I can't believe I ate the whoooleee thiiingggg....

I only took one psychology course in college. True to form, all of the craziest people I knew were psych majors. I'm thinking of one particularly brilliant girl who often locked herself in her room, listened to the Violent Fems, never changed her clothes for four years, and cut her own hair. Given my unstable mental state until age twenty-six, trust me when I say that my decision to concentrate in Religion and English was a good thing. However, I do know a fair amount about psych, from independent reading, and I've always been fascinated by Piaget's experiments with children in the conservation of matter.

Basically, what the developmental psychologist Jean Piaget said was that until children's brains develop to a certain point, they cannot perceive, for example, that a squat glass filled with water and a skinny glass filled with water have the same amount of liquid, even if they are shown that a pitcher has poured a certain volume into the glasses.

Supposedly, we eventually achieve a more rational understanding about spatial relations--but if that is the case, then why, for example, when I am served a huge portion of food at a restaurant, and do not eat everything, I am often told "I don't eat." However, if someone cleans his or her plate, somehow they have eaten?

For example, I've never seen my father leave food on his plate--he's quite proud of that fact--even when dining at a diner. If you've ever been to a New Jersey diner, you know what a feat finishing a full-course entree entails, especially if accompanied by a salad with generous lashings of olive oil (sometimes, no joke, half the bottle). After all, if they wouldn't serve it all if you weren't meant to eat it all, right? Ditto for several appetizers and a full pizza at Pizzeria Uno.
I've seen my stepmother cook up a whole platter of chicken souvlaki, and without irony, say because literally one tiny, tiny piece of breast was left, that they really 'ate healthy' that night.

And I'm embarrassed to get into my own perceptions of peanut butter. I look at a two tablespoon serving size and it just. can't. be. true. that something that tiny is 190 calories. Time to even out the jar of Crazy Richard's.

But there is another strange misperception about calories regarding the quality of the food itself, which irritates me even more. That is when someone who is thin eats a burger or a cookie and someone descends upon them saying "how do you eat that and stay thin?" A friend's skinny boyfriend (well, friend-with-benefits, but that is another story) in high school was a beanpole, and she'd always complain 'he eats nothing but McDonald's and is a rail." Now, I had observed Alex and noticed that 1. yes he ate nothing but junk food but 2. he was the sort of boy who would only eat if food he liked was literally placed underneath his nose. So that meant he ate a Quarter Pounder with Cheese, fries, and a vanilla milkshake one day, but nothing else, and then didn't eat at all the following day, ate three slices of sausage and cheese pizza the next day, and so forth. Clearly, the calories 'balanced out' in his favor, but the idea was that simply eating one 'bad food'=fatness. But then, there was a great deal my friend didn't notice about Alex and the way he felt about many things, not just food.

Growing up, incidentally, no one ate Big Macs, only Quarter Pounders. I never understood mayo on burgers. I guess it is a regional thing.

This is something you often see in the blog-o-sphere when individuals publish tasty treats. People look at the user pics of said poster and there are a million comments that don't say "oh, that looks good," but "OHHHH...how are you soooo skinnny and eat all of thaaat." Which makes me feel bad for the person who cooked, because frankly, it probably makes them feel guilty, and when they bake a whole cake, they probably aren't thinking 'hey, this is a single serving.' I don't know why we Americans have the idea that simply eating sugar of any kind will make them fat. Again, the missing link about 'portion control' in the brain.

Not that Greeks like my dad don't seem to have this problem as well, given how my father will still, after all these years, hover at the dessert table 'round Thanksgiving and say, I kid you now "caaalories, caaalories" after eating pastitio, turkey, spinach pie, and so forth. Pastitio btw, is basically a brick of Greek baked cheese with a few bits of pasta thrown in for fiber, and ground lamb. Nope, no calories in that lasagna at all. But a slice of pumpkin pie, that is automatic admission to Weight Watchers...

I hope I don't sound too superior with my little 'Piaget' analysis of portion control and the way sugar is viewed as a ticket to fatness. Yes, I know, blah blah, it's supposed to make you hungry and turn you into a raving lunatic. But truthfully, only on my fad 'all sugar diets/ calories are all that matters' did I really get those types of insane glucose cravings...

