Lost at Whole Foods

Exactly a year ago, giving into the traditions of the date, I wrote Breaking The Fast. Which was quickly followed by Gotcha! when people called, IM'd, and emailed me to express their opinions.

Apparently, the joke's on me, 'cause I found myself lost and confused at Whole Foods just the other day, saved only by WC who coached me over the phone on 1. how to identify a mango and 2. how to pick a ripe one.

The Stomach, The Expressway To The Heart

I'm not exactly a foodie.

First of all, I'm a grazer. I don't often sit down for a meal; I'm all about interval snacking. And for me, food is primarily a socializing tool, not an end in itself.

Don't get me wrong, I love a good meal. But in the "eat to live" versus "live to eat" divide, I fall squarely in the former. Actually, more accurately, I eat to drink. 'Cause far more than a foodie, I am a girl who loves her wine.

Last night may have changed that.

Six of us went to Momofuku Ssam Bar last night, and immediately following the appetizers, our entire group proposed to the chef. He graciously accepted and sent over steamed pork belly buns to our table to celebrate the engagement.

Have you seen the movie, Ratatouille? About the rat that dreams of being a chef? In the movie, Anton Ego, the gaunt, bitter food critic who loves food so much that he only swallows when he LOVES it, sits down to a meal, prepared, unbenownst to him, by a rat.

And with his first bite, he is immediately transported to his childhood - a warm, glowing childhood with a mother who cooks lovingly for him.

Biting into those pork buns last night produced an emotional response of the same intensity.

It was love.

It was warm, comforting, delicious, decadent, sweet, salty, tangy, satisfying love. It was get-weak-in-the-knees, slide-off-your-seat, love.

We lingered at Momofuku long after our meal was finished, wondering if we could just spend the night there and have breakfast in the morning. We then considered following our new fiancee back to his place and gazing at him raptly, expectantly, hungrily, until he continued to feed us.

We did neither of those things, but we did stand outside the restaurant for a long while, doing our respective "happy tummy" dances out on the sidewalk.

And this morning?

I'm hungry. And fairly certain I dreamt of pork buns.

For those of you reading this post, the chef, Francis Derby, is OURS. So back off.

Egg McMuffins And Civilization

I got the following email from WC a couple days ago (March 27th).

"The inventor of the egg mcmuffin passed away today at the age of 89. Moment of silence, please."

Very few things are happier than pulling into the drive-thru to order a #1 breakfast meal (Egg McMuffin) with a large OJ and an extra hashbrown.

The McDonald's breakfasts were not available in China until just recently, so when I first moved to Beijing, I was bereft.

Eight months after moving to Beijing, my first trip out of Asia was a quick trip to Brisbane, where I made it my mission to collect my rental car and head for the first sighted golden arches so I could get my fix.

Of course, the first thing I did was cut in line (I had acclimated a bit TOO well to China) and was yelled at by a big burly surfer dude. I pretended I didn't speak English and told him in Mandarin that he was fat and that his mother was a bad egg. I then felt vaguely guilty that I was single-handedly propagating the image of the non-personal-space-and line-respecting Asian tourist.

I told this story to my Chinese teacher, CZ, who nodded sagely, already familiar (from other of her American students) that in much of America (and most especially in NYC), line-cutting is on par with murder.

But here's something interesting: McDonald's is widely credited for beginning to teach the all important skill of queuing in China. When the golden arches first started popping up there, they hired all for the usual sorts of roles necessary for running fast food restaurants. But they also hired a cadre of additional people whose sole job was to browbeat the customers into standing in orderly lines. Even today in mainland China, there are no orderly lines at the bank, or the subway ticket counter, or the market. But walk into a Mickey D's? Beautiful lines aplenty.

And I mean really, isn't that what civilization is all about? The ready availability of toilet paper and diet coke, and respect for queuing.

And, of course, egg mcmuffins.

Writing Desire

Well, that didn't last long. I had one good, non-craving day, but today, The Craving is back. I would happily betray everything and everyone important to me in return for a grilled cheese sandwich. What makes it worse is that this is usually boozy brunch day.

In fact, it is so bad, I got on the phone and signed up for a 5 hour yoga workshop for this afternoon - it was the longest one I could find online. I have to get myself far away from anything I can eat or drink. Unfortunately, it is the kind of yoga that involves a lot of chanting. Despite being a certified yoga instructor, I am about as spiritual as my Amex card, so the chanting/spiritual elements of yoga usually just piss me off. But I suspect I am just so damn weakened right now, I will EAT IT UP.

