Slow Food: A
recipe for healthy eating
Commentary
by JoELLEN COLLINS
… the
slow food movement is not limited to Italy but is on the march across
the continent.
Since my
return from, Italy I have given a lot of thought to the savory food of
that country. During one notable meal in Florence, I noticed a book
sitting on the bench next to me. It consisted of restaurant listings for
all of Italy, with capsule reviews of location and cuisine. I noted,
with a smile, the title, Slow Food. At the time I thought it was
representative of an Italian way of looking at the pleasures of dining,
as opposed to the American penchant for fast food. However, a friend who
has spent a lot of time in France told me that the slow food movement is
not limited to Italy but is on the march across the continent.
At any
rate, one of the best things about living in Italy almost needs no
articulation, but I must repeat it: the food. The only time I had a
"bad" meal was in Venice the night we arrived there on a
holiday Monday when most of the restaurants were closed and we were
sufficiently famished to settle for the only one open in our
neighborhood. It looked comfy from the outside, but the service was
lackadaisical and the food below average. The fact that this pizzeria is
in the center of one of the most heavily touristed and thus expensive
areas in Italy may be the cause of the poor meal. Other than that one
time, I truly found delectable, fresh and healthy food wherever I
traveled. Even pit stop restaurants along the autostrada display gourmet
cheeses and meats and offer consistently delicious cappuccinos. I never
got a less than spectacular cup of that beverage anywhere I went in that
country, even at wayside spots almost empty in the winter.
One of my
fondest memories is of the server in Siena’s Nanini coffee
house/bakery, who got to know me when I stopped in on my way to language
class. He always added a flourish of chocolate in the shape of a heart
atop my cappuccino. His smile and friendly demeanor enriched my time
immeasurably.
All of
these fond memories are being recalled when American courts are hearing
the first class action lawsuits against fast food franchises. I am
appalled in general at our lack of individual responsibility when we sue
businesses for feeding our addictions. I love French fries as much as
the next person, but no one pulls me physically toward a fast food
franchise, ropes me in, and forces me to buy and then consume them. I
find dubious the claims that McDonald’s or Burger King is responsible
for the raging obesity our country is just beginning to recognize. We
are prosperous and, I’m afraid, fat.
The
latest studies show that a hefty percentage of young children are
overweight. While I decry the greasy offerings they are given, I place
the blame more on their parents than on McDonald’s. When I heard a
mother whine to Oprah that she just wanted to make her already chunky
son feel better by giving him cookies as rewards for good behavior, I
wanted to go stick my finger in my mouth.
I am the
last person to be judgmental about addictions. I have experienced the
consequences of overindulgence in my long life enough so that I dare not
be too smug. But I don’t think I have ever blamed 31 Flavors for
making a delicious Jamoca Almond Fudge ice cream, nor would I think of
suing anyone because I am 10 pounds overweight. I know that a food
addiction is especially difficult to get under control because we must
eat to live. One of my friends who has struggled with obesity all her
life says it is like an alcoholic being served drinks with every meal
and having to say "no" several times a day. Or, another friend
told me she opens her refrigerator several times every day to the tiger
within. I understand, I really do. In spite of being told I shouldn’t
eat dairy products, the peccorino cheese I could buy in any Tuscan
market was too tempting and I often indulged.
Nonetheless,
I despair of a society that blames others for our weaknesses. I am tired
of hearing, in essence, that the Devil made me do it. "I had a bad
childhood" becomes the excuse for adult abuse. "My teacher
scolded me" is why one becomes aggressive, or "The kids
bullied him" an excuse for shooting innocent teenagers.
I think
there is also another benefit to the concept of "slow food."
The term can be applied to the way we approach the time we spend eating.
When I was a girl I was always the last one to finish a meal and was
never forced to eat huge amounts. Perhaps that’s why my nickname was
"Bitsy." My mother used to laugh imagining a grown up me,
perhaps becoming obese and waiting tables in a diner with a nametag
bearing that moniker. Now I’m no longer the skinniest person around. I
and most of my countrymen demand instant service, race through meals
without savoring them slowly, and accrue the extra pounds that result
from gobbling down our meals. One famous nutritionist claims that
keeping weight off is partly a matter of eating slowly and with
consideration. So what’s the big hurry?
I vote
for "slow food."