You Gonna Eat That?

Americans are so strange about food. We pretend to diet while sneaking Hallowe'en candy from our kids and we say we're full when we're not. In St. Louis, we order toasted ravioli because the meat filled pasta pillow isn't enough. No, we gotta fry them bad boys to boot.

I come from a family of eaters. We are not the slacks and sweater people who gather together, shake hands over pre-dinner cocktails and then dine politely, sort. No sir, my family is all asses and elbows at the serving line, wearing sweatpants for more expansion room. We don't take the activity lightly. Belching? Yup. Napping immediately after the meal, splayed out on the floor? Absolutely. How about picking at the communal leftovers like fleeced scavenger birds? You betcha.

I've known women who "forget to eat." They flutter their thin fingers with a harried expression and do de-clare that there was just so much going on that eating completely slipped their minds. Now, I've forgotten where I parked my car and I can't consistently remember my social security number or my current spouse's name. One time, I left 50 total percent of my children at the soccer field after a game. But I have never, ever forgotten to eat.

So, don't be embarrassed to do what we must to survive. We have to eat. The fact that what we eat is buttery, sugary and salty is just a bonus.