Please Can I Have Some More: My Troubled Relationship with Food Portions
—Sangeetha Bhaskaran
Volume 4 | Issue 3 [July 2024]
I was irritated after the dinner party. Or more like, hangry. After hours of chatting and drinking wine, our hosts served us measly portions of dal, chawal, and chicken curry at midnight. I shovelled spoons into my mouth and glared at my husband – they were his friends after all. I couldn’t enjoy the meal; all I kept thinking was – How could they call us over and feed us so little?
Food portions are a trigger and bring out the worst in me. I grew up in a home where more was better than enough, witnessing women stir large aluminium vats of curries and rice and deep fry snacks that could feed a battalion. They never asked you how much fish you wanted to eat before frying or counted how many servings you took. The presence of leftovers was indicative of everyone having had their fill. I also grew up listening to my mother and aunts critically evaluate other people’s cooking and hospitality – how generous portions were, the variety of dishes served, if there was enough meat on the menu. If someone got a serving of mutton curry with more gravy than fleshy pieces, they committed the atrocity to memory.
The Tamil word dhaaralam is the spirit of generosity. You give without caring if there will be any left for you so that others can eat as much as they please. This freedom is what my mother and aunts wish to give everyone they feed and expect when invited over for a meal. But what happens when this intent to be generous has other repercussions on our health and attitude? When food and culture are so intertwined, how do we not get personal? Beyond hospitality, what is the relationship between food portions and appetite and nutrition?
For food portions are an essential part of food culture: how much we eat and serve is derived from ethnicity, family history, upbringing, genetics, community practices, lifestyle choices and socio-economic factors. For instance, at communal gatherings, Bohri Muslims follow the practice of eating together from one large plate – thaal – holding six to seven courses. Groups of six to eight people sit and serve themselves from the portions in the centre, ensuring there is enough for the others while finishing what they take. Even as today’s dishes take on modern twists, the essence of togetherness and zero wastage remains an integral part of their culture.
The thaali culture is prevalent across India – a delightful assortment of rice, curries, sabzis, sweets, pickles, and salads filled into little steel katoris on a large plate. A symbol of diversity and wholesomeness beyond basic needs, every state has its own version. The thaali is also symbolic of an appetite for variety and abundance on one’s plate; the objective being to eat lots of different dishes till you’re so full and reach a state of lethargy and drowsiness that is the food coma.
Contrary to such gluttony, the Okinawa from Japan follow hara hachi bu – Eat till you are 80 per cent full. Research and studies show that this philosophy coupled with a measured diet of wholesome ingredients is one of their secrets to longevity. For someone like me, who has grown up in a culture where eating less was deemed a sign of illness or rudeness, incorporating hara hachi bu into my eating regimen feels like a punch in the gut. Literally. What will my digestive system do if it isn’t churning juices and gyrating hard enough to move stuff along?
Here’s the thing – I’m an adult and yet I cannot tell when I am full. Despite the wisdom of Ayurveda on eating less to keep the agni or digestive fire going, I have been conditioned to believe that more is best. Seeing a smorgasbord of dishes brings me joy and certainty that I will enjoy the meal: I start salivating gleefully, the anticipation of thrilling my taste buds and filling up makes me greedy. Take me to a buffet or unlimited weekend thali lunch and watch me go bananas as I become Goldilocks ambitiously digging into papa bear’s share, happily stuffing more down than my body can handle. I scoff at folks who talk about portion control and counting calories – Life’s too short man… eat what you gotta eat!
My YOLO philosophy about eating has put me on the overweight spectrum with a high risk for diabetes. Given that diabetes runs in my family, it won’t be long before I join them in the quarterly blood sugar tests at the clinic while slurping mangoes and ice cream when no one’s looking. How lucky am I to inherit both their perspective on generous food portions and ailments?
A study showed that the size of the meal in ‘The Last Supper’ painting has grown by nearly 69% in the last millennium. Couple this artistic imitation of life with the reality of food production and wastage: it’s clear we’re eating much more than our ancestors did and dealing with the consequences of excesses. At least I’m not alone. In fact, portion size theory states that people eat more when they see or are offered larger portions, that is, we actually lose the ability to engage in moderation when there is more food placed before us than what the belly actually demands.
In my family, the link between food and generosity is very strong; largesse is a must, even at the cost of women’s health and comfort in providing such lavishness. Looking at it deeper, there is the fear of being perceived as frugal; we want to be seen as benevolent. Feasts symbolize wealth and willingness to share a part of it through feeding others but there is a degree of vanity to it all. Ask any wedding planner and they will tell you of the effort that goes into deciding elaborate menus- incorporating chaat and dosa counters, folks wanting to outdo other relatives, a dozen decadent desserts.
When I invite people over for a meal, I fry my nervous system with the anxiety of deciding, planning, preparing, marinating, storing while imagining humiliating scenarios of running out of food. When eating together is meant to be about sharing connection and warmth, why do I invest such energy into obsessing about how much of it is there? Why do my mother and I enjoy dissecting meals served at a party or even better, weddings?
Having access to more than enough food is a privilege that I continue to take for granted, and even abuse. I can recall a fondness for the relatives who gave me lots to eat without a second thought. To find meaning in food through such paltry measures is sad, especially when we end up judging others and ourselves. I need to let go of the embedded lessons and prejudices, learn ways of seeing meals beyond the ‘how much is on my plate’ and reframe how I use food to understand people and experiences. There is more to eating than what and how much of it we see: I want to choose to nourish, not load; view food as sustenance, not an antidote.
*All photos were provided by the author