And while we're on the topic of eating, it has been brought to my attention that I have been writing about sex. Or, rather, that I have been writing about food in a highly sexual way.

Maybe this is the trick - to write sex scenes while hungry, and not with a man in mind, but instead, a perfectly grilled panini with thinly sliced prosciutto, fresh arugula, melted mozzarella, the slightest touch of olive tapenade, and finished off with a lovely drizzle of truffle oil.

Excuse me, just slid off my seat.

Cravings, Tamed

I was told that there would be certain days of this detox fast that will be harder than others, and days that will be easier. Today is my first day of the latter variety. I feel GREAT. Meant to do my usual hour of yoga this morning. I felt so good, it turned into 3 hours.

I dreamt of food again last night, but not in a visceral, immediate, "oh god I must have it NOW" kind of way, but more in the "isn't that nice, I'm content to enjoy just looking at it" kind of way.

When I was young, our next-door neighbor's nephew would visit during the summers and he and I would run around the neighborhood together.

One summer, when I was about 10 or 11 (he was about the same age), we were sitting on the picnic table in my backyard when he asked me, "Can I see your butt?"

I considered his request and couldn't see a downside, so I hopped off the table and pulled down my shorts long enough for him to see my rear.

After I hopped back on the picnic table, we sat for awhile and then he asked, "Do you want to see my butt?"

I considered his offer and couldn't see an upside, so I politely declined.

I'm feeling much the same way about all my former cravings right now: "No thank you, I'll pass."

I Will Survive

I was talking to SK yesterday as I was waiting for my New Love to be delivered to me. And all I can say is that denial does strange things to a person. I couldn't actually focus on anything she was saying to me, I was too busy pressing my face up against the glass of my kitchen window, looking for a delivery truck, and getting increasingly agitated. I think I may have started hyper-ventilating as well. SK tried to reassure me by pointing out that I'd be this much of a freak even if I had been eating and drinking.

I thought I'd be in a highly weakened physical state by now, but that hasn't been the case. If anything, my normal state is now punctuated by moments of extreme frenzy - and not necessarily related to food. I got it into my head the other day that I desperately needed more bath salts from Sabon, so I threw on my coat and ran out the door. 30 minutes later, I was power walking around Union Square with no idea why I had left my apartment. I only remembered later that evening when I took a bath and found my plentiful stash of bath salts.

Here's a list detailing how detox is affecting me:

• I'm talking a little too quickly
• I find myself unable to maintain eye contact without getting really antsy
• I have trouble concentrating
  
• I pendulum wildly between crankiness and calling everyone "darling"
• I spend a little too much time sniffing my New Love

And the universe is trying to thwart my detox:

• SH, the owner of the market across the street, called me to see if I wanted her to bring me some Korean food
• TO texted me asking where the fuck I have been and have I been cheating on him by drinking at another bar
• On my way to the laundromat, the guys at Ray's pizza waved at me, in a way I construed as particularly mocking
• On my way to the bank, I ran into the corner diner delivery guy who said, "Hi Honey, no grilled cheese today?"
• CL emailed me yesterday and offered to come over with a pizza and a bottle of wine
• BB mocked me by telling me that he just happened to throw a perfectly good tin of low sodium spam into the river. Although, this may have been a joke. I lost my sense of humor a couple days ago.
  

But I am staying strong. For now.

Will Work For Food

Dreamt of those juicy little dumplings that squirt when you bite into them. You know, the kind where that salty goodness explodes in your mouth and runs down your chin and you lick your lips and fingers and wish your tongue were several inches longer.

Good god, I will have sex with the first person who walks through my door bearing a tin of low-sodium spam.

The Universe Is Self-Correcting

My detox fast is affecting my nearest and dearest - they are having weird "sympathetic" reactions.

• WC informed me that she has been constipated and unhappy because of it the last several days.
• SK has been eating for two.
• IC is now giggling at every meal. And ate a potato chip while on the phone with me just now.
  

Whatever.

I'm Not Happy

IC: (makes a joke)
Me: (stony silence)
IC: Well, I guess you're at the point in your fast where you've lost your sense of humor.
Me: (stonier silence)

NOTHING is REMOTELY entertaining or funny right now. The world is a dark dark place filled with things I cannot drink or eat.

Tantalus, I'm right there with ya, babe. And BTW, don't know what all the fuss was about re: cooking your son and offering him up to the gods. Stir fried, with a little garlic and ginger and soy sauce... I'm sure he was D-LISH.

In Dreams

Lord, the dreams I am dreaming.

