I Hate Food

Over the weekend a friend of mine, let's call her Little Miss Food Network, went to Chicago where

she subsequently ate her way around and through the city dining at five restaurants.

While I marveled at Little Miss Food Network's stamina and enthusiasm for eating, I thought of Amy Poehler's book, Yes Please. One of Poehler's mottoes about decisions and how to make them (or not make them) is: "Good for her! Not for me."

After the quote bounced around my head for a bit I began to wonder, "Why?" Why were five restaurants in 48-72 hours not for me? I like to eat! I enjoy food! I really enjoy food when someone else cooking for me! So why did the thought of eating exhaust me?


I figured I could do about three restaurants before my taste buds went on strike or my tongue fell out of my head. I had visions of myself exiting a restaurant, my friends or family happily stumbling to the next place while I would wobble to the curb and call out: "Hey, you guys, can we just like stop for minute?" Then I would sit and put my head between my knees. That is not the picture of a person who likes eating. It was then realized I "hate" food.

I'm not picky and nor am I super-taster, but my relationship with food is now tied to cooking. I don't enjoy cooking. I don't enjoy cooking because it makes a mess. I hate making a mess because I hate cleaning. I have "germophobia" and OCD-like tendencies. Cooking, cleaning, and eating are just more chores. I see them as obstacles in the way of things I'd rather be doing.

When I cook I choose to make things that require little preparation or long cooking times in the oven. The sooner I can get out of the kitchen the better.

When I eat I choose foods that require little or no dishes. I will eat granola bars or cereal out of the box. I will eat a sandwich. I love oatmeal because I can easily eat it while reading.

That's when I remember and make a point to eat. Most of the time I ignore the signals my stomach send to my brain. I read once in a magazine that eventually the stomach stops sending the signals because it figures you aren't paying attention anyway.  I believe it because it's usually not until I've stopped doing whatever it was I engrossed in that I notice I haven't eaten and acknowledge that I'm hungry.

I acknowledge my hunger by screaming at it that it's a pain and an inconvenience. That it needs to put a sock in it, okay? I'm getting up! I'm going to the kitchen, happy? Here is some lunch meat shoved in a cold tortilla! Good enough? Good, I really need to get back to the Internet! I'm in the middle of this quiz that is going to tell me which Disney princess I am.