I read this quote, “Eat like a bird, poop like an elephant” somewhere once and it stuck with me. It was sage advice for maintaining health and happiness, and I have no doubt that it is accurate.
But, if you have ever been out to eat with me, then you have witnessed that I don’t follow this edict myself. I’ve had many a first date state, “I thought you would order salad; it’s cool that you don’t eat like a bird,” and a co-worker once said to me, “You must have a hollow leg; where do you put all that?!” Now, these two statements could be taken in a less than positive manner, but I chose to view them as compliments. The point being, I don’t do salads. Not that I don’t love vegetables, because I do (and healthy foods in general), but I’m just not a person who thinks of a salad as a whole meal. I blame my heritage and family upbringing for this.
Iranians, much like the Greeks and Italians, worship the food gods, and a meal is not so much about sustenance, but an event. An edible manifestation of love. And it’s a beautiful thing, I have to say. But it’s not a formula that produces “bird eaters.”
But as you know, I’ve been on the yoga train for the past couple of weeks, and as a result of that, I guess I have undone some of my natural instincts about food. A part of me is happy about this – I’m saving a lot of money on groceries, and time on cooking – but another part of me is afraid. Afraid because I went out for Mexican food last night, and I didn’t even order something particularly heavy, and it wasn’t a humungous portion, but it left me feeling blah. And today I ate more than like two small meals, and I feel really full and blah again. And I ate SALAD for dinner. What the hell is happening?! Am I becoming… a dreaded… bird eater?