Do you ever get sick of all food? Have no cravings for anything? Stand in front of your fridge, staring into it, hoping for inspiration? Willing your taste buds to kick in? Flip through every cookbook you own, wishing something would cause your mouth to start watering?
Stare at menus, longing for something to jump out at you, screaming “Order me, order me, I’m really tasty, you’ll love me”?
It’s exactly where I’m at right now. Have been for a while. Nothing appeals. Well, that’s a bit of an exaggeration. I can’t get enough nectarines. Especially the white ones. And those strange-looking donut peaches. Gosh they’re delicious. I could eat them three times a day. For breakfast, lunch and dinner.
I do get urges for oysters and lobster. But not as often as I used to. I love vegetables; and the sight of red peppers and those tiny, crunchy cucumbers or even romaine make me hungry. So do artichokes and zucchini blossoms and beets and even celery. I like a good burger; and once in a blue moon I must have a steak.
Mexican sometimes appeals to me. I love the ‘heat’. Same with Indian curries and caribbean dishes like jerk chicken and roti. But for the most part, I’m bored with food. Which is so unlike me, because I’ve always enjoyed a good meal. And I’ve always loved to cook.
There was a time I couldn’t find a house with a big enough kitchen. I wanted a chef’s stove with a double oven. Didn’t get one, but it never stopped me from dreaming about it. A restaurant-style fridge. Every utensil, every gizmo, every tool, every knife available on the market, from strawberry hullers to lemon zesters to whisks and poultry shears and basters and salad spinners. From paella pans to blenders and mixers and choppers and pulverizers and juicers and mincers and slicers to deep fryers and roasters and steamers and rice cookers.
Cookbooks were an addiction. Ina Garten (Barefoot Contessa) and The Silver Palate my absolute favourites. Dozens and dozens and dozens and dozens of issues of Gourmet and Bon Appetit and Fine Cooking and every other magazine devoted to eating were stacked in every room of my house. The Food Network was my constant companion.
Grocery shopping gave me the same kind of thrill a pair of Manolo Blahniks gave Carrie, on Sex and the City.
Until one day the music died.
Well, not exactly the music. I just couldn’t resist the reference to Don McLean’s hit, “American Pie”. It was a song about the plane crash, in 1959, that claimed the lives of rock and roll legends Buddy Holly, Ritchie Valens, J.P. “The Big Bopper” Richardson and their pilot, Roger Peterson.
No, in my case it wasn’t the music that died. It was the love of all things food related.
Or at least, if it wasn’t completely dead, it did end up on the back burner. Pun intended.
Weird, isn’t it? It’s not like I had a bad experience. You know, got sick from something I ate. Nothing like that. I have no idea. I just lost interest.
Which is why I couldn’t believe my eyes when I read yesterday’s WordPress Daily Prompt: “If you could get all the nutrition you needed in a day with a pill — no worrying about what to eat, no food preparation — would you do it?”
You must admit, it’s like they’re talking directly to me. Reading my mind. So what choice do I have? Of course, I have to write this story.
So would I? Live on pills instead of bothering with food?
At first blush, it’s very tempting, I must say. No food boredom. No unexcited taste buds. No thinking about what to eat. No shopping. No prep. No cooking. No cleaning up. No work, in other words.
But then, no pleasure, either. When something looks delectable. Or when it smells heavenly. Or when it tastes exquisite. Or when you’ve laboured away on a dish and your guests love it.
All those senses we’re all blessed with, would go to waste.
Exactly how long do you think I’d last, living on pills? I’m guessing until I got a whiff of some delicious boeuf bourguignon as I walked by the front door of a favourite french restaurant. Or heard someone crunching away on a crisp apple. Or moaning in ecstasy (a la When Harry Met Sally) over a decadent dessert. Or until I woke up one morning with an insatiable urge for eggs benedict.
Getting hungry? Me too.