Eat slow and eat lots!

This was my mother's directive when we would sit down to a Sunday dinner at home. She always made a grand dinner (actually the meal was after 11:00 a.m. mass on Sunday)with some type of meat, mashed potatoes, gravy, several vegetables, sliced tomatoes, salad (with her sweet/sour dressing), homemade rolls and at least two kinds of dessert. My mother showed her love by cooking, and she did it with gusto. We were all too happy to comply with her wishes. My five siblings and I would compete to see who could grab the spoon in the mashed potato bowl the fastest once my father finished the blessing with the final "amen." Six hands would reach, but only one won the privilege of taking the first helping. No worry that there wouldn't be enough. The bowls of food were always heaping full, glistening with that extra pat of real butter on top.

I still hear that phrase in my memory when I sit down to a meal. However, after fighting excess weight (probably due to obedience to it early on) for so many years, I now reach for the mashed potatoes with anxiety. How many calories? How many carbs have I had already today? How many points is this (I'm a lifetime Weight Watcher)? The angst repeats itself with each selection. My early love affair with food has turned into an obsession with the dark side of enjoyment. Right now, I'm about 10 lbs over my desired weight, and it seems that instead of losing the weight, I sabotage myself with Ben and Jerry's Cherry Garcia (tastes sooooooo good).

Deciding what to eat for breakfast is a major effort, with many considerations (see above). There is so much conflicting information about food and diets and what is good for you, it is mind boggling. The typical breakfast when I was a child was a bowl of cereal, toast with butter and jelly, orange juice and glass of milk. Today, that breakfast would be the target of a dozen diet experts. Orange juice? Too much sugar. Cereal with milk (oh, and it had a teaspoon of sugar in it, too) Carbs, sugar and whole milk with it's animal fat -- can't be good for you. Then, pile on the toast, and in those days it was white, Silvercup Bread, the most delicious, soft, full-bodied bread ever, with the most delicious crust. With butter, please. Top it off with a nice glass of milk, and you were ready for your ABC's

When I look back on those days, one thing stands out. We enjoyed food without guilt. Eating Sunday dinner together was a family affair. It was part of a very enjoyable time, one of few that I remember from my childhood. My mother glowed with compliments on her cooking, attested to by empty serving bowls and satisfied smiles. Sunday dinner was followed by my sisters and I washing and drying dishes together, and my dad taking a nap in his favorite chair while watching a football game. My mother would relax on the couch and read the rest of the Sunday paper. After the dishes, we would scatter to our rooms or call on friends to spend the rest of the day. No anxiety, no guilt, no obsessing over calories, points, and fat grams.

Maybe that's the secret. To weight loss? Maybe not, but to enjoying what food adds to life. Doctors say that stress adds to weight gain by releasing cortisol, which adds fat around the middle. Comfort food is the label attributed to those Sunday dinners of long ago. Not the low fat, low carb, pre-packaged diet meals we force ourselves to eat to gain an image in a mirror dictated by Project Runway or Dancing with the Stars. They call it comfort food for a reason. Good, tasty, relaxing, satisfying. I'll eat a "sensible" breakfast this morning. I still have my mother's meatloaf recipe, and her mashed potatoes I know by heart. Sounds like a plan for dinner. I feel better already.