On Life As A Picky Foodie

Since becoming a Picky Foodie, I have, for the most part, stuck to restaurants I know and trust.  However, being married to an indiscriminate omnivore means that from time to time, I need to venture out of my comfort zone and try new places, if for no other reason than to watch my husband’s face light up.  A few months ago, after a terribly dull meeting, we were starving and miles away from any of our usual fallbacks.  DW suggested we head to one of the big department stores that has a restaurant on the top floor.  He assured me it was simple fare, unfancy and flexible.  Though my Picky antennae flared up, my growling stomach silenced any hesitation.      

My husband and I sat next to a thirty-something, bespectacled British couple who were clearly stealing a date in the middle of their workweek.  

New restaurants are tricky for a Picky Foodie.  Everyone from the hostess to the dishwasher is an unknown entity, one with the potential to bring on delicious greatness or nasty discomfort.  When I felt confident that the waiter had understood my detailed list of allergies and intolerances, he went off to speak to the chef.

The couple next to us had listened to our exchange with interest but I said nothing -- they obviously weren’t chatty types (unlike me who has been know to strike up a conversation with a radiator).  When their food arrived they tucked in in silence.  

“How is it?” the husband asked after a few bites.

“It’s nice,” his wife replied.  

He reached over and took a large forkful of her fish without permission.  The man chewed his wife’s lunch with way more thought and attention than he had paid to his own.  

“Are you sure?  I think there’s something wrong with this.  I don’t think it’s good.  Are you all right?”

The wife who had been calmly eating away suddenly stopped.  “You know, I’m not sure,” she said.  “Is it?”

After a few moments of consideration, she put her hand on his: “I’m all right.  It’s all right.”

“No.” her husband replied, “it’s not.  There is something wrong with the fish.”

He gestured to the waiter and pointing at the plate, now three-quarters finished, explained that his wife had been made ill by the fish, that it was unacceptable.  The waiter scrambled to get the manager who assured the couple that he was incredibly sorry, and was there anything he could do to make up for it?  

The man told and retold his story three, four, five times to the same two people, pointing between his wife and her plate, gesticulating harshly, exclaiming loudly that they had poisoned her.  I would have been convinced that the couple were simply trying to get away with not paying for their meal had I not watched the wife become noticeably sicker in direct correlation to her husband’s voice.

It was quite incredible, and definitely humbling to watch her transformation.  I became acutely aware of how often I had brought that kind of thing onto myself.  

Many a meal at a new restaurant has ended with me feeling unwell and convinced that there was dairy in something, gluten in something else or a little bit of everything everywhere.  While this might have been true in some cases, as I looked at the woman at the next table, I realized that at other times, it could simply have been my own insecurities and fears.  

Rarely do we get a chance to see ourselves as others do.  That day, I did, and it made me take notice.  

While I don’t want to minimize the importance of remaining vigilant, especially for those of us who suffer so terribly from even the smallest particle of the wrong food, it is just as important that we examine the sources of our own unease.  Sometimes I think it’s easy to blame others: an impatient waiter can have the same effect as a slice of cheese if I let it, anticipation can turn into full-blown malaise without a bite of food even entering my mouth.  

Digging deeper into the concept of holistic health, I have come to realize how directly our relationship to food mirrors our relationship to life.  The same anticipation, the “what if” that so easily takes over can create a crisis before a situation has had the opportunity to properly unfold.  Sometimes the movies in our heads are much more powerful than what is actually taking place.  In no way am I saying that it was all in her head – the fish could easily have been off.  What I am saying is that watching her made me realize what a fine line there can be between being Picky for the sake of safety and paranoia.      

I watched the woman at the next table create an entire drama based on a script written for her by her husband, and realized how often I had authored my own panic-driven scenario.  

Don’t get me wrong: it is imperative for those of us with allergies and intolerances to remain vigilant, but it is also up to us to learn to seek out situations where we can allow the company, the food, the experience to occupy the starring role, to trust our instincts and not be afraid to ask as many questions as we need in order to feel comfortable and safe.  In my experience, most good restaurants are pretty flexible when it comes to dietary restrictions. However, we should choose wisely and not be afraid to walk out if something feels wrong.  

Have you ever held back for fear of making a fuss? Have you ever spoken up and regretted it?  How did that decision affect you?  Consider how the situation would have been different if you had reacted differently.  

