on eating well

One of the first things anyone tells you about traveling is the food they ate so they can offer their favorites to assist you in not only seeing great sights, but to also color your palette with culinary and cultural experiences to last a lifetime. Although sometimes it’s just a humble brag. This post is a little bit of all those things, with a more savory sentiment which you’ll discover upon reading.

If you know me, you know I’m not a food-crazed savage scouring the streets. I don’t even love the notion of eating food, but I love good food. I just want it to be worth it- worth the time it takes to prepare or get to, the calories I’ll be taking in, the investment of exploration over monotonous consumption, worth my excitement upon seeing the dressing of a plate float across a room as it makes its way to me. I like to take risks with what I eat. Ever in search of something amazing. Most of the time they pay off, but if they don’t and it was still something new then that experience will mostly override the taste as I make my way toward something more appealing to the buds sprinkled on my tongue.

I can’t begin to describe the smooth richness of duck confit in an orange sauce or the sensual subtle glaze atop an apple tart or the unmitigated joy that belie the flaky layers of the best croissants on Earth. It’s all too much and all here to be enjoyed.

The only thing is, I prefer to eat alone.

Behind closed doors, preferably. Or hidden in plain sight when I’m dining without my close circle. But sitting in a foreign country not having known anyone before heading here, alone felt like a better option. It’s not that I’m a hideous eater or don’t want company, but the oft mocking from others about the slowness of my mastication or the way in which I allow food to pass through my body tends to make me uneasy. Anxiety takes my appetite and turns it from ravenous to not willing to take in more than a couple bites of my favorite food I was just so excited to eat. That lack of eating at a table full of people moaning and cooing at what has been prepared for our shared delight only makes the comments start up. The cycle begins again. It continues until I break it.

I knew I had several foods I wanted to try while in France so I’d have to enjoy them in a way that made sense for me.

So I sometimes make an effort. I can honestly say I don’t try all the time, but I’m always happy when I do. And every now and then I have a stint where it doesn’t feel like so much work to try, but more of a natural thing. It’s just eating. But I can’t say I’ve never found myself staring at a plate wondering when someone will make a remark on the amount of food I have left to consume, even though I’ve eaten to my inside’s satisfaction. Even still, when I got tired of comments, I started ignoring them. Or even confronting them when they came from repeat offenders.

Sometimes pushing yourself to ignore the voice in your head filling you with invisible anxiety is all it takes. Sometimes, for me, it takes ignoring others. Either way, in order for it to work for me I can’t allow the comments on the subject- from others or myself. What’s more, I knew the benefit of getting out there and just trying. So I did.

Walking through the streets in France you are inundated with people walking with or eating baguettes as they walk down the street. As I got more comfortable with my surroundings, and appreciated the near fantastical taste of a French baguette, I became one of these people always walking to and from a local boulangerie for fresh breads and pastries. You can often find me hand in hand with some fresh bread and an eclair or aesthetically pleasing little fruit tart, but one thing I hadn’t mastered after a month abroad was the eating it whilst walking down the street. I was convinced that I needed to try it, just to see how it felt.

One sunny afternoon after preaching, I decided to get over myself and give in to my hunger over the desire to appear any sort of way to people who weren’t even checking for me. I bit the baguette and continued my stroll down the street. The less than ten second moment was not a life-altering experience, but considering the need to tell a friend about it and his audible shock upon hearing it made it clear that it I had been waiting too long. Waiting too long to be. But that was over. A strange, tingly sensation vibrating across my face forming my lips into a smile, I felt an odd pride. Odd, because literally everyone around me was doing the same thing, but pride because I wouldn’t have before. Now, I prefer to be more mindful about savoring my food slowly, and from a seated position, so it was the only time I did it, but it was more about the push to allow myself to do it than making it a new habit.

Of course, people still say I eat like a bird or don’t eat real food, but instead of taking in their thoughts and spiraling into a hypochondriac spell or have my body revolt against it’s hunger in place of anxiety, I simply eat. Whether alone or with others, both enjoyably. Between the bread, eclairs and typical food prepared with fresher ingredients than at home I find myself eating well and not looking back, but just going with how I feel. And how I feel right now is that my day would be better enjoyed with a cappuccino and café eclair with a friend. I’m off to grab a friend and a sweet treat as I fill the day will a new adventure. Give yourself a push today; you won’t regret it!

happy reading,
kacie micole