Hungry For Approval
Published in Marie Claire
Eating to Score a Second Date
Everyone has an opinion on what and how we eat.
By Sarah Z. Wexler
It was my first date with the cute vet I'd met at the park, and instantly it felt like we were reenacting a scene from a Nora Ephron movie. The banter was romantic-comedy perfect: laughing about how my dog tried to hump his, dissing each other's hometown baseball teams, planning an evening at the ice-skating rink. But during the date, when I ordered dinner ("Chicken fajitas, please — hold the peppers, no sour cream, and refried instead of black beans"), I swear he exchanged a look with the waiter. Later, I saw him clench his teeth as I pushed bits of chicken that looked suspiciously undercooked to the "no" section of my plate. Then he sighed loudly when I wouldn't try a bite of his mole enchilada. Needless to say, cute vet never called again.
Men don't like picky eaters. Dining out, like sex, should be a sensual, indulgent experience. Get too fussy at the table (dressing on the side) and they think you're high-maintenance in the bedroom. It's no wonder, then, that when men get a glimpse of my extensive food rule book — nothing spicy, no condiments, no red meat or seafood, no mixing of sauces — they flee.
I've always been this way. When I was a kid, my worried parents asked my pediatrician why the list of foods I wouldn't eat was longer than the list of ones I would. He told them it was just a phase. Only it wasn't.
As an adult, I like to think of my eating peccadilloes as an endearing quirk, like a too-loud laugh. For men, however, they're an unequivocal turnoff. So I came up with a foolproof system to avoid the gastro-judgments: I insist on taking the new guy to my favorite Middle Eastern restaurant, whose menu I've already vetted. I've taken my last seven dates there. Compulsive? Maybe. Calculated? Definitely. But it's a relief to order food freely, confidently, even wantonly — to be able to flirt shamelessly over a romantic dinner without scrutinizing every bite. Yeah, I choreograph the dinner, but once that's over, I'm open to suggestions.
Did You Know? 40% of women will order dessert at a restaurant only if someone else does.
FROM HIS SIDE OF THE TABLE
Josh Radnor plays the lovelorn architect Ted Mosby on How I Met Your Mother. Turns out, his single-guy shtick on the show isn't all that different from his real-life hunt for the perfect woman. Here, Josh decodes the dinner menu, revealing what he really thinks about how women eat on the first date:
Filet mignon: "Either she thinks I'm rich, or she's anemic."
Garlicky food: "I love garlic, and I don't mind kissing someone who's had a ton of it. Raw onions are a different story."
Bacon cheeseburger: "She knows more about sports than I do."
Salad, dressing on the side: "She's either a control freak or a wilted-lettuce hater."
Pad Thai: "She's not that adventurous — it's the sweet-and-sour chicken of Thai food."
Onion rings: "She better gimme one."
Dessert: "When a man says, 'Let's share a few desserts,' he's automatically getting to third base.
Full disclosure: I've pulled this move."
Eating to Console a Needy Friend
By Thea Palad
My cell buzzed with a text from my pal Melissa: "Dinner 2nite?? Emergency!!!" We met up at an overstuffed chain restaurant, where she ordered trough-sized margaritas and a cheesy artichoke dip before dishing about the suspicious texts she had found on her boyfriend's phone. As Melissa described how she managed to jot down the texter's number, our waiter appeared with a tub of bacon-garnished potato skins. Melissa kept going, so I went with her, chewing and counseling, until we were down to the last bite. Once the plates were cleared, she felt better — and I felt fatter.
I'm no stranger to these food-and-whine binges. In fact, I'm my set's go-to gal when life's little tragedies strike. Thrashed by your boss in front of the whole office? Got a bad haircut? Misery loves my company. I've canceled dates, missed concerts, even ducked out of work early for friends in turmoil. Invariably, we meet up at a greasy, come-as-you-are venue where the only salad in sight is of the coleslaw variety. Some crises require a disregard of diets.
It's not as if I'm dispensing amazing advice. But I was raised with an unwavering faith in the curative powers of a meal. My Filipino mother marked all occasions — birthdays, funerals, even piano recitals — with elaborate homemade feasts prepared in our cramped New Jersey kitchen, where we would talk for hours between bites at an overflowing table. Her food healed. When I got my Princeton rejection letter, my mom tended my wounds with a plate of tocino (sweet, cured meat); when I broke up with The One, she restored my faith with batches of pancit (fried noodles) and ensaymada (cheese-and-sugar-topped bread). Food got us through whatever adversity came our way.