Do you regularly leave dinner parties or restaurants with an upset stomach?  Are there foods you know you should avoid but can’t be bothered making the effort?  Changes in diet and lifestyle can feel daunting at first.  However, it doesn’t have to be that way.  If you need help taking those first steps, please email me at info@thepickyfoodie.com for a free health consultation.  Together, we can figure out what you need in order to feel better, healthier and more comfortable asking for what you need. 

Be well and enjoy!

Gabriela

P.S.  When you do have a great dining experience, don’t forget to thank the staff for their attention and patience.  Remember to tip well and make sure they know you are grateful for the extra effort they made.  You will be making it worth their while, making them feel appreciated and paving the way for the next Picky Foodie. 

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There is nothing quite like a sunny day in springtime New York. Everyone is in a better mood, and anything feels possible. I love New York in the Spring. To be honest, I love New York at any time of year, but Spring, with its last chilly notes lingering in the air, its seasonal menus bursting with greens, its patches of grass that suddenly fill up with throngs of hibernators out for a first breath of air, is especially spectacular.

On a glorious Saturday evening last Spring, I was walking from Columbus Circle to Brooklyn after a long day of school. DW, a million miles away in London, was on the other end of the phone just starting his day. The poor guy hadn’t even had coffee yet. I, on the other hand, was knee deep in existential turmoil.

My decision to go back to school had thrown open all sorts of questions about what I wanted to do, where I wanted to live, who I wanted to be. Holding the little microphone to my mouth so I wouldn’t look like I was talking to myself, I walked my self down the island of Manhattan and my husband down the list of questions I was struggling with.

Finally, as I approached the Soho / Tribeca border I arrived at the bottom line. Stopping for effect, I moaned down the phone: “I’m so lost,” I whinged, “What am I going to do? I just feel so damn lost.” Looking up dramatically, caught in a melodrama of my own creation, I stood still, wanting tears to well up in my eyes. Instead, however, I found myself staring at one of those little Soho shops that sell a myriad of seemingly random trinkets – hats, necklaces, vintage-type stuff. And right there, exactly at eye-level, was a compass.

It was unadorned and plain, no bigger than a locket or a quarter; a small, round face surrounded by a thicker brass casing hanging from a silver chain. “I’ll call you right back.” I told DW who had gotten a little worried since I had fallen silent for the first time in seventy-odd blocks.

The shop was tiny and lovely, tucked away off the main touristy bits, one of those rare places that is geared to locals. On the walls tasteful photographs gave off a feeling of stillness like long, luxurious summer nights by the beach; the shelves were lined with old books, unique candle sticks, and cashmere knits made by the owner.

I could have been in and out in a matter of seconds: the price of the compass was right, and the symbolism of it unquestionable. But instead I lingered. I lingered and inhaled the sense of calm and the creativity emanating from every corner of the store – each piece on display had clearly been chosen with intent.

When my phone rang fifteen minutes later, I paid and walked out to resume my conversation with DW who was anxious to hear what had happened. I told him the story fingering my new necklace. Like the magic acorn from the children’s story, it gave me a sense of grounding, as if I suddenly knew where I was going and why.

In this media-infested world, we are constantly overrun by messages of what we should do, buy, be, see, like. Sometimes I feel it’s the flood of choices that is the biggest challenge: because with so many options, so many grey areas and possibilities, it’s nearly impossible to feel any kind of black and white.

Often, people will describe something as being “right” – as if the universe has aligned itself to point us in that direction, as if everything simply slots into place when we make the “correct” decision.

Like my compass that seemed to appear out of nowhere at precisely the moment when I needed to be reminded that I had, in fact, not lost my way at all but was simply going through a moment of doubt.

But it is equally important to remember that those signs are everywhere, and that how we interpret them is up to us. Had I not bought the compass, I would still have found my way – though I would have been one lovely, symbolic necklace poorer (and a few dollars richer).

A year ago this week, I purchased the domain name for my website. I had no more than a vague idea of what form my work would take, but I knew the time had come to start moving towards the creation of The Picky Foodie.

And now, here I am at newsletter number two, as proudly Picky as ever and grateful for all the wonderful feedback I have received since launching the site. Stay tuned for more as we explore together, and discover the route to better health one decision at a time.

For the next week, I am offering twenty percent off three–month individual packages and a free first corporate consultation. But whether you decide to call me and get started on one of my programs, whether you finally take that writing class, or whether you simply take a moment to take stock of your life and where it’s leading you, now’s the time. The great news is you can always blame the universe for steering you in the right direction!

