Thank goodness I no longer eat dog food treats like I did when I was a kid. These days I find myself concerned about the increasing consciousness of my 18-year-old daughters. When I was their age, a pair of Birkenstocks, a Frisbee and a love of salad was enough to be part of the healthy crowd.
On Sunday, I was preparing dinner. I cracked an egg in a bowl.
My daughter, the food inspector, peered over her laptop and asked what I was doing.
The tone was accusatory.
I held up the evidence.
Just cracking an egg, sweetie.
The food inspector wanted to know what I planned to do with the egg.
Um. Is this a trick question?
I plan to take the chicken thighs, dip them in egg and then roll the little buggers in bread crumbs.
The food inspector took a deep breath.
Not a good sign.
On the exhale she exploded about how she’d expect me to be using egg alternative.
I honestly have no idea what an egg alternative is, and patiently explained how she had survived my cooking thus far, could we just manage to get through dinner?
No. Off we went to supermarkets, three of them, including a health food store, where bewildered clerks tried to offer my daughter an acceptable egg alternative.
I felt better when I realized the grocers were stumped.
At the fourth market, she found the beloved alternative, along with a tofu butter and a basket full of things to make dried fruit muffins and a banana tofu pie.
You read that correctly – banana tofu pie.
Yum.
The food inspector is actually mild in contrast to my other daughter, the vegan. The vegan has given up not only meat and everything that has a face, she regularly polices the cupboards for anything that she feels violates ethical standards. She no longer sits on the leather couch in our house, for instance.
So with two healthy kids, I’m getting nervous about getting older. Specifically, I have this image of getting old, no longer able to care for myself, and in a living situation where my daughters are insisting that I be fed only extremely healthy, food that meets moral and ethical standards.
I’m terrified.
I find myself explaining to them how much I enjoy the banana tofu pie, but I would like to spend my last days eating ice cream, coconut cake and chocolate. I am trying to explain that all this health stuff is really admirable, but I am from the generation that spawned the sugared cereal movement, grew up eating TV dinners, and is perfectly willing to accept dessert as a meal.
I’m not totally unconscious.
I was once a vegetarian.
I served a tofurkey one Thanksgiving. My family refused to eat the basketball I served. We went to a restaurant that year.
But now the constant food alerts – spinach, dog food, and Twinkies – are all put in question.
I love Twinkies!
I actually am educated about the dog food supply risks. I read extensively on the subject a few years ago and found a solution that didn’t make the recent recall list.
But now, it seems accidental.
These days, eating healthy has become an overly absorbing focal point. I feel like it’s never enough.
I use cloth, not paper napkins.
I buy local food often.
I buy organic.
And still, I’m not there yet.
I’m not even close.
Sarri Gilman is a freelance writer living on Whidbey Island. Her column on living with meaning and purpose runs every other Tuesday in The Herald. She is a therapist, a wife and a mother, and has founded two nonprofit organizations to serve homeless children. You can e-mail her at features@ heraldnet.com.
Talk to us
> Give us your news tips.
> Send us a letter to the editor.
> More Herald contact information.
