Rebel Eaters, Episode 1 Journaling Prompt

Virgie Tovar has a new podcast, Rebel Eaters Club. She has a journaling prompt at the end of each episode, and I thought the first one was interesting.

This week, she asked to think about a food that we associate with our family of origin, with growing up, and our relationship with that food over time.

Almost immediately, I thought of freshly-baked bread.

My dad likes to bake bread. I do, too. But I REALLY like to eat bread! I always have.

We didn't have a lot of money when I was growing up, and bread was a cheap staple we always had on hand. Sandwiches, cinnamon toast, filler for other meals. I've always enjoyed eating bread.

That's what struck me: With all of my disordered eating and exercising to "earn" food, I never stopped eating bread. This might be because, back in the '90s, carbs weren't the "enemy." Fat and calories were. So while I'd NEVER eat a fat- or calorie-dense bread like a bagel (the subject of the first podcast, and a favorite chewy way to start the day for me now) or a croissant (ditto the "fave" part), I could always do toast (with fat-free butter substitute and sugar-free fruit spread, naturally) or a warm roll.

In fact, when I was in my least healthy phase of dieting, I had Little Caesar's Crazy Bread at least two or three days a week for lunch. That meant I had to skip breakfast, but it was worth it. Man, I love that stuff; no other pizza place has anything comparable and I don't know why. 

Further, I cannot remember ever feeling guilty for eating bread. I've always been able to enjoy it without any negativity. I do remember being shocked when I learned that Texas Roadhouse's yeast rolls have more than 200 calories each, but... I don't think about that anymore and they're amazing.

An interesting note about this that I made, and that may or may not be related, was this:

First, I am fortunate in that neither of my parents was the food or body police. Neither of them ever told me that I needed to eat or to look different. My food intake was controlled only inasmuch as my mom thought we could "wait until dinner" rather than snack 45 minutes early, and if we had a rare bag of Oreos in the house, we could only have a couple at a time. I feel like this was more a resource thing than a restriction thing.

However, my mom was often, if not on a diet, "being careful." One year, I purchased from the Christmas bazaar at our school, a light-sensitive pig that you'd put in the fridge or cabinet, and it would oink when the door was open. I didn't see this as being rude, and it was in no way mean-spirited. I saw it as a funny way to help my mom remember her priorities.

But my dad... I think my dad gave me permission to LOVE food. He cooked, baked, and grilled a lot (my mom cooked almost every night, and the unfortunate reality is that all of those common meals of spaghetti, meatloaf, and hot dogs just blend into one generic memory). He loved trying new things. He really REALLY experienced food. He ate slowly. He paid attention to flavors. Food wasn't the enemy. It was a comfort. An indulgence. An adventure.

I have a vivid memory of being upper-elementary aged and kind of recognizing somewhat our financial situation. We were on a road trip and had stopped at the Big Texan Steak Ranch in Amarillo. Someone was attempting their challenge to eat a 72-ounce steak and all of the fixings in under an hour in order to get it for free. I was crying, because I'd seen that the cheapest menu item (this was in the early 1980s) was an $8 hamburger. It was *so* expensive!

My dad came over and hugged me and said, "It's okay. We're on vacation! We can't eat like this at home, but we have a budget for vacation, and that is fine! Order whatever you want."

Many years later, my mom told me that the cycle was that they'd have a thousand dollars or so in credit card debt that they'd pay off right as we went on another vacation, and it would start over again. 

But for my dad, those experiences (which were, still, fairly modest things like visiting Laura Ingalls Wilder's or Mark Twain's homes, or the St. Louis arch, or the Huntsville Space Center) were worth the price. They were a necessary getaway, and food was a welcomed part of it.

That might also be why, no matter what stage of eating disorder I was in, I have never "watched it" on vacation. Vacations have always been guilt- and stress-free times to enjoy whatever food I could find. 

And to this day, I'm one of those people who will happily fill up on fresh bread at a restaurant and bring my entree home. I try to find good bakeries wherever we go. I love bread, and it's a lifelong relationship.