For more information, check out my website at: www.thepickyfoodie.com or email at info@thepickyfoodie.com

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Aloha Lovely Butterflies!

Welcome to the very first On Life as a Picky Foodie newsletter where you will find musings, rants, questions and hopefully some answers about how to live life the Picky Foodie way. 

Being Picky has gotten a bad rap.  In the World English Dictionary, picky is defined as: “having specific and inflexible likes and dislikes and, therefore, hard to please or satisfy.”  Most people will go out of their way to avoid being labelled as Picky.  But for those of us with food allergies and intolerances, we find we have no choice – it’s speak up or suffer the consequences.  This is why I created The Picky Foodie.

For more information about the site and my consultation services, please see below, First, however, a few thoughts...

When I was in Hawaii a few weeks ago, one of the buff surfers I met agreed to lend me his surfboard. 

“Go on,” he said, “why don’t you give it a shot.”

His slight smirk indicated that he fully expected me to slip onto and then immediately fall off his retro orange board – it was what I envisioned myself doing as well.  However, instead, I hopped on, paddled off and then sat upright, bobbing with the waves, as if I had been doing it all my life. 

The man was impressed, as was my husband.  Though I was practically born in the water, what I experienced sitting on that surfboard was completely new (like totally mind-blowing dude). I have tried meditating in many different ways and places: I have been to a silent retreat, listened to CDs and sat in as well as downloaded classes but never have I come as close to achieving the feeling of peace that I did on that surfboard.

Let me set the scene: the sun had started to set, the waves were almost nonexistent; rather the deep turquoise water was calm -- more like a rocking chair than a rollercoaster.  A group of children were frolicking on the shore alongside a couple of wet, happy dogs.  My husband and I had spent the beginning of our vacation turning a deep shade of coconut and indulging in freshly picked papayas, apple-bananas and organic white pineapple.  The day before, we had awoken to a school of dolphins taking their morning constitutional a mere few meters in front of the house we had rented.

And then there I was, sitting on the surfboard in my light blue bikini with my feet dangling effortlessly below, watching as the sun dove first behind a fluffy cloud and then into the horizon.

Time seemed to stop – for a moment, an hour, I wished for the week. 

They say that as we age, time goes faster.  In truth, sixty seconds tick by at the same rate at age three as it does when we are eighty-five.  So how come it feels like the older we get, the quicker time slips away? 

I remember reading once that what gives us the impression that time is going by at a slower rate is newness: when we explore the unknown, when we experience things for the first time suddenly the tick-tocking of our watches becomes less relevant. Children are constantly seeing, hearing, smelling, tasting, encountering parts of life they have not done before.  That is why an afternoon can feel like an eternity to a child.  

As adults, we tend to sink into routine – and while routines do offer many advantages like security and comfort, they can also make every day feel a little bit too much like every other.

These days, I like to think of my watch like I do my bathroom scales: both are foreign objects that have way too much power over me.  Though I am not always successful at banning either from my life, I do approach them with caution and awareness about the kind of role they play in my overall sense of wellbeing.  It is simply unacceptable that I would allow a simple number – be it in kilograms, pounds, minutes or hours – to determine whether I have a good day or a bad one.

My goal is to do something new every day.  I try to reach out to an old friend I haven’t spoken to in way too long, cook with a different ingredient, take a route from point A to point B that I might not have explored before.  These little changes may not slow time, but they do help make the great moments just a little sweeter.

Aloha!

Gabriela a.k.a. The Picky Foodie

About my company:

In a world where we are brought up to eat what we are served, I created The Picky Foodie in order to help others deal with food allergies and intolerances.  What is deemed healthy for one person may mean three days in bed with an upset stomach and a migraine headache for someone else. 

The goal of The Picky Foodie is twofold:

1. To educate restaurants, hotels and other hospitality services to better cope with patrons and customers who have specific needs.
2. To work with individuals and help them in their journeys to better health and overall wellbeing.

As a Picky Foodie myself, I struggled for years to find what works for me – and still sometimes an invitation to an unknown restaurant or a dinner party can mean a whole slew of adventures.  But these situations need not be daunting, intimidating or nerve-racking. On the contrary – when you love good food as much as I do, every meal is an opportunity to discover and create new relationships, new dishes and new favourites. 

For more information, check out my website at: www.thepickyfoodie.com

If you or someone you know is interested in learning more about either my individual counselling or my corporate training and consulting services, please contact me at:

Gabriela@thepickyfoodie.com

(For a 10% discount on your first session, mention this newsletter!)

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