Anais Nin, in Delta of Venus, wrote of a young woman in a sexual relationship with her adopted father (I know, Anais was VERY naughty). The young woman one day tells her soon-to-be lover, "Your hands, all night I dreamt of your hands."

My dreams are nothing like that.

I am dreaming of FOOD. Endless amounts of it. Fragrant and luscious and firm and sweet and salty and tangy and messy and neat and secret and public and overflowing.

Non Boozy Activities

"What does dung tell you?"

WC and I obediently considered this question as it was printed on a very large sign at the zoo today.

WC informed me that her dung tells her everything she ate the day before. That brought up lovely memories of eating.

We saw squirrels, a tiger, a couple snow leopards, and a few giraffes. Also some monkeys. And a bear that appeared to have had one too many cocktails. We chased a few peacocks that were just aimlessly wandering around. Everything looked delicious.

To make the zoo seem more zoo-like, there were loudspeakers piping in wild animal noises. At one point, WC and I were looking at a bird of some sort. There was a man near us telling his friend, excitedly, that if he listened carefully, he could hear the bird chirp. WC and I looked up at the loudspeaker above his head but we chose not to disillusion him. Besides, the bird looked really scrawny - all bones and feathers and not a lot of meat at all.

New Year's Detox

I will be ushering in the New Year by fasting, in every possible way. Extreme detox.

No men, no booze, no smokes, no caffeine, no solid food.

SK and I will meet for yoga twice a week in the evenings so she can confirm I am still mobile. IC will weigh me every Friday to make sure I do not go below my lower weight limit. WC will check in on me once a week and hold a mirror to my nose and mouth to confirm I am still breathing and sprinkle water on me if I look dehydrated.

At boozy brunch yesterday, I asked WC what social activities exist that do not involve booze. I must have been speaking in Urdu because she just looked at me blankly.

My calendar for January looked so virginal that this morning I scheduled in things such as: "shower", "sit around", "be cranky", "crave something" just so I am not mocked by the absence of any real activities.

And while this may sound bleak, I am consumed by excitement. My focus will be inward. Work, yoga, piano and guitar, and dare I hope it? Sleep. The dance classes with IC and SK will wait until February after I have re-introduced myself to solid food. Evidently IC's jazz dance instructor is well worth staring at twice a week for an hour each time.

The good news is that I should be a really cheap date for my birthday. By 6:45PM, with half a glass of wine in me, I should be completely out and my exceedingly tolerant friends can haul my unconscious body to my bed and then continue my birthday celebration without me.

How FUN!

Someone Like That

After WC and I got thoroughly rubbed and moisturized, we trekked over to the east side for dinner at her favorite sushi place, which has now become my favorite as well. Think art deco diner turned sushi bar.

Not only is the sushi lovely, the two-for-one happy hour drinks can't be beat. (SK, we are so going there for our post-Christmas dinner together!)

We decided to see a horror movie (big surprise), and the natural choice was I Am Legend. But we did cruise around Fandango on WC's blackberry to see what the rest of our options were, and this led to a perfectly ridiculous conversation. Ridiculous mostly because our post-spa glow was accompanied by a sudden descent to room temperature IQs and 6 pomegranate martinis didn't help.

"Atonement is playing, but that's sort of serious. Don't think you want anything serious right now that doesn't involve the spilling of lots of blood."

"Need blood-spill."

"Wasn't that a book?"

"Blood-Spill?"

"No, Atonement."

"Yup."

"Who wrote it? "Mc"-something. Like that guy, "Mc"-something. The cute one."

"From Moulin Rouge?"

"And Star Wars."

""McEw"-something. Very cute. Can sing, too. Lovely tenor."

"Wasn't he the one who wrote Angela's Ashes?"

"The guy from Moulin Rouge?"

"No, the guy who wrote Atonement"

"Huh. Maybe. It's definitely a "Mc"-something name."

"McKellan?"

"Wasn't he Gandalf?"

"What are the chances Gandalf the Grey wrote books?"

"Huh."

"Huh."

"Another round?"

"Yes, please."

So on the way to the theatre, we ducked into the Borders and the information kiosk clarified all:

Author of Atonement: Ian McEwan
Author of Angela's Ashes: Frank McCourt
Actor in Moulin Rouge: Ewan McGregor
Actor who played Gandalf: Ian McKellan

We bought our movie tickets then went to a bar across the street, stole glassware, threw back another cocktail, and returned to the theatre. As we found seats, WC told me, "I knew it wasn't Gandalf the Grey who wrote Atonement, just someone like that."