Necessary Indulgence

My mother pulls a small square wrapped in gold foil from the confines of her purse as she prepares to sit in the plush purple chair next to me. And in one swift movement she falls into the cushion while unwrapping the delicate confection and places it in its entirety into her mouth.

“Life is full of little indulgences,” she says; mouth partially filled with a half melted chocolate square. “This is mine.” My grandmother has similar rituals involving homemade chocolate chip cookies. She keeps them in the freezer so they last as long as possible retrieves just one, heats it on a small plate in the microwave and savors ever last morsel. My father’s indulgences have ranged from soufflé to cheese plates full of sumptuous cheeses like a hard, sharp Gabriel from Ireland to creamy Bougon from France with only the soft rind to keep the spread together. But that’s the beauty of indulgence. It can change with time, with tastes, with loves and losses. And what was once an indulgence can turn into a ritual or simply a common affair. I have since followed this trend with marshmallow rice squares. None of that store-bought blue cellophane shit but the real thing, marshmallows melted with butter and mixed with the puffed rice, smooshed into a pan and left to partially solidify in light, fluffy bites of what I think clouds must taste like.

This is how food becomes written into our lives, sneaks in through these moments and nestles there quietly. So when I come across a package of Godiva squares I think to buy them for my mother. I’m reminded of the time she broke one in half, feeding the piece to me and I have never felt more a part of her than at that moment. And isn’t this what food should be about? Conjuring up even the faintest of memories through sensation? A smell, a taste, a bite, a nibble, a gulp. Taste and flavor are eternal memorabilia. Even Proust saw it. That one bite of Madeline took him through a stream of literary genius consciousness that we today consider one of the most brilliant pieces of prose to date.

“And as soon as I had recognized the taste of the piece of Madeleine soaked in her decoction of lime-blossom which my aunt used to give me (although I did not yet know and must long postpone the discovery of why this memory made me so happy) immediately the old grey house upon the street, where her room was, rose up like a stage set to attach itself to the little pavilion opening on to the garden which had been built out behind it for my parents (the isolated segment which until that moment had been all that I could see); and with the house the town, from morning to night and in all weathers, the Square where I used to be sent before lunch, the streets along which I used to run errands, the country roads we took when it was fine…shape and solidity, sprang into being, town and gardens alike, from my cup of tea.”

Then I read an article in a popular magazine that addressed weather “that glass of wine” or “that burger” would “widen your waistline. And I was sad. Sad that over and over all we seem to see is how we limit ourselves when it comes to enjoying the things we love most. It could have something to do with the fact that our country in particular seems to overindulge. We have a history, a stain of an obesity epidemic that came from decades of lives that are too busy and the invention of convenience foods and preservative packed snacks. Our problem is that we have become so focused on the nutrition facts label that we have forgotten what indulgence really means when it comes to food. The reality is that food is so much more than sustenance. It has become a stimulant of sensuality, a trigger of the memory conjuring up emotions that we cannot get from anything or anywhere else.

We often look past the aesthetics and the sensuality of food, which sometimes, is so subtle it becomes a flitting moment of bliss, you may blink a little slower, close your eyes against the taste and what it does to you, whether it triggers a memory or just dissolves everything else around you. You forget about that bad day you are having or that fight you got into, or the agitation from that person stealing you parking space. Too often these days we seem to be bombarded with messages about what we shouldn’t be doing to our bodies. Overindulgence has become a buzzword. Fat, calories, sugar, and processed foods have tarnished the idea of what it means to indulge, the influence flavor has in so many aspects of our lives is uncanny. The best example? Conversation.

Laura is a beautiful, live loving young woman who never ceases to amaze me with her wit and beyond-her-years intelligence. And I will give her the credit for inspiring the idea for this article. We work together amongst various foodstuffs nearly every day. Thus the conversation, at one point or another, is persuaded towards the notions of flavor highlighted by little purrs of “mmmmm” and grunts of “ugh so good!” Andy, our executive chef, was explaining his need of cutting back on caffeine thus turning down my offer to make him a cappuccino (half steamed cream half milk, one pack of sugar in the raw. I aim to please.)