But I still struggle with balance, because as I said, sugar is all that I like, and desserts, in my warped brain, always look too tiny, just as main courses always look too large.

And don't get me started about eyeballing fits in Home Depo when I need to make repairs...

Here is a picture of me, briefly skinny before I really er, porked out again in high school. I felt strong resisting all that Halloween candy. However, being thin was definitely transitory for me until my mid 20s, given my warped very un-Piaget brain development regarding portion size, conservation, and mass and sugar.

True fiction

"Turn on the TV!"

I'd often hear this, when I was growing up. TV was exotic for my parents--my father, an immigrant from Greece would regale me with stories about his first encounters with "I Love Lucy" and "All In the Family." My mother grew up poor, before having TV was considered a necessity, as it is today, right up there with Internet access and orthopedically supportive running shoes.

The idea that TV, this strange wonderful box that connected you to world events, was bad, never occurred to them. Walter Cronkite, "60 Minutes," and "This Old House" were all on TV. Need I say more?

So you might assume that the media had no affect on my eating habits, given I was a bookish child. I liked Snoopy cartoons and Mary Poppins and "Mr. Wizard's World," but buy me a book to get me through shopping (with a few pieces of cream-filled Brach's pic-a-mix) and I was far happier. I liked to enter into the world, the mind of a character.

Of course, linking TV consumption to childhood obesity does not mean a lack of TV yields a thin child. I loved to create feasts built upon books. Sara Crewe in The Little Princess, for example, receives a great hamper when she is at her most poor and desolate, confined in an attic by a cruel headmistress. She also buys sticky buns with a penny given to her, when she is mistaken for a beggar--of which she eats one, and gives to an even poorer girl. (Sara is largely beyond food, except when she is emaciated). Or in a less highfalutin note, in the TACK mystery series for kids, I came to enjoy peanut butter and banana sandwiches, because they packed that for an outing at the zoo.

I hate to say it, but although there were books that portrayed very healthy foods in a positive way, like one short story I read in grade school about a wee Eskimo girl who waits all year to get a perfect orange from a trading ship, I tended to get more excited about the peanut butter sandwiches, Christmas cookie aspects of stories. Turkish Delight in a wardrobe, anyone? (Candy had to stand in for that--I didn't eat TD until I was in my 20s, living in England).

I also hate to say that although reading was great, I also remember in these books that it was the thin girl who was the protagonist, the fat girl who was the 'friend.' Oh yes, a nice friend--but as in The Little Princess and Anne of Green Gables, the fat friend is always the less nimble friend, the less creative one, the one who is loved because she is nice, rather than brilliant and witty and athletic. Stories about fat or even mildly chunky girls were focused on their fatness, their overweight status was never merely incidental.

Perhaps that is why I tended to prefer stories about animals, who often liked to eat without issues, and whose bodies were furry or bony, never fat or thin. Templeton the rat in Charlotte's Web never had 'issues.'

As I grew to middle school age, I began to read slightly more adult fiction, likethe 19th century mystery of mistaken identity The Woman in White by Wilkie Collins (which was actually the first slightly 'grow up' book I read) I also noticed that heavier people were not approved of, like Count Fosco. The heroine I identified with was brown-haired, dark-skinned, and disliked fat people. The man who threatened her liked to drink cubes of sugar dissolved in water. So much for the purity of life before Coca-Cola, eh?

I guess the take-home message is: sorry, but sugar for kids does have a special power, no matter how you try to dress up fruit (although I adore fresh fruit now) and that good books are no protection from problematic body messages. I did like Barbie, incidentally, although never identified with her shape. It's hard to feel envious of someone who can't rest on her hells.

Things you learn from old photographs

This is my Uncle George. Perhaps the most normal member of my family.


Notice that he is eating. Now my Uncle George is slim, very slim. Yet if I look through my photo album at photos of my slender Uncle and Aunt, they, and their skinny (blonde) kids--my cousins--are quite often eating at family occasions. Half-eaten, homemade cakes, meals in progress like this one.

None of the anxiety that surrounded food when I was growing up.

