This is a work-in-progress peice of writing about eating food, it’s up on my Substack page, Lager Time, where you can aslo listen to it as audio, have a listen HERE
Slow and Steady
My wife is helping me to slow down when I eat food and by proxy, control my impulses, which is exactly what I used to tell the year fours, every day, when I worked in Primary. They were nine, I’m thirty seven.
She tells me to chew twenty-times before I swallow this bite of a burger I’ve got in my mouth. I know also, that I should say a full sentence in my head, before I take the next bite. This burger is absolutely banging and at present, the concept of delayed gratification is a utopian pipe-dream. I want to murder this burger and leave no trace. When it comes to food, I’m Wolverine in full berserker-mode and this unhealthy habit of mine ‘aint going quietly, I’ve had a lifetime of practise, I’m hard wired for destruction.
Mealtimes as a nipper were difficult, I often couldn’t wait to finish. I hated the sound of people eating, knives and forks scarping on plates, food being chewed, grace and small talk. Mum and dad insisted we sat at a table most nights and eat the food mum made, hearty and simple. When mates came round for tea, they’d think I was posh, regardless of what was, or wasn’t, on the plate in front of them. Some of them had Sky TV and the Simpsons and they’d eat and watch at leisure.
I often acted-up at mealtimes, testing my dads stern authority, or I’d withdraw inside and say nothing. Most times I wanted to eat as quick as a I could, so I could resume playing football down the side of the house, on my own, enacting out games I’d conjured up in my head, continuing the long running football-saga I’d been developing over weeks and months.
Most days I’d polish my plate, double-lively, wash-up, then burn upstairs to continue playing whatever computer game I was into at the that time. As I got older, football and games were replaced by music and lyrics. it weren’t long before I had a full-time job, time was of the essence and food got in the way of creating. I leant to make basic meals, which required minimal amounts of cleaning-up and I stuck to that, though it was never quite that efficient.
Put a plate of food in front of me and I’d transform to that pack of wolves in a feeding frenzy and demolish the lot within minutes, often taking way more than I need and bloating myself out for the rest of the evening.
I like eating. Put a plate of food in front of me and a switch gets flipped. There’s this thrill in seeing it, smelling it, getting it all in my mouth. It’s like a fruit machine with every light flashing in double time, treble-cherries lasered onto my eyelids and every mouthful is a potential pay out It’s why I try to avoid buying those bigger bags of sweeties or crisps that are meant for sharing. As soon as that seal it’s broken I’m one-man-de-facto state primed for self-perseveration.
When I first met my wife, she was surprised that I rarely had food in the fridge or the cupboard and I’d be annoyed at the inquisition. Where’s the staples? Rice, bread, eggs. I bought food as and when I needed it, if I knew it was there food I’d be eating it. I had things to do that were more important to me than eating decent dinners. That slim window of post-work time was not to be wasted attempting recipes from glossy telly chefs
When we eventually got married, it hit me like a custard-pie in the face, how important to me my family was and by extension, my new family too. All those dinner times as kids, were daily practise matches preparing me for the bigger moments. I shunned them and it shows. Which is why, I’m sat here now, at the kitchen table, summers evening, my wife, her parents and sister, and she’s having to help me learn how to eat.
Progress is slow, bumpy but mostly steady, it’s speed what did me before. Regardless of how fast I consume, this burger is still banging. I’m slowly starting to reap the benefits, at the very least, I’m cutting down the belly aches and the gas leaks, that’s a start.
