that food is to be loved. And I do, I do, I do.
On Tuesday, I sat down for fifteen minutes and thought about cheese fondue. Oh, my dear, imagine it. A big, bubbling cast-iron pot on a wooden table, molten cheese engulfing chunks of crusty bread on long forks.
Or, how about steaming piles of buttery chicken curry. With pillowy, coconut-spiced naan bread and delicate pilau rice.
Or the moment your fork sinks into cloudy mashed potato and gravy.
Or crispy bacon in a bread roll gritty with flour and bursting with ketchup.
Good food, really good food that is anticipated and savoured and appreciated, is one of the great happinesses of my life. And I am spending lots of time visualising it on Tuesdays and Thursdays at the moment, because those are the days we eat one meal instead of three. This is our September detox, based on a very interesting BBC documentary we watched about the staggering health benefits of fasting. When you keep throwing fuel at your cells, they keep going and going, constantly working at full-throttle and running themselves – poor things – ragged. If you ease off the fuel-throwing periodically, they have time to regenerate, repair and refresh themselves. Apparently. I’ve made it sound like biological cobblers, but honestly: the BBC and lots of serious scientists say it’s true. So on Tuesdays and Thursdays we eat dinner together in the evening, but nothing else that day except lots of water and herbal tea.
Timothy and I are expert fuel-throwers. We graze continually, usually on rubbish. So this isn’t really about losing weight at all, but becoming more aware of what we put in our mouths and for what reason. I don’t want to keep chowing down casually on snacks I barely notice. Food is not a guilt-trip, or a weapon, or a pastime, or a crutch. It is an earthy delight, a tongue-tingler and body-powerer and crowd-pleaser.
I want to eat deliberately and appreciatively. I want my mouth to water. I want to make a meal of it.
I want, damn it all, some cheese fondue.