My parents ate out. A lot. My mother hated to cook, and my father loved to eat, so that was the compromise--she didn't have to prepare food (after slaving to clean the house--and her mother's house, plus do all the yard work, take care of me all day) and my father had access to lots of food. As a result, as this was in the days before food blogging and people taking photos of every bite of their meal to blog about it, there are very few pictures of mom, dad, and me as a family eating.

I didn't realize that cookies came from flour, not mixes or boxes, until embarrassingly late. I was in college, and shocked to see someone even make pancakes from substances that didn't have a politically incorrect African-American woman on the front. We served McDonald's at my birthday parties (look closely at the picture of my friend) or pizza from an incredible Italian pizza parlor nearby (hello, NJ and Carvel ice cream cakes.

Of course we loved it--kids and family alike--but it taught me some bad lessons. Food was something prepared by other people so it could rapidly be taken away. Good food was rich, exotic, caloric, and tasty, unlike the bland fare we at at home. Good food was theatrical like a cake, something like broccoli was meant to be eaten plain, as penance. My mom, especially, who lived her life for other people, wanted someone to do something for her, just for her, in a restaurant--usually grill a steak.

Even now, cooking is something I struggle with. Oh, I cook food of course, but despite all of the 'Cooking for One' books that exist, I'm still apt to subside on fruit and veggie burgers for weeks at a clip, experimenting with different combos, textures, and levels of doneness, yet, but the idea of pan-searing with a whisper of flour seems strange to me. When I lived with my mother and I cooked, and it was just us, sometimes I'd put on spagetti for her, which I detest--spagetti and canned red sauce, usually--and she'd say, make the whole all at once, then I can just eat it over the week. Who cares if it gets gummy and only takes ten minutes to boil?

Cooking food, I was taught, was too much trouble.

Biography Part 2: I discover the calorie

When I was a student at Wesleyan University, I recall strolling past Olin-Atwater Library everyday, and of course, often studying there--usually on Friday nights (but that is a different story). You would think, going to a prestigious liberal arts school, that I would be mulling great philosophical questions (I studied literature and religion) or politics (Wesleyan is one of the most socially aware campuses in the country). But often my brain would be generating this scroll of thoughts:

"One of those tasty corn muffins at breakfast--about 200 or so, perhaps? And the milk in my coffee, won't bother with that. Now if I have an oat bran muffin (they are tiny, so about 200, well, maybe 250)...I will be at 500. Then 500 for a West Wings pita sandwich at lunch. 1,000 is good. But if they have the turtle pie--I'll eat maybe half the pita, then I can have the pie and maybe some of those yummy warm cookes....if only the meals had labels, labels, like the Lean Cuisine pizzas, then I could calculate it PERFECTLY."

Some days, I would eat nothing but sugary foods, ignoring the hunger headache. So long as stayed under my limit, hey, I was fine. Sure, I looked kind of pasty, flabby, despite working out at the gym, despite the fact that I never looked as toned or had as much energy as I should, given that I worked out. I figured I had lost 60 pounds since my high school high weight, and if I could eat a l0w-calorie diet that was all sugar, why not?

The irony of course, is that the scientist the library was named after discovered the calorie--Wilbur Atwater Olin. But did I know or care? Not at all. My mind was on important things, like how if I had the carrot cake for dinner tomorrow, it would be 400 calories, so I had to budget my chocolate consumption accordingly. They had the best carrot cake at the campus cafe--dense, rich, moist...I loved the sour cream cheese icing, the whispers of crumb, the chunky lumps of nuts spattered across its surface.

Studying--oh yes, that, what were we talking about? Um, birthday cake?

The take home message: Today, I am a runner, vegetarian (although I support ethical and mindful meat consumption), and comfortable with my weight and body, finally at age 35. But whenever I deny myself sugar, I feel like a little kid throwing a tantrum--I want more! I want to become more proficient at baking, but I'm scared I'll eat all the batter. I eat real food, because I have to, but I would like to enjoy it more. This blog is a journey of my progress to find a healthy balance in my life in the name of food, exercise, and self-improvement. With some sweetness along the way.

Bon Appetit, as Julia Child might say (mom loved to watch her, even though she never cooked a single meal she saw on PBS)! But don't forget the dessert!

