On Life As A Picky Foodie

David Wolstencroft is a fabulously talented writer/producer in the entertainment industry.  He has created popular television shows, dramatic movies and suspenseful novels – but then again I’m extremely biased.  He is also my husband.  David has been my partner in this journey to health since we met six years ago, and he continues to offer support and encouragement in every way imaginable – from tasting each one of my culinary creations, to reading my posts and newsletters, from taking me to the airport when I embarked on my studies on a different continent, to making me buckets of yellow split pea soup when it was the only thing I could stomach in month three of my pregnancy.  However, as you will read below, I am not alone in occupying his heart.  It’s part of what he believes allows him to access inspiration.  And although I have, at times, felt challenged by this, I also know that health comes in many shapes and sizes -- pleasure being a vital, yet often overlooked, component of how we feel.

With love,
Gabriela 

AN ODE TO PUDDLE WATER

“Coffee leads men to trifle away their time, scald their chops, and spend their money, all for a little base, black, thick, nasty, bitter, stinking nauseous puddle water.”

-The Women's Petition Against Coffee, 1674

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I am a very lucky man.  My wife, Gabriela, whom you may know as the Picky Foodie, is not only a wise and talented woman, she is also remarkably understanding about my other committed relationship.

A life-long affair, in fact -- with a black, steaming liquid as old as the Ethiopian hills.

There’s a timeless alchemy that happens when filtered hot water is forced at pressure through a layer of finely ground coffee beans.  The aromatic oils retained deep inside the roasted berry are liberated by the heat and release themselves into the suspension, morphing it into a measure of potent amber sweetness that baristas call “liquid honey”.  But that moment of perfection is all too fragile.  A lack of H20 and there’s an unappealing punch, a bitter kick to the gut.  Too much, and that espresso sunshine will cloud over into a thin, over-caffeinated dreck -- “stinking nauseous puddle water” indeed.

You might have guessed by now – I like my coffee.

Nearly a year ago, I stopped drinking alcohol – not forever, but for the foreseeable future.  Most of my adult life, I never considered that such a change was even possible: you see, both my social life and my professional world have often been lubricated with the stuff.  But since I’ve made that change, hand on heart, I’ve rarely given it a second thought – even down the pub with friends, it’s not as hard as I thought it would be.  In the end, it just didn’t matter to me all that much.

For a while, I thought the same kind of adjustment would be possible with my daily java.

On paper, there was hope.  I have always known that my daily coffee consumption is not a healthy part of this, or any other, nutritious breakfast. I know the stuff plays my adrenal glands like an electric guitar; that yes, it scratches away at my long term energy levels, depletes the minerals in my body and okay, fine, I know, the downer will come, always, relentlessly, eventually, and crouch over me like a cold grey day. There are some mornings when I will look at my wife and she will just know that our conversation needs a pause – at least until I’ve had a tactical cup.

Sure, there are some studies that highlight the benefits to the liver, but most experts agree -- a body without a daily espresso is on the whole a better nourished, more serene place.  For me personally, however, it’s also a lonely and miserable life.  A bit like living in Switzerland.

Try as I might, there is no way to break my dependence on coffee.  Even when I’ve experienced enforced cold turkey, such as during a bad cold, when the physical need for caffeine has dissipated -- still I find myself reaching for it as soon as I feel better.  (In fact I’m starting to realise that part of the reason I feel so rotten when I get ill is that I’m also simultaneously going through coffee withdrawal… those headaches suddenly make more sense…)

Once, in desperation, I even tried herbal “coffees” – lovingly marketed infusions with exotic flavours and ancient herbs -- some of which weren’t half bad.  They looked like coffee.  They smelled – coffeeish.  They tasted like a blurry fax.  Drinking those things was like pining for a vintage single malt and drinking bourbon-flavoured seltzer.

Coffee, I have come to realise, is more than just a part of my diet.  It is part of my soul.  A perfectly drawn double espresso with a modicum of milk to cut through the lower tones of bitterness, though not enough to dilute the strong robusta force of the caffeine – it has the feeling of home, of security.  It’s been my professional companion for over two decades.  It’s been my collaborator and even my muse.  My morning coffee rings a Pavlovian bell deep inside my subconscious that lets the body know that it’s time for inspiration -- time for work.

Thus, knowing me, and knowing the impossibility of removing coffee from my life, my wife one day suggested something new:

I should continue drinking the stuff, she said,  enjoy it.  But, she offered –do it mindfully, consciously integrate it into my life?  By way of balance, she suggested, why not add a peppermint tea or a glass of water for every cup of coffee I downed?

This sounded very attractive to me, mostly because it involved no change to my coffee intake.  Yet, almost immediately, something changed.

Not only did I feel better -- less strung out when the espresso hit, less of the Cowshed Breath in the late afternoons – the coffee itself tasted better.

Far from being something that takes me away from my joy, I am now beginning to value and respect every cup I drink far more than I ever have.  By taking care of the consequences, and adding an extra level of hydration, my coffee consumption has decreased; my enjoyment has multiplied.  Less really is more.

My wife even bought me a barista course for my birthday. (I told you I was lucky.)

Perhaps there’s a larger lesson here.  Perhaps there isn’t.  In any case, it’s my opinion that we could all benefit from seeing the things we love and feel we cannot do without in their full context; by honouring and embracing them, rather than simply depending on them – no matter how often we have them, or how addictive they are.