“...Coffee is like wine, not a necessity but one of those little luxuries that complete your day, you know?” God the woman is brilliant.

Now this isn’t to say we should go and eat a piece of dark chocolate Forest Cake every night for a meal, but we have forgotten what it means to truly enjoy ourselves and enjoy the things we love. So I became curious. Those of us who are surrounded by immaculately prepared food every day must have indulgences of our own.

“Chili cheese fries with American cheese and chopped onions. Tacos in any form. A perfectly seared piece of fatty red meat. Cavatelli boscaioli. A perfectly poached egg. They are all heavy rich dishes that titillate and satisfy all the senses. It’s about instant gratification and satisfaction. I’m not really a dessert girl. Savory is more satisfying. But, very late at night I sometimes can do with some super rich, bitter dark baking chocolate.” Laura’s face crinkles into its beautiful smile as she closes her eyes to conjure up those flavors in her head. And it's her words I wish our society and our culture could embrace more, the attention to satisfaction, satiation and savory foodstuffs.

“It’ got to be food that you could only eat as a kid because your metabolism was like an engine of a Porche 911, or shit that you only let yourself order when you go out to eat fir a social occasion or something.” And that’s what makes food more than just sustenance; it becomes experience, a flash of time, a Polaroid instant.

“I got on for you. It’s a dessert I have sometimes at this restaurant right down the street from here. Get this. Strawberries marinated in Grand Marnier with Hangan Das authentic vanilla ice cream. So you know that shit is good.” I can nearly taste the tart, syrupy berries melting over my palate, swirled with velvet covering of cool vanilla. “Sweet indulgences are my thing. It’s the first thing I jump to.” Israel’s face scrunches up in pure pleasure. “Carmel apples or that fried dough with the powdered sugar from carnivals. You know where the caramel is still warm and the apple is cool and juicy. Or the dough is cool on the edges but gets warmer and doughier as you get closer to the center. Tastes of summer. We should create caramel apple ice cream.”

“Crème brulee is a personal favorite. I like to add a little grand Marnier for a little orange zing.” Our own pastry chef finds luxury amongst a college atmosphere. “I can’t really get it much either so when I go out to eat to a nice place there is no question.” I have a similar obsession. Nights out with my parents as a little girl ended in sleepy eyes and that ever so delicate, glasslike later of caramelized sugar. Breaking through that savory barrier brings back memories of dim lit dinners and the “grown up” feeling I had as a child dining with the grown ups.

“I think it’s different for me…because if I want something I can usually just make it.” Oh the wonders of being a chef in a professional kitchen. But for Norm indulgence comes from the earth, a perfectly ripe peach; produce that you can’t get every day. “The kind that are almost pregnant with juice so when you eat them the liquid runs through your fingers.”

Joseph, our sommelier agrees. “Watermelon. Ripe watermelon you can hardly ever find…even in the summer. It’s those natural things that you can only get with luck. It makes them taste so much better.”

The media so avidly drives in notions of what not to eat it seems now that we have a hating relationship. But let’s, for a moment, pretend can be food healing, a reason for all of us to slow down and breathe, the one consistency in our day when it seems there is nothing else; my mother’s Godiva, a glass of Bordeaux, that double cream, edible rind cheese. Don’t tell us not to find comfort in food because flavor is about where it takes you. Life is passed by at such a fast pace as society becomes more focused on progression, innovation and material consumption. Yes, the importance of educations and labor is important but we never seem to slow down anymore. Something we should share and experience with each other. Less and less do we stop and regard what life what life has to offer us in the form of food and drink, a part of my daily living. A shared meal reiterates and supports generosity. It strengthens relationships and reminds us of the basics of life, of human nature. Sensuality can be found in roasted pork loin, love in apple torts, temper in chili powder. So the next time you find yourself feeling guilty for that slice of bacon or that dollop of whipped cream, remember how you felt as a child when that ice cream truck came around the corner. Lets go back there.