“ After a spectacularly bad day , rather than grab a bottle of bourbon when I got home , I stood in front of the ’ fridge slugging Texas Pete hot sauce right out of the bottle . Today it would have to be the bourbon .”
Carla , who loves to bake , was miserable – and this was during the holidays , too . Four days wouldn ’ t be temporary enough for that diet , and she was stuck on it for four weeks .
Among the irritating things I ’ ve noticed after passing age 65 is changes in my relationship with food , even with no major issues like hers . In the words of the late , great bard Jimmy Buffett , I used to be able to treat my body like a tent . Now , it ’ s more of a carry-on bag : Put the wrong things in it , and there ’ s liable to be trouble .
When I was an office grunt decades ago , after a spectacularly bad day , rather than grab a bottle of bourbon when I got home , I stood in front of the ‘ fridge slugging Texas Pete hot sauce right out of the bottle . Heat and endorphins never let me down . ( Fun fact : Texas Pete isn ’ t made in Texas nor by someone named Pete , but in North Carolina by T . W . Garner Foods .)
Today it would have to be the bourbon . In moderate sips .
I must dance around the tantalizing hot peppers in Chinese food now . When my husband and I order from the Indian place , I check the “ medium-spicy ” box on the online form . I even gave up my fruity seltzer habit , all after acid reflux entered my life .
Minor , yes . Nothing like my friend endured .
Still , I ’ m not taking this well . I am not going gentle into that less-fiery night .
A trip to the massage therapist can ’ t work out these sorts of things , and I count on the sessions to maintain my age-related delusion . For example , that little stiffness in the hips , which my father called “ a hitch in your get-along .” Ninety minutes with her magic fingers ( and elbows , baseball bats , whatever else she ’ s pounding on me with ) and I can continue believing that I ’ m 30 and bulletproof . Or maybe 50 and dingable , but well insured .
Food is a large part of people ’ s emotions and interactions , even for folks who aren ’ t as into cooking and eating well as I am . We socialize over it – “ let ’ s grab lunch .” We celebrate with it , from birthdays to baby showers . We express feelings with it , like the casseroles which offer warm , useful comfort to bereaved families when words are inadequate .
Food speaks many languages of caring . I once prepared a spaghetti lunch as a treat for the staff at a center where I volunteered . Nothing fancy : marinara sauce , Italian sausage , onions and peppers . But one of them dropped to the floor , threw her arms around my legs and proclaimed her love for me because I had cooked spaghetti for her .
Someone taking the time to make food with their own hands carries tremendous power . When I began canning , I quickly learned that people swoon over gifts of homemade jam and pickles . I think of friends as I spend the summer preparing peaches , figs and cucumbers , then sealing them in jars , so I ’ m receiving that warmth as I work .
The fruit in my jams were on Carla ’ s naughty list , so no holiday jar for her . We were both sad .
I ’ m grateful that , aside from a mild dairy sensitivity , my husband will eat just about anything at least once . From our shared love of sushi and every kind of international food – even fried crickets on a trip to Mexico . It ’ s one of the foundations of our marriage . If he didn ’ t have such an open mind , I might have had to reconsider the whole marriage idea decades ago .
A friend ’ s British husband certainly would ’ ve driven me out the door . The long list of things he simply won ’ t eat , as opposed to can ’ t have for medical reasons , meanders for miles . He will not even look at : pasta ; sauces of any kind , from butter to tomato to tartar ; malt vinegar ; pizza ; Indian food ; Asian food ; anything he thinks is too seasoned , including cracked pepper on the outside of prime rib ( scraping it off isn ’ t good enough ); and tea with anything but whole cow ’ s milk . There may be more . She didn ’ t find out about most of them until after the I-dos .
I ’ d be finding out if culinary incompatibility was grounds for divorce , if it was me .
I thought about his numerous no-fly foods as I sat down for brunch with Carla and seven other women , all of whom had brought bounteous bowls of deliciousness . As women who have potluck brunches do , we had enough food for thirty . I hurt for her as she averted her eyes from a beautiful cheese board , picked verboten items from a salad and avoided the vegetables in a chicken-coconut stew . Another woman commiserated , saying that she had experienced a similar problem .
“ I finally just gave up and ate , then took Imodium ,” she said .
You know something else annoying about being over 65 ? That these are the conversations I have .
Pass the bourbon , please . �
Debbie Moose is the author of cookbooks , including “ Deviled Eggs : 50 Recipes from Simple to Sassy ,” “ Buttermilk : A Savor the South Cookbook ,” “ Southern Holidays : A Savor the South Cookbook ,” and “ Carolina Catch : Cooking North Carolina Fish and Shellfish from Mountains to Coast .” She can be reached at debbiemoose . com .
Courtesy photo
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