I keep wondering why we are so prone to pig out during the
holidays anyways. I don’t think it’s just that we are tempted by the standard-bearers
of the season, the pumpkin and pecan pies, the dizzying arrays of Christmas cookies,
those little cocktail wieners that wiggle their way into every holiday party. Or that the shorter days and falling
temperatures make us crave warm, carby comfort food. Or even that it’s family
tradition, you know, how Thanksgiving isn’t really Thanksgiving unless you have
your mother’s green bean casserole with cream of mushroom soup and crispy
onions. It’s something more elemental. In my opinion, it’s a case of pure
entitlement.
Okay, entitlement is a big political buzzword these days,
but I’m talking about something slightly different. We don’t demand sweet
potatoes with tiny marshmallows as if they were our American birthright along with
Social Security, Medicare and endless episodes of Reality TV. It’s more that if
we can’t have our guilty pleasure, if we have to eat something <gasp>
healthy, like roast turkey breast without
gravy, we feel slighted. Duped. Cheated.
It’s not fair. It’s not right. It’s not the holidays.
I am not immune from this phenomenon. As much as I worry
about all the fat and sugar-laden fare I will encounter between late November
and early January, I have to admit that I have prepared some of those dishes –
and will do so again. In other words, I have been the agent of my own demise. Why
am I so attached to a Norman Rockwell picture of holiday celebration, an image
that’s not only idealized but, if we are honest, completely unrealistic? And while
I’m asking questions, tell me, why does apple pie, oozing sugar in a buttery
crust, say Thanksgiving in a way that a simple baked apple does not?
But, you say, apple pie tastes better than a plain apple.
Well, taste is a subjective thing. Since last June, I’ve been running an experiment
– I’ve stopped eating foods that are sweetened. The sweetest thing I eat now is
an orange with breakfast. The first thing I noticed was that my appetite calmed
down. Way down. It was quite astonishing how much the simple lack of sweetness
in my diet decreased my desire to eat. After four months of this, not only have
I stopped craving sweets, but when I occasionally do eat something very sweet, it
seems odd and over the top.
I suppose that back in the bad old days, when food was scarce
and a person might have to subsist on nothing but turnips for extended periods,
the occasional bit of something sweet (or creamy, or salty) was cause for celebration.
Perhaps even something deserved, if you consider the harshness of the rest of their
lives. Our prehistoric ancestors may have passed that sense of entitlement onto
us and we still live it, especially when the first cold weather descends, even
though we can order Pizza Hut Stuffed-Crust Pizza and Cinnamon Sticks any night
of the week.
Well, that’s a nice story, but it doesn’t solve my problem,
does it? My first idea, to lose some weight before the holiday madness begins,
may be the best strategy for now. Chowmageddon is a mighty force, stronger than
kryptonite even, and I’m not taking any chances.
