Feast
Remember the model “Twiggy”?
Suddenly, curves were out, and the look of a malnourished adolescent boy was in as the standard for female beauty. Most of us could only aspire to this new “standard.” Few of us could ever come within a prayer of embodying it. All the same, the goal for those women on the petite side was to be smaller, thinner, and immature. Consequently, we counted calories, embarked on grapefruit diets, joined Weightwatchers, and shunned and perhaps despised overeating.
Growing up in England, we celebrated harvest but, for obvious reasons, not Thanksgiving. Every British church held a harvest festival in late autumn when the chancels groaned under the weight of ripe fruit, vegetables, wheat, salt, and coal on display. We gave thanks for the earth’s bounty; however, in recent times, harvest festivals were not accompanied by feasting.
Imagine my perplexity when I first arrived in the US and, in mid-November, faced a meal of humongous proportions, that revolved around the turkey that we Brits consume with relish, (bread sauce, Brussel sprouts, chipolata sausages, stuffing and roast potatoes), less than a month later.
What would “Twiggy” do?
For years we avoided the whole issue, going on vacation at a time when usually stingy employers allow about 3 days leading up to a weekend off work. And yet, as our children grew, it seemed important to immerse ourselves in American culture and embrace Thanksgiving. After all our children knew nothing of “Twiggy”. Britney Spears was the role model then.
Just a few days ago some of our far flung family gathered around our table laden with food. And it was fun to be together on this holiday that celebrates people more than gifts.
So what kind of a hypocrite am I to promote feasting with both my background of restraint , and living in a country where most people don’t strive for emaciation, but veer toward obesity. It’s not lost on me that, in this same country of abundance, food pantries struggle to serve the needs of an ever growing number of hungry families.
I haven’t checked with sociologists, but it seems it’s human instinct to feast, to “kill the fatted calf,” gather in community and celebrate with a special meal. Perhaps it’s sacrilegious, but this year, we eschewed the traditional menu, saving the turkey for Christmas. We divided the meal into various courses with pauses in between, and we risked some unusual foods (barnacles, did we really eat barnacles?). We lingered, enjoyed one another, and spent time thinking about who and what we were grateful for this year. And yes, we ate – a lot!
I still have qualms about heaping portions when there is famine in Sudan and numerous other places and when there are food deserts in much of the over-developed world. I’m mindful that as someone who eats meat and seafood, an animal (however unwillingly) has given its life to sustain mine, so I’m careful to value that life, eat leftovers, and waste as little as possible. When I was little, I loved the colors and scents of harvest festivals; now, I value them, and I appreciate and relish the flavors. When we are lucky enough to have juicy, crunchy, succulent, tangy, creamy, sharp, mellow, unctuous, herby, spicy, sweet, salty, aromatic, smoky, rich, flaky, crisp, and generally scrumptious nutrients, shouldn’t we savor them, nurture ourselves and be grateful?
While I’d appreciate a greater gap between Thanksgiving and Christmas, I say, be open, welcoming, and grateful and – sorry, “Twiggy”…
“Let’s feast!”
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End Notes
Reading
Paile Blue Dot
Carl Sagan
Listening
Benedictus
Karl Jenkins
Clyde Islands
Chloe Matharu
Viewing
The Diplomat
Netflix
Poetry
The Peace of Wild Things
Wendell Berry
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