Play With Your Food

The farmer's market and the garden have been raided and an array of vibrating, alive food is before me.  The flesh of the vegetables is radiating and firm; the heady fragrance of the herbs wafts from a foot away.  The immediacy of the moment is upon me, no notion of thumbing through a cookbook for recipes occurs to me; the glory of the produce is speaking for itself.  Giddiness presides. It's time to play.

Besides the engagement with loved ones, is there anything more intimate and satisfying than the way we relate to what we eat?  This relationship (and it is a relationship) is an experience of unconditional interest, love, creativity and interplay.  Like any relationship, there is a listening and response possible (actually necessary for complete nourishment).  

The life before me speaks to me. The play begins.  My self trims the garlic bottoms, and its papery sleeve slips away, leaving that familiar slightly sticky garlic residue on the tips of my fingers.  A shimmering colored pepper could be cut many ways.  What is its preference today? I hold it and turn it and sense its energy, bring it up to my nose and inhale its fragrance.  Immediately, the impulse comes to couple it with the fresh parsley and thyme.  On that impression's tail, the message that it needs to be cut in a medium cube today arrives.  And so it goes.

This being with food in its raw state has already begun to feed me (the digestive process starts in the brain).  My eyes are fed by the fruit's optimal beauty and color.  My brain becomes nourished in the enjoyment of the light, ephemeral dance of sensations; my smelling, hearing and tactile senses are doused with stimulating, pleasurable impressions.  The testament:  saliva builds and moves freely in the mouth.

These impressions play upon each other, becoming their own magnum opus. The tensions in the moment-to-moment decisions (which are many) when cooking, come and go.  Sometimes there is a seamless flow of energy. The critical judgment (of the experienced cook) of quantity of oil to put in a pan, the intuitive sense in seasoning and eye-balling quantities, trips along.  These are neurologically pretty fast 'acts'.  They just happen. I appreciate how finely tuned this organism is.  It makes immediate executive decisions as a matter of routine, and incorporates the more ephemeral sensibilities as well; a creative notion from left field, a design impulse, an invention of color-combining brings two elements together. The practicality of timing is ever present. And it all flows together, is kept moving.  

Occasionally, I will sense in the body a ‘wrong move’.  Somehow, the body displays an awkwardness, a ‘wrongness’ found in my footwork, the handling of a knife or a too inattentive attitude.  This wakes me; I’ve moved from seamless to automatic and the food will reflect it (for sure), either now or later.  The interest in this coming back to myself leaves me grateful for this layered “playing” activity.

One of the first questions asked when having your life style behaviors assessed is, how many times a week do you eat out (or “take-out”).  It is pretty common knowledge that pre-made foods and most restaurant foods are laced with undesirable, ingredients, hidden elements not conducive to maximum health. Although not acknowledged, this would include energetic negativity on the preparer’s part.  What isn’t emphasized is the need to engage with our food; to work with raw ingredients and be involved in the preparation, have an energy exchange with that which we ingest.  There is something very whole, that feeds the entire organism that is lost when one purchases pre-made food on a regular basis.  Connecting with ourselves and the life force we call food is mandatory to maintaining a semblance of wellness in ourselves.

At a perfectly adequate meal in a decent, upscale restaurant, I had a conversation with a dear one over the food before us.  It was well cooked, the ingredients fine, the presentation was perfunctory, but thought out.  Despite everything being ‘good’ there was something missing, the thing that would ensure I would never eat there again.  Care.  Love and care were absent (and it so happened, also spontaneity).  Love and care is what we (hopefully) put into our home cooked meals, the thing that really feeds us, what the organism is calling for.  Without that element the food doesn’t resonate.  It lacks life. It loses a fuller nourishment factor. There is no relationship.

Another example, many years ago, on a road trip, the lateness in the day forced us to stop off at a medium-priced chain restaurant for a meal.  I was in dread.  What was presented was food of mediocre content, but what was most noticeable, it was prepared with care and I could say even love.  You could taste the energy of it, despite the mediocre base content.  I almost got excited.  I almost asked to meet the person who prepared it.  This was a lesson to me of the energetic possibilities when a larger relationship is considered when preparing food.

For those who hate cooking, perhaps may I gently suggest, a change in attitude.  Looking at food and food preparation might have the onus of “chore” for you, but it might not be too late to turn it into a place and time where you play and have fun.  If you enjoy eating, there is hope you can enjoy preparing food.  With thought and consideration, you might be able to put together a happy circumstance.  Such as, juicing or making a smoothie for one of your daily meals (easy prep) or arranging to share a meal (and meal prep) with another/others routinely a day or two a week.  Taking time to think and feel into what could be joyous and exciting when looking forward to eating is part of the fun of meals, and part of “playing” with your food.