ESSAY
On Settling an Unsettling Relationship Words By: Lauren Blaser Photos By: Lauren Blaser & Jamie Kim “People who love to eat,” the prophetic Julia Child once wrote, “are always the best people.” I do love to eat, but I don’t always like it. For those with the privilege of stable access to food, eating is inescapable. The average day offers a minimum of three opportunities for food-related thoughts to consume a person. Allergies play a role in deciding what, when, and how to eat—someone with lactose intolerance knows to opt for Lactaid or Oatly over dairy milk. Culture and palette have an impact, too, of course. But none of these considerations hold as much power as the way each of us personifies eating. Food might be a friend and a source of joy, or a cunning adversary of whom one needs to be wary. When I was eight years old, I played recreational basketball, and I was awful. The only baskets I scored were two consecutive free throws, made with shaky elbows and met with pure shock from all involved. I was so flabbergasted by the entire experience that I wrote a short story about it for my language arts class. On the worst nights, all that got me through our trying, mid-evening practices was the late-night snack I anticipated afterwards. I used to smear cold slivers of butter onto a slice of (also cold) wheat bread that my mom kept in our fridge. This was Arnold Whole Wheat, the kind of bread that smushed into a thin line if you pinched it. Not extra crusty, or textured, or flavorful. The post-practice ritual of mine began randomly. Standing in the local high school gym one night, I let my mind wander from the drill being run in front of me, and serendipitously, bread and butter slipped into my head. It sounded good, and I began to crave it. When I returned home, I ate it.
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