By MARIEL HOWSEPIAN digs black coffee, fairy tales and a man in coveralls. She lives in Santa Monica and
Yum. These are meals from Yves Vacheresse’s haute cuisine delivery service — Club Gourmet. Pre-dawn, Yves’ delivery driver drops coolers packed with breakfasts, lunches, dinners, and snacks both savory and sweet on the doorsteps of celebrity clientele. Meals are on a 28-day rotation, made with organic ingredients purchased by Yves himself at the Santa Monica Farmers’ Market, and packaged in biodegradable corn resin containers.
I can attest that the peach cobbler, sweetened with agave, and topped with oats, almonds, and pumpkin seeds tastes just like a lazy summer afternoon.
But I am not a celebrity. I am a middle school teacher, and my budget is such that I can either join Club Gourmet or pay my rent.
For the past three weeks, I have successfully gotten to work having packed my own little insulated bag. (Accessorizing with a cooler has become so trendy that even KFC is giving away promotional bags.) My bag is the unfashionable orange of a prison jumpsuit and packed with: A nonfat yogurt, a 6-ounce container of berries, an apple, 28 raw almonds, a turkey sandwich on whole wheat, an 18-ounce container of raw veggies, and two mini Babybel cheeses.
My meals are on a one-day rotation, made with produce that was probably grown very far away with the help of lots of pesticides. I shop at a grocery store, and package my meals in plastic.
Yes, I’ve heard that plastic can seep into food and simulate estrogen and cause cancer, and that I should really be using wax paper. Yes, I know that I’m filling whole landfills all by myself.
Earlier this year, a colleague felt the need to warn me of the evils of corn syrup. “Yes, I know all about corn,” I said. “I’ve read ‘The Omnivore’s Dilemma.’”
Last month, I was having breakfast at a friend’s house. She said, “This turkey bacon is so good. It’s nitrate-free.”
When her second grader asked for a second serving, my friend told him that turkey bacon is high in sodium and that a person needs to be wary of sodium, and that if he was still hungry, he should have a piece of fruit.
It used to be enough to just count calories. I’m good at that. A TV game show host could holler, “Mariel, come on down! You’re the next contestant on ‘The Calorie Is Right!’” and I would win the showcase.
A couple of weeks ago, “20/20” did a story on the eating disorder orthorexia. While an anorexic has an extreme fear of becoming overweight, an othorexic has an extreme fear of developing an illness based on his or her food choices.
For example, the idea that plastic may be able to seep into food and cause cancer causes the orthorexic to stop buying anything packaged in plastic.
But it doesn’t stop there. The orthorexic’s obsession snowballs. Soon, all he can think about is what he can eat, and with more and more research, the list gets smaller and smaller. The orthorexic doesn’t eat enough to sustain his weight. Unlike the anorexic, the orthorexic knows he’s thin. But there’s nothing he can do about it.
Recently, I thought I’d stop off at the new Whole Foods on Lincoln and Rose to pick up dinner, but “stopping off” is not a possibility at this store. The new Whole Foods is an event.
There is traffic control. The parking lot is so crowded, the store could justify valet service.
Meanwhile, in an effort to compete with Whole Foods, my grocery store is being remodeled.
Signs at the entrance apologize for any inconvenience.
All I want is to be able to meander up and down the aisles, read labels, and hum along to easy listening from the early ‘90s. For a few minutes, the outside world disappears. I am in control.
Originally published in the Santa Monica Daily Press print edition on September 19, 2008. Read the original PDF.