It's in my nature to respond to a friend's SOS by reaching for a menu. And I confess that a part of me likes to feel needed. Bailing out on a pal in need would disappoint us both. Problem is, as the designated binge buddy, empathy means packing on the pounds. Sometimes I resent the extra hours at the gym. But then I remind myself how my mother's meals always made me feel taken care of. I'm here to help — and I've got Pizza Hut on speed dial.
Did You Know? Your likelihood of becoming obese if a friend does is 57%. That jumps to 171% if it's a close friend.
WITH FRIENDS LIKE THESE...
Suspicious about that bestie who constantly coaxes you to swap out spinning class for vegging at a movie, or encourages you to upgrade your "boring" black coffee to a caramel-drizzled triple-mocha latte? Refer to this handy frenemy-to-English dictionary the next time your underhanded amiga meddles with your menu.
What she says: "Get the side of fries instead of the salad — you can just work out an extra half-hour tomorrow!"
Frenemy translation: "Who are you kidding? We all know your idea of weight lifting is lugging home four bottles of wine."
What she says: "Let's split the Grande Macho Nachos appetizer."
Frenemy translation: "I'll eat two dry chips, say I'm full, and spend the rest of the meal feeling superior as I watch you shovel in the remainder of the platter."
What she says: "Have another apple-tini! It's been a rough week at work — we've earned it."
Frenemy translation: "It's so much easier to get you to spill the beans about your annual review when you're sloshed."
What she says: "You have something on the corner of your mouth."
Frenemy translation: "Had you stopped to come up for air as you inhaled that powdered doughnut, Homer, you might have noticed it yourself."
What she says: "This Bloody Mary is nutritious — it's made with V8!"
Frenemy translation: "We won't talk about the bag of Cheetos, pineapple-and-pepperoni pizza, and entire sleeve of Chips Ahoy we'll consume when we're wasted by noon."
What she says: "Well, we can't leave without ordering the garlic mashed potatoes. It's what this place is known for!"
Frenemy translation: "Just like I'm known for being the skinny one."
—Jessica Henderson
Eating to Impress My Boss
By Jihan Thompson
My office's annual holiday lunch at a nearby Italian restaurant was a loaded affair. Getting face time with senior staff is rare, save for the accidental run-in on my way to the copier. Which is why I spent hours the night before trying on outfits (Does this skirt scream "ready for a promotion"?) and thinking up witty one-liners to wow the bosses with ("I always wanted to be a procrastinator, but I never got around to it"). But I spent most of my prep time agonizing over what to order, because eating with superiors is its own job interview.
Would I look meek if I ordered soup? I wondered, while surveying the menu online beforehand. What would the risotto special say about me: risk-taker or glutton? I finally settled on a salad strategy, which seemed healthy enough to earn kudos but innocuous enough not to upstage me. As it turned out, I wasn't the only one with that game plan. Virtually everyone at the table passed over the restaurant's signature pepperoni pizza (which I'd have killed for) in favor of something leafy. At least no one could accuse me of not being a team player.
Breaking bread with colleagues is an event not to be taken lightly. Go ahead and gorge without remorse in the privacy of your own home. But in the office, laissez-faire eating suggests a laissez-faire work ethic or, worse, immaturity. Not long ago I was lunching on a PB&J sandwich at my desk, when an older coworker remarked that she'd packed the same thing in her kid's lunch box that morning. In effect, she'd compared me to her third-grader — not a good thing. Later that day, she asked me to get her a cup of coffee, a task typically delegated to the college interns. Whether this was conscious on her part or not, I took her point. If I won't show up to work wearing Havaianas flip-flops or an ironic T-shirt for fear of looking too young, shouldn't I extend that thinking to what I put in my mouth?
My boyfriend insists I'm being paranoid. Really? When I snacked on almonds from a Ziploc baggie, my boss was the first to take notice. "What a smart idea! I wish I was that together," she effused. (Little did she know I had pilfered the nuts from my roommate after I'd finished his Cheez-Its.) But it paid off — I think. The boss invited me to tag along on her pitch meeting that afternoon with more senior staffers. In that instant, maybe she viewed me as a thoughtful, plan-ahead kind of gal — exactly the impression I want to make. Hey, if you're gunning for a raise, you've got to eat the part.
Did You Know? Overweight women make 24% less than their leaner cubemates.
THE BOSSES WEIGH IN
"At cocktail parties, pick only single-bite hors d'oeuvres. You don't want to be seen chewing chicken satay off a stick."
—Marilyn Carlson Nelson, chairwoman of Carlson Companies, Inc., which owns Radisson Hotels and T.G.I. Friday's
"If it helps you get more done, eating at your desk is good. But stinking up the office isn't. I once had an employee spray Glade around a lunch offender's desk."
