Eat with boys.
I have the privilege of being part of an improv team. I am the only girl member of Strangers andFools Improv.
The guys on my improv team are awesome. One of them happens to be my amazing brother. I’ve been close to them and their wives for years. The guys are dear friends. I enjoy laughing with them, performing with them and I especially enjoy eating with them.
For years, after a show, we’d have a team ritual of debriefing at a local Denny’s/Ihop/Village Inn. (This, of course, was before we all had children.)
I would be sitting in the restaurant and deciding whether I should eat my second multi-grain pancake, or if I should scrape some of the cheese out of my egg white omelet, all the while watching one of my teammates dip something called a “Frisco Melt” in a side of ranch.
Now, this utopia of “no health pressure” was usually diluted by the ladies that were present: the wives, girlfriends or dear friends, who were also concerned with the calorie count of the latest Grand Slam. I was grateful for these girls’ presence. They provided me someone to talk to when the gentlemen wanted to discuss how that one scene in the movie Taken was one of the best scenes of all time. But they also hindered me from seeing the true joy of having all-guy dinner companions.
But about a year ago I was traveling with the team for an all-day booking in Orlando. So this afforded the opportunity to eat with just the team.
We were at a Pei Wei. I of course ordered the small portion chicken dish with the brown rice. The boys ordered their respective dishes, and we all sat down.
The server happened to bring my order to the table first and the guys stared at my plate. This is not what a chubby girl wants.
One of them asked a question, “Is that that the regular portion size?” I explained that mine was a reduced portion, and they all breathed a sigh of relief. This was my first indication that this meal might be kinda awesome.
Then their meals began to fill up the table, and they all dug in. In the midst of all the munching there was something missing.
There was no talk of, “Do you know these dishes also come in vegan now?” No one mentioned how there was too much sauce, and how they really should have ordered their meal with the sauce on the side. No one pushed away their small bowl, and muttered something about how this was still too much food. No one asked for a box, fifteen bites in.
They ate. They ate all of it.
They talked about the next superhero movie, old improv stories, silly being-a-dad stories, maybe a little theology, and then, they probably discussed how that one scene from Taken is still one of the best scenes of all times. And I watched in pleasure at how they cleaned their plates, down to every last grain of sticky, white rice.
In their company I was demure, health conscious, the picture of moderation almost to a fault. They weren’t eating anything outrageous, but they were eating. They were eating happily and heartily, without the sub-context of the approaching bathing suit season in the back of their minds. It was refreshing and relaxing.
I had a similar experience on the way home. We stopped at a Wendy’s. It had been a long day and we hadn’t had much of a dinner. While I was making the decision on whether or not I should do the sacrilege of ordering a small fry after 10 o’clock at night, I happen to overhear one of my teammates order something called the “Baconator”.
I’m not saying that I should eat what they eat. They run on different metabolisms than I do. And I am not saying that none of these guys have ever had an issue with food. I know many of them mind their health for the sake of their families and a healthy future. But there was something so stream-lined to the way they thought about food.
They were hungry. They ate. Something sounded like a good thing to order. They ordered it.
It seemed absent of neuroses.
I don’t know if I have a general principle to derive from this. Maybe, that women shouldn’t talk so much about food. Or, I could make a larger sweeping comment about how society puts undue pressure on women, and how we suffer for it. Or perhaps, that women put undue pressure on each other. Or, maybe I put undue pressure on myself.
But, for the most part, I’m just saying it was fun. It was fun to be surrounded by people that could eat without the calorie counter in their heads. It reminded me to stop analyzing my food, for just one meal, and to enjoy it.
So if you are feeling a little food neurotic, take a break. And eat with boys.
Taffy the Great 