Having had a childhood eating preference diagnosed by my mother as "picky", she also, to be fair, took me to stomach doctors who adamantly proclaimed my vibrant wellbeing. The diagnosis was the fallback medical explanation for all unknown symptoms: stress.
This undiagnosed condition has never come in the way of a lifetime of fabulous food adventures. My friends call on me as their personal "restaurant intuitive". I know the great from the no good without stepping foot in a place. While always being sensitive to the quality of ingredients with a stomach that spoke to me loud and clear, I just never knew what that meant.
I'll always be a person who reads room service menus with the excitement of inhaling a great piece of literature. I've been to four and five-star food destinations all over France, have passionately pursued and discovered great food and creative, extraordinary, mostly unstarred, restaurants everywhere.
I'm bound to deliberately bracket this awakened, necessary change of diet on rare occasions, most probably while travelling. Yet I am thrilled by the clarity of knowledge and the opportunity to heal and live the highest quality, healthiest life possible.
It is comforting to be in great company with generous people who share their own stories.
Robin Quivers wrote a recent Huff Post blog that I love, expressing her joyous adventure in dietary renovation. That was nourishing to read. Thank you, Robin! And thanks for the caring of Elizabeth Hasselbeck in writing her terrific book.
As I troll drolly, (most of the time), into deeper raw food territory, the Annie Hall scene where Woody Allen travels to L.A. to hopefully win Annie back to New York and they meet at a health food restaurant, (which was then an actual wonderful restaurant on Sunset Boulevard, called, The Source), springs to mind.
He ordered a plate of mashed yeast. I know exactly how he felt.
