Unlike most young teens my age, I sailed through my chubby stage, thanks to a fan club consisting of my parents, an aunt and two sets of loving grandparents. They’d listen attentively to the detailed accounts of my life and were an enthusiastic audience, whether I was reading them my entire school report or rehearsing my lines from the school play.
Little did I know that secret family meetings were being held to discuss such topics as to how to delicately get me to remove the belt on the knit dress that I loved to wear and how to help me curb my voracious appetite. Luckily, my Spanish grandmother’s suggestion to apply some Latin folk remedies involving herbs, a pig’s snout and a short prayer were immediately vetoed.
So, it was with a combination of elevated confidence and naivety that I found myself participating in “Operation Lindita” (in the Spanish language, adding “ita” to a name indicates affection). Each evening, as JC* prepared dinner, I joined her in the kitchen and sipped a cup of hot chicken broth in the hopes of curbing my appetite. Thanks to a combination of nutritional eating and the introduction of boys into my life, I soon dropped the weight, never to have it return again.
I am not a sweet eater. I am not abstaining to show my sugarless superiority, I just prefer salty over sweet. You can count on me to guard your Halloween candy stash with nary a candy bar missing, but I am prepared to arm wrestle you for that last potato chip. I always carry some small packets of salt with me and do not travel without pretzels. I’m not sure why; an abundance of sodium chloride just makes me feel secure.
It was in college that I was first introduced to tiny utensils. The ex-Ford model hired to turn us from high school grads (still carrying the baby fat that once made us cute) into professional career women ate with a cocktail fork and a demitasse spoon and to this day, so do I.
At a recent family reunion, my siblings (all foodies) seemed to be curious about my petite partaking. As a souvenir of our time together, I sent each of them a cocktail fork and a demitasse spoon, tied with a red ribbon, and attached this poem I wrote:
When dining with utensils tiny
Frustration may leave you a bit whiny
So, savor each morsel on your plate
Watch your tummy slowly deflate
And smile in your spoon’s surface shiny
Remember, it doesn’t matter how big or small the bite, just as long as you take the time to savor each one. Bon Appetit!
*Who’s who? See “Cast of Characters” on the “About” page.