Ghirardelli Brownies from Costco

If I’m going to talk about food and my love of food. Making it.  Smelling it. Anticipating it. Eating it. Then I think I’m going to have to also talk about weightier matters.

It feels like I’ve struggled with how much I should weigh my whole life. Looking back, I wish I weighed what I did the first time I thought I was fat. I grew up with three sisters and a mom where weight was always an issue, a topic of conversation and angst.

Here’s the thing…. I have always loved to eat. There is such joy in eating something scrumptious, delectable and forbidden, and we have to eat.  It’s required. So I’ve always thought… Why not enjoy it?  It doesn’t have to be drudgery.

Yes, I eat to stay alive and to nourish my body. But I also eat because it feels good. It’s fun. It tastes good.  It’s Christmas. It’s Thanksgiving. It’s Easter. It’s Canada Day. It’s Lincoln’s birthday.  Or Queen Victoria’s.  Someone invited us to dinner. We invited somebody to dinner (that’s actually when I eat the least). I’m meeting a friend for breakfast or lunch. It’s my birthday or your birthday. Or someone I knows birthday. Because we are on vacation. Because I’ve worked  hard and I’m famished. Because I bake for a living and I need quality control.  Because I’m at Costco and they are offering me samples.  Because I work in a café.  Because I’m wide awake at 2 am.  Because when you grow up with 6 siblings there are no seconds or leftovers so you have to be possessive about your food and eat it fast. Can anyone relate to what I’m saying?

I can’t help it. I’m not a naturally  thin person with a high metabolism. I’m not at all tall. Nothing I can do about that.  I’ve always envied tall women as it seems they can get by with a little extra weight. Probably because who’s gonna mess with them?? Someone mentioned once that I was clinically obese. How rude!  It’s hard to find new doctors these days.

Clinically obese and actual obese are two different things. The former means you’d be healthier if you weighed less. The latter means you can’t get into your car if someone parks too close. Twice this month I’ve had to crawl into the driver’s seat from the passenger’s side. I’m not as nimble as I used to be. Cramps and sweating (I meant swearing) usually ensue.

But, let’s face it, food IS life. You’ve heard  of people starving to death. So I am actually trying to take care of my health by eating. I can’t help anyone if I starve to death. Like that’s a danger.

I’ve reconciled with myself that I’m never going to be a slim fashion model. Or slim.  Or in fashion. Or a model.  It is what it is.

I’m 66. I’m ok with looking like a mom or a grandmom. Or a baker. Or a cook. I watched a Christmas special with Nigella last night and she was cooking up all the glamourous foods in a gorgeous dress…looking all beautiful…and I thought…freakin stereotype wrecker.  I had to go watch an episode of Ina to make myself feel better.  God Bless Ina.  She’s lovely.  She’s a Contessa you know?

All this brought on by the Ghirardelli brownie mix I bought at Costco and baked and ate a whole row.  You must try.