We Are What We Eat

Food is an important part of my life. I guess it is an important part of everyone’s lives since it keeps us from shriveling up and blowing away in the stiff Cape south-easters. But no, in my case it is more than an energy and nutrition source, it is an interest, a hobby, a recreation. I eat because I enjoy the flavours, tastes and textures, not merely for sustenance.

When I think of countries, cities and towns I have visited the first thing which enters my mind are the dishes I have eaten there, then I recall the sights and sounds. I can describe meals I have enjoyed in over nineteen cities as if they were last nights supper. I guess we all have our quirks! My upbringing was in a conservative food environment, healthy, but pretty much three veg and a meat fare. I appeared to abandon that framework quickly on leaving home. I can say with sincerity that I will eat anything put in front of me, other than some bizarre dish concocted to embarrass a tourist or challenge a “Fear Factor” contestant.

A healthy diet can contribute to a healthy life. My dystrophy has taken its toll on my body, and the past thirty two years spent permanently in a wheelchair has added considerably to that toll. I do however have a certain sense of re-assurance that at least by feeding my body correctly I am helping the positive to counter the negative. Every little bit helps, and some of those bits are the mouthfuls of good food we eat.

In the same way as the excessive imbibing of alcohol, and smoking, will damage us even harder than able-bods, so a poor diet will starve our bodies of nutrition, opening the door to further debilitation. It amazed me some time ago when a group of disabled people were asked to list their favourite daily foods and the replies were dominated with items such as fries, hot dogs, hamburgers, waffles, pizza, fish fingers, doughnuts, and desserts. These are treats, not staple food types. When asked their least favourite foods the replies included vegetables, fish, chicken, and pasta. It therefore came as no surprise (to me anyway) when those self same people were able to rattle off a string of drugs and medicines they were taking every day to counteract various ailments.

Someone put an interesting spin on the food question the other day when they posed the question of my favourite “handheld” food. Now I’ve always sorted food in terms of nationality, or type, but never according to its hand-hold-ability. But of course for many of us this “ability” is an important factor. Things like wraps, hamburgers, pizza, muffins, toast, and beer sprang to mind . . . yes, beer is a food type, if it wasn’t how do you account for so many men (and some women) looking so round and satisfied?!

Loretta and I enjoy our noodles, not the easiest of foods to eat when seriously disabled. In days gone by I used to be cautious of eating noodles in public because I tended to make a mess! None of this Italian-style discreet twirling in the spoon nonsense for me! We have traveled to Hong Kong, Singapore, and Australia (which has a huge Asian population) where delicious noodle dishes are standard fare. The East is the home of noodles, centuries before any European adopted them in the name of pasta. Watching the locals eat their noodles I came to realize that there are no "rules". Anything goes. Young and old slurp them, suck them, splatter them and shovel them. It seems only the Italians twirl them. It's not about how you eat your noodles, but more about how you enjoy them.

Some time ago Loretta and I sat down in a traditional Hong Kong diner (small, no English menu, Formica tables, plastic chairs) to a huge plate of delicious noodles. The proprietor, in his sweat stained vest, stood at the head of the table, not two metres away, and watched us eat the entire meal. I’d like to think that it was not the fact that we were probably the only Caucasians that had ever eaten there, or even his fascination with my wheelchair. I think he was marveling at my noodle eating technique!

Although I’ve mastered noodles I haven’t quite triumphed over rice. Gluing it together with a good curry sauce does help keep most of it on the spoon or fork en-route to my mouth, but not always. I have never managed to conquer hamburgers. In fact I struggle with most meals which are sandwiched between two pieces of bread. No matter how much I squash them together most of the filling always seems to escape out the side furthest from my mouth, and onto my shirt or lap! There is clearly a technique, but it has eluded me thus far. And speaking of techniques, and more specifically utensils, I am very much a spoon and fork man. I love Chinese, Japanese and Thai food, but chopsticks are a no-go area for my fingers. Loretta is fully chopstick compliant. She can’t catch a buzzing fly with them (yet), but grains of my pesky rice are no problems for her. I go the spoon route. Isn’t that why they provide them at Oriental restaurants, for us “phingerly challenged” diners?

Years ago a friends mother loaned me something called a “spade”. It is essentially a spoon, with small fork tines, and a slightly sharpened edge along the one side. It has to rank as one of mankind’s finest inventions! With one single utensil one can scoop, spike, and part food. What more does one need?!

Perhaps this is yet another reason for my enjoying food so much. One is constantly being challenged. Sometimes it is the taste buds, sometimes it is the nose, and sometimes it is the basic logistics of how to get it into one’s mouth!

Bon appetit!