I once wrote a short story about a guy so obsessed with food he ate himself inside-out.
I did not say this guy was part of me.
That mornings in the mirror I sometimes catch myself gazing down towards my belly with a feeling uncomfortably close to fear, wondering where it would lead me today, if I can trust it, if I’ll be able to resist it.
Inside me there are these two wolves: the first screams of high cholesterol, dangerous blood sugar levels, and unhealthy BMIs; the second replies that each moment our bodies are fighting a losing war with time, so why not let ourselves win a few battles?
When I eat, I am Legion. I’m chomping teeth, swirling tongue, overwhelmed taste buds. I’m the saliva whose enzymes penetrate the food I’ve just eaten, breaking it down to irresistible fuel. I am my throat, that crafty usher swindling the finger-licking goodness all the way inside. I can feel a burger’s juices, or the nuggets of minced beef in a spaghetti bolognese, steal inside my veins and make my blood sing.
Sometimes even the food in front of me is not enough, so I supplement it with videos. Zach Choi is my absolute favourite, closely followed by Winny Hayes and The Notorious Foodie. I’m caught by the decadence of their art, by how perversely commonplace they make it look, like playing GTA Vice City pumped up on cheat codes or living in a world with no famine, a world where one can make and consume anything they wish as long as it looks good on camera, and watching them baste, boil, chop, fry, deep-fry, and double-deep-fry in crushed Cheetos chips, it seems I am transported to that world too.
In my story, the end arrives when Bob the gourmand loses control of his body. But maybe that’s not such a bad way to go.
So what if I also succumbed to the second wolf’s rationale, that life is short, but living well is worth making it shorter? If my heart gave up at fifty, in the middle of a ten-course meal spanning all the world’s cuisine, right as I’ve swallowed my first teaspoonful of black sturgeon caviar, would that really be so bad?
Or should I trust that the first wolf’s good intentions are also good ideas, follow his instructions to the letter, and live a long, if regimented life? Is such a life, defined by equilibrium and compromise, objectively preferable?
Some days, the second wolf gains ground, and it looks like the answer is no. Then, step by step, the first wolf beats him back into a stalemate and me back into confusion. I can’t wait to see which of the two will win, if only so I can stop wondering.
Right now, there are a few simple truths I can rely on: that eating is a ritual I derive great pleasure from, that my favourite dishes are an integral part of who I am, and that the Holy Trinity of Meals is the highlight of my day. Like Bob, my character, I love food. No matter which wolf prevails, this will not stop being true.
From the archives:
The Wrong Family - On all the pets that got away.
Wall Sockets - Our fascination with power and its link to growing up.