Why, oh, why can’t I be the woman who is too upset or excited to eat?  What kind of evil bargain must one make with Rumpelstiltskin to earn that magical power?  Try as I might over the years, there isn’t an occasion or emotion that I can’t pair with food.  Think I’m exaggerating?  Seriously, it’s not as hard as you might think:

 

CelebrATE (cake), commiserATE (coffee cake), ruminATE (cookies), fixATE (potato chips), aggravATE (frosting), frustrATE (ice cream), stagnATE (mashed potatoes), intoxicATE/inebriATE(pretzels), spectATE(hot dogs – i.e., sporting events interchange with intoxicate), expectorATE (chicken soup)… I could go on, but I look forward to your ideas on the matter.

 

Nutritionists say that people will often eat when they’re thirsty, mistaking the signs of dehydration for hunger.  So, as much as I hate to say it – there’s another one.  DehydrATE.  Noun to adjective to verb it goes and somehow all things lead back to the plATE.

 

I’ve always wanted to be that woman, the one who could utter dainty phrases like, “Ooh!  None for me, thank you!  I’m too upset/excited/tired/busy/twitterpated to eat.”  Instead, I’m the friend, neighbor, sister, partner-in-crime who takes dishes out of the pantry at the first signs of, well…. anything.  Engaged to be married?  Let’s eat.  Recently married?  Let’s eat.  Rat-weasel left you for a vermin infested homewrecker?  Let’s eat (on his dollar). 

 

Nope.  I cannot think of a single instance that doesn’t call for some hearty bread breaking. 

 

Of course, anthropologists dig up ancient evidence all of the time that suggest I’m not so odd in my thinking.  Man has always mingled socialization with food.  Eating meals together fosters warmth, security, love and encourages communication.  There is something about eating with others that is unifying, giving us a sense of belonging.

 

Food, for me, is more than just fuel.  The experience of shopping, washing, chopping and preparing a meal is almost a spiritual thing.  The smells, textures, taste, look and sound of cooking engages all of my senses and in a way, it is a very personal experience that I choose to share with someone else.  Toiling “over a hot stove” is me giving a little bit of myself away, sharing who I am as a person with those I’m feeding.

 

While I may never be the woman who is too < insert adjective of your choice here > to eat, know that if I offer you food, it’s not a gesture I make lightly – it means I care for you.  You mean something to me.  Bread is the staff of life and the root of my most important relationships.

 

Hmm.  I think it’s time to truncate, hibernate and cogitate before I further complicate and overstate.  Oh.  Too late. 

 

At any rate, it’s a darn good thing morning starts with breakfast.