raw

Yesterday, I stopped into one of Los Angeles’s healthy-food markets & found a mob scene pressed around a raw-food guru delivering a lecture on raw foods. The expensive tools of his trade were displayed on the table in front of him like icons: juicers, dehydrators, sprouters, water purifiers… The tone of his voice was evangelistic & looks on people’s faces were like those who are touched by grace.

I overheard some of his spiel, talking about chocolate as the healthiest food in the world. “You can live on it,” he said, sounding like Jimmy Swaggart.

That was the best news I’d heard in a long time. But, not for the likes of me, thanks. I’ve gotten over all the sensationalizing about "the next best thing" in nutrition. Raw foods can be delicious, I agree, but I’d rather eat caviar; it costs the same, & it’s raw, isn’t it?

All my life I’ve searched for a better way to live. First there was Adelle Davis, a lusty, gutsy California woman whom I worshipped & adored. For her, meat was king; couldn't eat enough of it. Then came George Oshawa & macrobiotics, which I studied & practiced religiously for more than 25 years. I preached as well as practiced; never got out of the kitchen; showed the way to all my friends & family; beat the drum & led the parade. Whoop-dee-doo. I had found the panacea in the teachings of skinny little Japanese men. I genuflected at the altar of yin & yang.

At the same time I closed my ears to the groundless promises made by the macrobiotic “healers” I'd met in the movement, most of whom I believed were soaking the sick for all they could get. I concentrated instead on the good stuff: whole grains, gomasio, miso, tamari, seaweed, tofu, tempeh, fu, beans, pickled daikon, root vegetables, green vegetables, chopped & sliced just so. 70% grains, 5% soup, etc. etc. etc., and watch out for those deadly nightshades. My wok & my frying pans never left my stovetop. I was slim & healthy (but I had started out that way!) and always a little bit hungry.

Then one day, about 12 years ago, I woke up starving for a steak. Not a mere whim or absent-minded desire, but a need. I wanted meat; red meat, charred on the outside, medium rare inside, & sizzling grilled to perfection. For one minute I considered that after 25 years of not putting meat in my belly the thing would kill me. But here’s what happened: I drove downtown to the Pantry & ordered a thick juicy filet mignon -- thing musta been close to half a pound -- & ate the whole thing; left the restaurant licking my lips, feeling great. I suffered not one whit of indigestion or guilt.

I was ready for change. It was time to strip off the yoke of obedience to macrobiotic principles & start thinking for myself. Whole foods? Yes. Meat? Sometimes. Fish? Often. Dairy? Occasionally. I became an omnivore. Chocolate returned to my life. And anything else I pleased – in moderation. I figured I was healthy enough to make good choices for myself, and none, not even one, for other people.

My best friend, a macrobiotic cook, stormed out of my house, never to return, because I put out a platter of chicken at a dinner party – along with the standard macrobiotic variety of dishes – to please my meat-eating boyfriend. I was hurt beyond words but recognized the self-righteous, macro-queen attitude I had shared with her, and those days were over.

Soon after, the boyfriend walked out on me too, but that's another story...

Anyway, what I’m trying to say here is that while the raw-food movement is interesting, I’m not joining. I’m running free now. I’m willing to taste, listen & learn but my years as a fervent follower are over. Food is no longer my religion – it’s my pleasure.

Gimme caviar!

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