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Read other letters about this article
Ha ha ha! Hattie, you're funny! Saying that you are surprised that thin women say they get insulted out of one side of your mouth , and then calling them "cadaverous" out of the other!
Me, I am of pretty average build. I'm a little bigger in some parts than I would wish, and a little smaller in other parts. I even wrote a poem about it and Salon published it. I get comments from people who I barely know about how "skinny" I am (which I'm not, I'm smack in the middle of the bell curve). It's not meant unkindly, so I don't take it that way, but I can't help but think "I don't make comments about your size and shape, what on earth makes you think it's OK to make comments about mine?"
But whatever, it's beyond me. To me, the saddest thing about this is that dining on well-prepared food is one of the most fabulous experiences that humans can have. It takes hold of all five senses:
* the aroma of roasted meat, herbs, garlic, onion, wine, the scent of baking spices that swirl through an entire house five minutes before the goodies are done;
* the sound of vegetables sizzling in a saute pan, the "whoomp" of a liqueur set alight, the clatter of pots and utensils by a busy chef, the "pop" of a wine cork and the clink of glasses raised in cheer;
* the texture of a soft cheesy polenta on a cold, cold night, the way the fork slides through a filet, the baby's-bottom feel of yeasty bread dough and the rubbery way it wiggles to and fro when you twirl lumps of it into strands to make s-shaped buns for St. Lucia's day (tomorrow!);
* the excitingly lumpy asymetry of a homemade apple pie, parti-colored pinwheel arrangements of fruit slices on a meringue (fat free!), an artfully presented roast beast with bright fruit or veggies or herb sprigs lining and surrounding it on the platter;
* the taste of home-cooked, of meals prepared from scratch, of trial and error, and of a job well done.
What a shame and a disgrace it is that we have taken what could be and should be a glorious communion of mind and body and turned it into a perpetual snarly battle of sinful gluttony versus morally upright austerity. Yes, I do love to cook and eat French cuisine. No, I don't use cream sauces every night of the week. Yes, it would be nice if my bottom half were a little smaller. No, I am not going to deny myself the joy of delicious food so I can squeeze into a pair of $100 jeans.
Food is meant to be enjoyed, sensibly and in moderation as with everything else. Turning it into the enemy -- along with the people who prepare it, and those around you who also consume it -- serves nobody.
(If, after all that, you still can't enjoy a tasty meal because you're worried about your tush, pack up and move to a Brazilian neighborhood like I did. They love women with nice curvy bottoms. That solved all my image problems.)