Biography of The Sugar Fiend Part 1: Is it possible to be born with a 'no real food' tooth?

Ever since I can remember, I have always been a sugar fiend.

I was a chubby child. Although I have sculpted this away with exercise and some bit of dietary restraint, anyone who has ever been the last girl picked for soccer in gym class because the captains were afraid the chubster with the frizzy hair couldn't run across the field without getting winded--"oh, I guess we get the fat girl," said the disappointed person who was forced to bear my lack of athletic skills--knows what I mean when I say you never forget your fat self. You can lose the appearance of flab, but just like they say you can never lose fat cells, you never lose that memory of being the fat girl. No amount of Slim Fast and Jane Fonda will burn that away (can you tell I grew up in the 1980s).

Now, you probably assume I'm going to tell you that as a child I had an unrestrained appetite, that I always wanted two rather than one cheeseburgers with my Happy Meal. Many people who have struggled with their weight have 'outed' themselves as unusually hungry kinds.

However, with me that was far from the case. Meat that looked like meat repulsed me. I hated the gummy texture of even the smallest piece of fat on steak, much to my parents' displeasure. They grew up poor, and dreamed of being able to afford steak. One of my mother's sorriest memories was when her grandmother's poodle devoured the roast intended for the Friday night payday dinner, back before everyone had credit cards to buy what they wanted, when they wanted it (see, I told you--child of the 80s).

I liked pepperoni, meatballs with ketchup, anything that didn't look like meat, and at the time, although neither I nor my parents knew it at the time--only if it was cured in sugar. Hot dogs I loved, McDonald's hamburgers I could tolerate (but not the ones made at home), and deep fried clams if I could dunk them in sweet tartar or cocktail sauce.

But overall, my mother, a woman who feared food, who had given so much of her life to caring for others that dieting was what she 'did for herself' made very boring meals that I rejected. Slightly pink chicken with paprika (the universal 80s seasoning in the suburbs). Lamb chops. I preferred to eat the mint jelly. And vegetables? My perennial failed New Year's Resolution (always gamely given,because I loved holidays) was to finish one tomato, one apple (unprocessed rather than refined sugar did not stimulate my discerning palate).

I was a sugar fiend.

I was the kid who would automatically throw away her lunch and snarf down an ice cream sandwich instead, running the cool texture of the vanilla against my tongue, eating some parts of the chocolate alone, stripping the top chocolate wafer off on other bites, other parts eaten like a proper sandwich. I fantasized when eating jelly beans or gum drops that I was eating jewels. When munching on M&Ms, or fishing multicolored marshmallows from a bowl of Lucky Charms, I had a certain order: the most populous ones, the commoners, would be eaten first, until only the best, usually the red or green, were left. It was like a play in my mind, how they quivered in fear of the mighty mouth of The Sugar Fiend.

Vanilla soft serve with sprinkles, the dessert cart at my mother's favorite restaurant, eclairs from Delicious Orchards' bakery...to me that was real food. To hell with protein, vitamins, and nutrients.

My mother served me celery and creamed spinach as after school treats, depending on the season. But I wouldn't really eat, not with pleasure, unless it was dessert.

And it didn't help that my parents tended to alternate between abundance and abstinence in their own eating styles. Although the one good thing they adhered to, they thought (you low-carbers will love this) was that sweets would make you fat...you could (at least according to my cheese-a-holic father) eat whatever you liked except sweets (and perhaps butter) and stay slim. Foods were magical--eliminate sweets, you will be thin, drink orange juice, you will be healthy forever, eat a bowl of Raisin Bran and well...you get the picture...

I suppose anti-obesity childhood advocates will blame my culture for this sweet tooth of mine. But I feel that it was hard-wired in my brain, to some degree. The theatricality, yes even the fussiness and precision of a slice of cake always out-rivaled some lump of tomato sauce on a piece of bread. Unless it was oily Pizza Hut, of course, loaded with that luscious sweetness the regular pizza parlor lacked...

Of course, my parents could only control my eating habits for so long. What happened when I could contemplate my own dietary structure.

Coming up next...I discover the calorie