Chicken soup for the weight watcher

In theory I have been back at my Weight Watchers meeting for over 10 weeks now and have not succeeded in losing any weight at all. In fact going to the meeting and the weight ins has proven to me one thing, that I am successful at maintaining my weight since my original weight loss of over a year ago. True, by no means am I overweight, in fact, my leader says I could just declare this my chosen goal weight and be a lifetime member and never pay for a meeting again. Let's be honest though, I am not "Hollywood" thin and am not at the goal weight that I decided I wanted to be.

So, why am I unsuccessful? Could it be that I just don't care since I am in a happy relationship for once in my life? That I have a job I am good at and am surrounded by people at work who actually semi-function as a team? Could it be that my family members have their own lives and are therfore not harping on me on a daily basis to do this, that, and the other thing for, with, or on behalf of them?

No, I think not. Let's get down to brass tacks people, I LOVE FOOD! Not just normal love, but I am a certifiable foodie. I enjoy reading about food (cookbooks, magazines, essays-I am currently reading the nonfiction book Salt: A World History, by Mark Kurlansky.), looking at food, talking about food, watching food shows, and sharing places that I like eating and recipes I enjoy making with friends and absolute strangers. In fact, if I had my druthers, I think I would just spend all my time in groceries stores, open air markets, the kitchen, or cafes, doing food related stuff.

I used to think this obvious affection for food meant that I missed my calling in life and that I was meant to be a chef. For several months I toyed with the idea of going to Culinary Academy and pursuing the dream of working with pastries or sauces exclusively. However, from educating myself on the harsh realities in industrial kitchens cooking for people en mass (which I had done on a smaller scale for several years for my best friend's father who was a caterer) I quickly realized that there was no joy cooking for nameless, faceless strangers. My love was for the bonds that food created for people.

The innate love and closeness that I feel when there is sharing of dishes and tastes. It creates and intimacy that is not acheived in many other ways, perhaps with music and dance, kissing between lovers. There is a certain deep, visceral sensuality in food. One that transcends the boundaries of my lifetime and connects me to my ancestors. The chicken soup that I prepare in my Grandmother's stock pot causes my heart to swell because I feel her guiding my hand when I add the kosher salt. She too made her matzo balls the same way I make mine, like my father, her son, taught me. It nourishes my soul.