Minding My Ps* and Tea

There was an article in Wednesday's Dining Section of the NYTimes on mindful eating which included an introduction to the topic and a few practices to try at home.

And so I made today's lunch a mindfulness practice, having done it before a few times with the kids.  It was a deli lunch for me, a treat I allow myself now and then when I am tired of bean soup or longing for a quick midday chat.  So I walked to the deli in the warming sunlight, watching the squirrels and birds flit about, no doubt preparing for snow tomorrow.

I ordered one of my usuals:  a wrap with potato chips and an iced tea.  To be exact:  a whole-wheat wrap containing a spring lettuce mix, avocado chunks, dried and sweetened cranberries, goat cheese (sure, not vegan--it's my 20%), shredded (or specifically julienned) carrots, and a balsamic vinaigrette.  I always have them hold the tomatoes and cucumbers, which I don't like; 40% reduced fat Cape Cod kettle potato chips; and a Nantucket Nectar Half and Half lemonade iced tea.

I walked back to the house and settled in on the couch downstairs, determining to sit through the whole meal.  No music, no tv, no book, no email, no smartphone.  Usually, I have one or more of those during lunch, fighting away the long silences and absences with noise and stimulation.  That's two mindful eating techniques at once:  eat in silence and, when you eat, only eat.

And so I did.  The first thing I noticed was how much packaging there was--the glass bottle with its pop cap, the plastic bag to tear open, the sandwich not only in its own separate bag in the bigger bag but also in parchment paper and on a plate.  Lots of waste.

I think I always start with my drink, sweet and acidic and cold but an ugly brown color, and then a chip, salty and crunchy, but not too salty, and thin with blistered bubbles on the fried surface.  Then the wrap, with its chewy mottled brown doughy wrap encasing a burst of color--dark red rounds of cranberry, bright orange sticks of carrot, crumbly white goat cheese sticking to chunks of lovely green avocado, against the maroon-tinged dark green leaves of lettuce, all sticky with ribbons of glistening dressing.  Oh, the crunch from the carrots and lettuce which contrasts with the chew of the wrap and the creaminess of the cheese and avocado.  Sometimes, if there isn't enough crunch, I add a potato chip midway; otherwise, I alternate wrap, chips, and tea.  The scent is green with the tang of the vinegar; otherwise, I can't really smell the wrap or the cheese or the cranberries.  In fact, there isn't much scent to any of it, neither the tea or chips.  Not one of my more fragrant meals.  And yep, I chewed it all patiently, another technique (though, I bet it wasn't 25-30 chews a bite).

Remembering one of the practices, I thought of where everything came from (that one"s mentioned in the article but not listed at the end).  Potato chips--easy, potatoes from Idaho and the like, this brand marketed from MA.  The iced tea is based there too, though no doubt the tea, even if it probably isn't much more than dust, is from far away India or China with the lemons probably from one of the citrus states.  Carrots and lettuce, in season in the spring, probably from some industrialized farm, packaged and delivered to, I'm guessing, the commissary of the deli (the family owns more than one and this one is too small for much prep work), where they are washed and the lettuce is torn.  I don't know if a machine or a person julienned the carrots.  Probably the former.  Cranberries, in season in bogs in the fall, but once dried and sweetened available all year; probably not name-brand Craisins, as they aren't quite as dehydrated, but are rounder and larger.  The goat cheese probably came from a large supplier, arriving in big plastic containers.  They make the vinaigrette by hand.

Avocados.  I was stumped by avocados.  I know they are native to Mexico.  But do they grow on bushes or trees?  When are they actually in season?  I know they are picked and transported all over, where they are eventually skinned and pitted, with the delicate green flesh turning brown in the air once cut.  They are creamy, wonderful with a little salt, perfect as guacamole on corn chips, wonderful in a salad.  My friend Miss Bead likes them on bagels.  I don't think they are often cooked.  They are a "good" monosaturated fat and are now used to add creaminess to vegan offerings like chocolate pudding.  I contemplated this lacuna and have since Googled them (they are a tree, with a summer season, though the fruit ripens after it is off the tree).

I don't often like the last bites of my wrap, which collects a disproportionate amount of dressing and has too much folded over wrap and not enough stuffing.  I usually don't finish it.  A few more chips and a last cleansing sip of tea.  Having gone so slowly and deliberately today, I didn't even eat half of the chips, which I'll give to Sis as they are her favorite.  I always have about half a bottle of tea left to enjoy later. The whole lunch took me about 15 minutes, though it felt longer.  But for a change, I noticed it all. And liked it more than I even usually do (I had wondered if, with such concentration, I wouldn't like it as much.) And I also noticed the light streaming in the windows and the silence punctured by my crunching.

I'll do it again, perhaps as the article suggests, making a weekly, or even daily, mindful lunch date with myself.

Bon appetit!

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* Potato chips.