What's for Dinner?

 

While I was on my trip, I found myself sympathizing–a little bit, at least–with my son, Colin, in regard to his attitude about eating. As someone who does not enjoy any part of the food process–planning, acquiring, preparing, ingesting, cleaning up, eliminating–he looks for ways to get the calories and nutrients he needs with the least effort and most efficiency possible. I, on the other hand, actually enjoy food. I like finding the best in-season peaches, trying a new recipe, creating a pleasing presentation (even when I’m the only customer), and experiencing the tastes and textures of a meal. I don’t even mind the KP duty afterward. But I had some trouble getting the hang of meal times on my trip.

I mean, I made a couple of OK camp meals–a vegetable stir-fry on instant rice; a bowtie pasta with peppers–but most were minimal, rushed, and not so great. The Kraft mac and cheese with sriracha-flavored tuna was especially awful. I love my little camp stove, and I had all the tools I needed to make pretty much whatever I wanted, but meal prep and consumption just seemed like a waste of time. Hunger was an annoyance. Cooking meant leaving the mud pots and moose and returning to camp early enough to set up the kitchen, prepare and eat the food, clean up, and pack everything away before dark. Sometimes it was raining. The dogs kept tangling their tethers around trees and whimpering. For the post-Yellowstone portion of my trip, I planned to work on this problem (I love working on problems), to find a way to bring pleasure back to meal time.

Of course, as with many best laid schemes, that one gang agley. So, now I’m home, sorting out my nexts and indulging again in food. On Maslow’s pyramid, food is logically in the bottom-most Physiological tier, along with water, sleep, and warmth, a necessity which, once acquired, allows one to “move on to higher levels” of need toward ultimate self-actualization. But I think food is uniquely un-hierarchical. Sure we need it to survive, but it can be so much more than mere sustenance. How can Maslow’s second tier–Security and Safety–be realized without an assurance that food will be available tomorrow and the day after that? And the Social Needs third tier is intimately tied to food. Show me a friendship, family, religious or community group that doesn’t include food as an essential component. Potlucks, bake sales, happy hours, Thanksgiving dinners–all speak to our social needs through food. Even the highest levels of need–Esteem and Self-Actualization–can be connected to food. When I make a meal that others enjoy, I feel appreciated and respected; I can taste accomplishment and satisfaction in every bite of a successfully executed recipe I serve to myself.

My all-time favorite motivational sign hung in my friend, Michael Franklin's alternative high school. Not “Determination Can Get You Through Anything!” or “Dream Big!” but “What Did You Make Today?” So much of being a person on this planet is about destruction. To be alive is to destroy. I don’t eat meat, but even my green beans cause destruction. I know that. The best we can do, I think, is to be mindful, to offset destruction every day in small ways, to make things better, to make things. Making a meal is basic, universal, necessary. It is also an opportunity to think (Where did this food come from? How was it produced? Who and what was sacrificed to make it?), to connect (Can I share this meal or recipe with someone? Would this casserole look good on Instagram?), to enjoy (What senses are filled in the preparation? How does this charred, spiced bean feel/taste in my mouth?). I’m still eager to work on my camp meal problem. But in the meantime, I’ll be paying attention to the privilege I have now, and savoring the small, magnificent pleasures of food.