Hunger
I believe in good meals. By and large, we are not a snacking family (except that my children believe outdoor excursions are not complete without several baggies of crackers, nuts, cookies and other sundries); and I hate ruining my appetite for the meals I love to cook. Last night, I wanted popcorn, but one whiff of the braised beef shanks with red wine and truffle mustard sauce, served with a side of creamy grits, all bubbling away, getting rich and velvety for dinner, urged me to wait.
So I wait, and I make my family wait too. I love to cook, so every night I have something going – pork fried rice, thick steaks with roasted broccoli and a perfectly fluffy baked potato, smoked turkey and bean soup, jambalaya with thick, red coins of spicy andouille. It’s so rewarding, settling in for a delicious meal at the end of the day and being truly hungry.
Even though I am disciplined when it comes to food, I’m not in other areas. I realized this because I gave up shopping for Lent, and you guys I AM SO BORED. What do you do at 10 p.m. when your husband is at work and you feel lonely? OK, I see your point. Writing an essay, sleeping, cleaning the house, picking up a hobby, calling a friend, watching a movie or reading a book are all better than the Poshmark or Target apps. But riddle me this: do they come in 12 colors of adorable slouchiness for only $14.99? I didn’t think so.
Instead of recognizing that by excess shopping I’m effectively eating Cheetos at 5 p.m., and will ruin my budget, time and stomach for beef shanks later, I just stuff my face, assuming I can have it all. It’s charming optimism; it also leads to obesity and a stomach ache if I’m not careful.
See, the thing is, I don’t really want another sweater. I want to feel creative, alive, excited. I want to feel connected, I want to feel loved, I want to treat myself because I want to feel special.
Do you know what makes me feel special, though, really? Reading books with my babies, hiking with my family, talking with a friend, writing pieces, time with my horses, dating my husband, cooking wholesome, complex, fascinating food for the people I love, not stuffing myself and everyone in my home with empty carbs in foil bags.
This Lent I am seeing what hunger means, what it looks like to crave, but turn to myself sternly and say no anyway. Sometimes self-love means saying no, stop, let’s hold out for better. This is the best kind of hunger – the kind that waits eagerly for a full plate of fragrant pasta, glistening with oil, curled with onions and kale, redolent with chunks of spicy sausage and sprinkled with fresh herbs and parmesan. It’s a hunger that allows itself to be felt and filled, instead of being partially acknowledged and barely sated, never letting its depths be mined for beauty.