—Mark Cuban, owner of the Dallas Mavericks and chairman of HDNet
"Never eat crabs, sloppy joes, or spaghetti at a work function. Your attention should be focused on the other people, not the food."
—Rob McGovern, founder of CareerBuilder
"My early years were like Mad Men — people drank six martinis at lunch. That era is over. Don't make a big deal of it, but don't have a drink at a business luncheon. You want to be in control."
—Cathie Black, president of Hearst Magazines and author of Basic Black: The Essential Guide for Getting Ahead at Work (and in Life), now in paperback.
Eating to Win Mom's Approval
By Lea Goldman
Sunday brunches are the thing in my family. When I was a kid, my brothers, sisters, and I would roll out of bed on those mornings to find the dining-room table blanketed with all manner of breakfast goodies: smoked whitefish, sliced sable, golden cheeses, fresh bagels still warm to the touch. I stuffed myself with abandon at these feasts until I was about 12 or 13, at which point my pediatrician replaced the "chubby" descriptor on my medical charts with the clinically correct "overweight." After that, I couldn't reach for a plate at Sunday brunches without my mother gently grabbing my arm and chirping, "Look, Lea, I bought fat-free muffins." I'd resign myself to one of those crumbly, bland imitators, hoping to wow her with my willpower. "You're soooo good," she'd say, filling me up with pride.
Such is the curse of the chubby child: always hungry — for accolades and affection. During my plump teen years, my mother routinely nudged me to slim down. She enrolled me in Weight Watchers and offered me a buck for every pound lost. But instead of getting motivated, I felt under siege by the incessant swipes about my weight. Then it dawned on me: If she cringed every time I reached for a Twinkie, it stood to reason that she'd beam if I grabbed a celery stick instead. And just like that, I started faking a diet.
I made big shows of not eating — skipping my two-bowl breakfast at home, but making up for it at the vending machines in school. I highlighted and dog-eared a copy of the Scarsdale Diet I found in our basement and left it prominently positioned near my bed. I even declared myself a vegetarian, though I made regular, illicit trips to the fridge to sneak strips of corned beef.
In front of my mother, I ate whatever it took to earn her praise: baby carrots, fat-free yogurt, poached fish. And it made me, for a time, the center of her world. Some nights she'd prepare two dinners — a heavy, meaty one for my father and siblings, a leafy and light meal just for the two of us. On occasion she'd even invite me out for "a brisk walk." Sure, I dropped a size or two, but that was an unintended consequence of the main goal: finally winning Mom's approval.
I've long since moved out of my parents' house and shed much of the excess weight. Today I'm a three-mile-a-day jogger who enjoys the occasional slice of pizza without much remorse. Yet to this day, my mother punctuates her catch-up calls by asking how the diet is going. I play along, pretending that I've just gotten back from the gym or broiled some salmon. She'll commend me on my discipline, and for a few moments at least, we'll both feel satisfied. And when we hang up, I'll tack a note on the fridge reminding me to stash the Twinkies the next time she visits.
Did You Know? 66% of overweight teenage girls whose parents encouraged them to diet were still overweight five years later, compared with 44% of those whose parents didn't push dieting.
MOTHER KNOWS BEST...
She never met a food she couldn't fry and considered baked potatoes a vegetable. But not all of Mom's dietary dictums have gone the way of the Formica tabletop. Turns out, some of her fusty old rules reflected some common-sense nutritional wisdom, according to Dr. Linda Bacon (yes, Bacon), author of Health at Every Size: The Surprising Truth About Your Weight. Bacon also points out where Mom missed the mark — but take that up with her at your own risk.
Mom said: "Chew each bite 30 times before swallowing."
Why she's right: If you slow down, your body has more time to process the food and send signals to your brain when you've had enough. Also, the more time your food is exposed to your mouth's taste cells, the better it will taste (even Mom's mystery meatloaf).
Mom said: "Clean your plate."
Why she's wrong: You're a far better judge of when you should stop eating than your plate is. Besides, eating until you need to unzip your pants is a waste of food. And Mom wouldn't like that, now, would she?
Mom said: "Don't eat in front of the TV."
Why she's right: Up to 40 percent of your body's physical response to a meal occurs during the period when you see, smell, and taste it. If you're not paying attention, you'll not only metabolize it inefficiently (and get indigestion), but you'll also muddy your body's stop-eating cues. Just realized you hit the bottom of the Doritos bag during CSI? Exactly.
Mom said: "Use margarine."
Why she's wrong: The "fake butters" packaged in stick form are often loaded with trans fats, which increase your risk of heart disease. Use butter, but remember that a little goes a long way.
