like, but society tells me i should--i must.
my brother, sensing he had hit upon a tricky subject, attempted damage control: look, your hair is in a messy bun at the back of your neck, you have glasses on and no makeup. when a man sees a group of women his eyes gravitate toward the shiny object. and well, the other girl's hair had volume. and volume in the hair, that's a shiny object. he had a point.
i had to admit, he had a point.
is it because she’s thinner than me? i pushed.
no. we [men] don’t usually notice that. (which is so true and why can't i remember that?).
this issue of not as attractive stuck with me. maybe it was the week or the summer heat or some sort of passing funk, but on that particular day the thought crawled under my skin and stuck.
and then there came a day came not long after that i survived simply by filling my pockets with australian red licorice and pulling out small pieces at necessary moments. and at some point, sitting on the floor, a red nub between my fingers, i thought, i bet that girl--that more-beautiful-girl—would never fill her pockets with licorice. and this is not to say this makes me better. or worse. but different. and my particular brand of different—my licorice-filled-pockets is something i quite like about myself.
in fact, i dare say it’s something that makes me beautiful. not upon first glance. and not physically. and maybe not to the average man. but given enough time and enough perspective it provides a sort of depth to the image.
and then there’s the question of the average man--of what that means--and when have i ever been interested in what the average man thinks? when have i ever been most attracted to the most typically good-looking-guy? so why should i want that the guy i end up with to think me the most typically good-looking woman?
don’t get me wrong, i have been blessed to know and care about some damn fine looking men. but i doubt the average woman would pick them out of a lineup.
i guess that’s the real worry, right—that if the man i care about (or the men i’ve cared about) was to happen upon a table with me and this other woman, he (or they) might be more drawn to her?
ay, there’s the rub--that’s what got under my skin!
average man be damned, i was scared of a hypothetical that would probably, most likely, never happen and even if it did, might very well work in my favor! ah, the gymnastics of the mind!
but i was nonetheless intrigued by this idea of men and shiny objects and their propensity to reach for them. and so i did a little research—which means i asked tom (tom being the most level-headed man i know). and as he explained it, how we as women care for our appearance—the lipstick we apply, the volume we so generously add to our hair, the clothes we choose—this sends a signal to men: ready, willing, and available (for procreation--i told you it was evolutionary). these shiny objects are how we get a man’s attention. but not how we keep it.
we keep it with licorice in our pockets and funny jokes and our brand of wit. we keep it with the things that make us beautiful but have nothing to do with what we look like or how we dress or how poofy our hair is.
i did this play reading a few weeks ago that dealt with the idea of women and beauty and what a complicated issue it is--the expectations made of and on a beautiful woman and the danger of identifying too closely with what we look like.
a play reading is one of the ways in which a playwright is able to work on a new play--iron out kinks and identify holes and get it to a place where it's finished. and so some of the audience feedback was that the contemporary woman in the show--her obsession with what she looked like and her fear of losing her beauty was too small, too unimportant to be dramatized in a play.
but i said to jessica (the playwright): i don't think it is a small problem. it is a question of worth--of a woman's worth. and is there anything larger than that? of am i worthy of love? of courage? of motherhood?--those are big, big questions.
the thing is, beauty is the language in which we speak. we wonder if we are beautiful enough, which is really a question of are we worth enough? but we have been trained and conditioned to think of that in terms of what we look like. we insult other people by saying well she's a cow which while she may very well be fat, what has that to do with anything? what we mean is she's a bitch, but we say she's fat, as if fat explains the bitchiness--as if fat is the insult or even the real problem. when really, no, she's just a bitch (because let's be honest, some people are).
this is all to say, i as much as anyone enjoy dressing up and taking care of my skin and applying makeup--these things send signals about how much i value myself. and that's important. but how much i value myself isn't dependent on these things.
i like licorice and will keep it in my pockets if the mood strikes. i've got a really strong arm and can throw a baseball pretty damn far. i make a mean morning latte and can shimmy a night away with the best of them (maybe not as well, but i'll try nonetheless). these things give me worth. these things add meaning and value to my life. these are the things that when i step out of the shower and look at myself--no makeup in sight, no voluminous hair--i not only think i am beautiful, i feel beautiful.