Are you eating enough? As the vast majority of modern society worries about eating too much, such a question may seem a bit strange. Though quantity is rarely a problem for people in most developed nations, when it comes to quality, some of your favorite meals may be seriously lacking in substance. As far as diet diversity is concerned, certain people might even consider you to be seriously deprived.
Recently, after checking out the local library's copy of Everyday Harumi, a Harumi Kurihara cookbook recommended by my foodie friend, I was confronted by my own alimentary inadequacies. At first, there was nothing particularly remarkable about Kurihara's introduction to her food philosophy. Like most famous cooks, she had penned a predictable ode to fresh ingredients, artful tableware and the warmth of a family dinner table. Then, just as I was about to turn the page and read everything I ever needed to know about quick and easy tofu, an incredible statement caught my eye.
"Many of my western friends are surprised when they hear of traditional Japanese thinking of variety in eating," Harumi began, "We think that you should eat around thirty different types of food a day."
Thirty?! I was quite certain I couldn't compile a list that long if I were to empty out the contents of my entire refrigerator. Just to be sure that Harumi was not, in fact, having a laugh at the expense of gullible gaijin everywhere, I crosschecked this conventional wisdom with some other sources and discovered that she was not merely spouting off old wives' tales to sell new books. For the first time ever, it occurred to me that my diet was woefully homogeneous. I took a moment to reflect on my meals that day.
For breakfast, there had been a granola bar with soy milk. Did my coffee count? Mid-morning, there was a banana with peanut butter. For lunch, a salad topped with roast beef slices, slivers of bell pepper and shreds of red onion. After that, some leftover rice and tofu from the night before. Even if the added sprinkles of gomashio and soy sauce were legitimate contenders, my total for the day was still hovering in the teens. There was only one meal (and, let's be honest, a midnight snack) to go!
Unfortunately, dinner could not save me from an insufficient intake. Chicken stir fry with noodles tacked on four or five more raw ingredients. Though hot chocolate was a factor in my late night activity, I scarcely think Ms. Kurihara would have been impressed by something with such insignificant nutritional value.
I was now under 30 in more ways than one.
Having been raised in America at the peak of political correctness, I have always prided myself on the amount of diversity in my life. I enjoy a range of multicultural friends, draw fashion inspiration from girls across the globe, and fill my bookshelves with international authors both famous and relatively unknown. Apparently, my affinity for breakfast cereal and simple sandwiches had left me far more narrow minded than I ever realized.
The next morning, I attempted to progress by throwing some pineapple and orange slices into the mix. I started to make headway at lunchtime, though, when everyone in our office celebrated something I cannot remember with a special occasion obento. Whoever had been put in charge of the order chose a combination that went a long way toward elevating my status as a successful eater. As far as I could tell, it was comprised of rice, shrimp, cabbage, sesame sauce, a glazed meatball, katsu (a breaded pork cutlet), a sweet potato, salmon, egg, konnyaku, pickles, daikon, a carrot and a satoimo. The accompanying miso soup brought the meal count to at least fifteen items. The magic number was only a slice of supreme pizza away...
Of course, I have not given up on finding nutritional nirvana. It just has to wait until I can afford more groceries!



4 comments:
wow! those all look good!
Fun entry!
nom nom nom :)
nom, nom, nom? What???
From the Pacific Islander, who recently requested a reprieve from Asian food, while on a visit to Japan and Viet Nam, whining and complaining to sister and Jake, longing for the artery-clogging familiar taste of a cheeseburger at 29? Hmmm.
I smell something fishy, and it isn't the sushi. AOCABO (Asian of Convenience and Beauty only).
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