I bought a set of three mini-loaf pans from Amazon in November. Last week, they sent an identical set, by mistake.
Amazon refunded the cost on my card, but said I didn’t have to return the pans.
Well, I had no use for six pans. If you make a standard quick bread recipe, three pans equals a full loaf. I can’t remember a time in my life when I needed to make six mini-loaves.
Certainly not now. I had made a cranberry bread for Thanksgiving, and it put me in mind of days past when I made mini-loaves and brought them to work for my colleagues to enjoy at Christmas. Maybe I could do the same this year.
But the truth was, once I started thinking about it, that I had my doubts. Would anyone eat them?
In America, in the 2020s, any group of people will include dieters, vegans and vegetarians. Some have gone off gluten or carbs. Others have allergies.
That home-baked loaf stuffed with cranberries suddenly looks like a field laced with land mines.
Now, let’s be clear here that I am not judging. I have food allergies, so I can’t eat anything without studying food labels, which usually makes food left for communal consumption at work off limits for me.
Also, I don’t eat beef or pork, which has caused issues for others trying to feed me at certain points in my life. I remember freaking out at a business lunch because I discovered bacon in my turkey sandwich. (I hate it when I clearly fill out the meal preferences form before events and then get something I can’t eat.)
What I’m saying is “it is what it is.” But it’s too bad, because eating is one of the great joys of life. It would be nice if we could all eat a slice of cranberry bread like it was 1999.
I had a chance to think about our complicated relationship with food recently when I found myself in intensive care, forbidden to eat or drink for a week. This situation resulted from complications during surgery. At first I was just receiving hydration through a tube in my nose, but after a few days a PICC line (peripherally inserted central catheter) was installed in a tube under the skin of my chest to provide “nutrition.” Of course I couldn’t taste anything, and the nurses assured me I wouldn’t want to.
Although I initially reacted to my “no food or drink” order with shock and horror, the combination of the nasal tube and the PICC line killed any appetite I might have had.
When I tell people that, they react with disbelief, but it’s true. I didn’t stop thinking about food, but I didn’t really want to eat it. My husband, Paul, would visit every day around lunchtime. He’d pop in to see how I was doing and then go get lunch in the hospital cafeteria. I always asked him what he had, and enjoyed hearing about it. “Next week,” I’d say to myself. “Next week.”
Although, I knew that once I was released from the hospital I’d be on juice and broth for days.
What I really wanted while in the hospital was food to break up the day, to relieve the boredom and anxiety. For example, on a stressful day near the end of my nine-day stay, I blurted out to Paul, “I want a glass of pinot grigio, and a bowl of tortilla chips with salsa. Right now!”
It’s no secret that people who have ready access to plentiful food can develop emotional eating issues. It’s a major cause of weight gain. I heard about a study in which moviegoers were given stale popcorn along with fresh. Viewers who routinely ate popcorn ate the old stuff, while those not in the habit left it behind.
Mindless eating is a thing, and I wanted to indulge in it with a handful of peanuts or cheese crackers while I read in the late afternoon.
On my last day in the hospital, I went for a walk through the halls of the unit. I saw that my next-door neighbor had what appeared to be a chicken salad sandwich waiting on a cart to be served.
I admit that at that point I was insanely jealous.
When I finally came home, Paul and I resumed eating meals together. He kindly made me Cream of Wheat for breakfast. At first I could only eat strained soups, but at least I was eating at a table with place mats and cloth napkins. The highlight of my day was a frozen yogurt bar after dinner. I rarely eat dessert, but I so looked forward to that treat.
Soon I was able to move on to more solid foods, like mashed potatoes and mac and cheese. I could eat white-flour products like bread and crackers as well. Although I usually go for organic and whole-grain, I found I was able to throw all of my natural food instincts out the window in order to fill my tummy.
It’s amazing how unfussy I could be when I had no other choice.
I can eat a normal diet now. I was able to gift a young chef-in-training with the mini-loaf pans. I think I should have made some cranberry bread and left it in the staff room as a holiday treat. Maybe somebody would have taken a slice and taken a break from whatever special diet they were holding themselves hostage to. I could have left a note on it: “I ate white flour for a month and survived!”
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