The Worst and Greatest Break-Up of my Life (and the importance of time)

Bamboo sushi Lady: Bamboo sushi how may I help you?

Me: Hi can I place a to-go order?

Lady: Yes. Hold on just a second.

Me: (in my head) One-one thousand, two-one thousand, three one-thousand…that liar…four one-thous…

Lady: Alright, what would you like?

Me: May I please have the 1/2 pound Snake River Farms Wagyu Burger with the Cartlon Farms bacon, Togarashi Fried shallot rings, caramelized onion rings, avocado and special sauce.”

Lady: Yes how would you like your burger cooked?

Me: Medium rare please. Oh and add a fried egg please

Lady: Anything else?

Me: Is there anything else I can add to that?

Lady: No, that’s all we’ve got

Me: Ok fair enough. I’ll add a side of tempura then too please

15 minutes later, I grabbed my burger from Bamboo sushi, headed next door to Salt N Straw, cut the insanely long line, and reached in the “to-go” freezer for a pint of Cinnamon Snickerdoodle ice cream. If this was going to be our last encounter with each other,  then it damn well was going to a memorable one.

Break-ups are never fun. They are particularly painstaking when you still have feelings for the other one. And that’s how it was for me this time around. It was unexpected and rash, and at the time incomprehensible.

“I know it’s heartbreaking now, but it’ll be way better for you in the long run.” My doctor spewed out the generic, intended-to-be comforting line. Easy said coming from the one who facilitated the break-up in the first place.  This wasn’t your typical person-to-person break-up. It was more complicated than that.

On this fateful day, I was paying the doctor a visit for some digestive issues. We were shooting the breeze, when all of a sudden, her tone changed. The kind of shift where you know something drastic is about to happen.

And this was when she encouraged me to break up with food.

She suggested I follow a special regimen which involved drinking nothing but a product called Vivonex for every single one of my meals. The basic gist is that I have some unwanted bacteria swarming around in my small intestine.  Every time I eat, I’m feeding the evil bacteria. The Vivonex drink gets absorbed within the first few feet of the small intestine. So I’m essentially starving the bad guys, causing them to suffer a slow and painful death.

At first, I scoffed at the notion of leaving behind my beloved food. Ever since childhood, I’ve been spoiled with scrumptious home-cooked meals. My extended family uses any birthday, holiday, or free weekend, as an excuse to get together and enjoy each other’s company over delectable food. Furthermore, growing up in Portland, I’m naturally a lover of all things natural, organic, and farm-fresh, and love trying all the incredible restaurants in town. Yet, here I was being asked to give up the one thing, that without fail, always bring me joy.

After further convincing, I decided I’d give it a shot, under one condition.  Up to this point, I’d been eating essentially a Paleo diet. I asked the doctor if I would be able to eat whatever I wanted for my last supper.

“I sure hope so!” she replied.

Immediately, I knew my last meal was going to consist of a juicy Bamboo burger and Salt-N-Straw ice cream.

My doctor warned me that the Vivonex doesn’t taste good and that some people simply can’t handle it. I’m not sure if the doctor was intentionally utilizing reverse psychology on me, but it worked. Any time someone infers a situation is going to be tough, my mind automatically warps the statement into a competition. I didn’t care what this stuff tasted like. Challenge accepted.

Before I left the clinic, I was given a sample drink to make sure I could stomach the taste. Without hesitating, I ripped open the seal and took a swig. Immediately, my nostrils instinctually flared out as if to warn me I had just been poisoned. Am I being euthanized?  I looked at the container and saw that the product was unflavored. The only thing more deceivingly labeled are “fun-size” candy bars.

This was by far the most flavored unflavored thing I’ve ever experienced. “Morning breath saturated in expired chicken broth” would have been more accurate.

I’m one of those people who love observing people in pain. Not serious-torn-ligaments type pain, but the harmless kind such as witnessing someone trip and fall (uninjured), or unexpectedly get hit in the face with a soccer ball. So naturally, I made everyone I know try a sip of the stuff just to see the expression on their face. I graciously warned them that the stuff tastes bad, knowing full well that no warning would prepare them for the flavor punch they were about to experience.  And without fail, it was always worse than they anticipated. Each person struggled to come up with words to describe the poignant, stifling taste that hit their mouths. A few were able to provide remarkably accurate descriptions: Cat nibble soaked in vinegar. Cashews, mucus, sour milk. Condensed expired chicken broth. Barfed up dog food.

During those two weeks, my connection with food was extraordinarily different than our previous love affair. I was forced to cut all ties. Cold turkey. But without the turkey. There were no more passionate emotions, no more consoling, no more late night talk.  Sleep became my favorite part of the day because it was the only time I was able to let loose and dream of our deep and distant past.

Those were some difficult times, as anyone who has been through a serious break up can attest.  But, I took away a vital piece of insight that has helped me throughout my days; I have a deeper connection with food than I’ve ever realized, that is quite literally like a romantic relationship.

I devote hours and hours of time to eating. Food serves more than just a necessity for survival.  It’s a universal experience that unites us. It’s deeply rooted in our culture, and a source we use to share the incredible sensations provided by our taste buds. From grocery shopping, deciding what to have for each meal, prepping food, driving to meet up with friends for a coffee, snacking, going out to dinner, cleaning the dishes, to messing up a recipe and ordering take-out instead.

Those two weeks I had more time than ever before. I didn’t have to decide if I wanted to whip up some salmon with a side of  roasted Brussels sprouts, or opt for a visit to my favorite cafe, Harlow.  I didn’t have to cook, clean, or go to the grocery store.  I didn’t even have to refrigerate the stuff. Whether I liked it or not, I was stuck with my morning breath, dog puke, concoction.

And this got me thinking about the historical excuse “I don’t have time.” I’ve been a culprit of using this phrase in the past. But this Vivonex diet has further shown me it’s a straight up lie. Time is one of the few things that never discriminates. It doesn’t matter if you’re black, white, rich, poor, female, male, toothless, fat etc. Unless you’re held in captivity, no one is making you do anything.  Michael Jordan and Steve Jobs had the same amount of time as you and I. They each had their own struggles, but never used lack of time as a reason for inaction. They found the time to take focused, diligent action towards their goals every day

By no means am I suggesting anyone go on a Vivonex diet to free up hours in the day. Far from it. I wouldn’t wish that nutrition plan on my worst enemy. People should spend their time however they want. I personally love my relationship with food. In fact there’s few things in life that get me more jazzed than a perfectly seared ahi tuna or crispy baked sweet potato fries. So I’m perfectly fine spending a significant amount of time on my meals.

How we spend our time is a reflection of our priorities. We all have the same 24 hours in a day and it’s our choice how we spend it.

Sometimes it takes a break up to be reminded of our priorities. For me, high quality grub is most definitely still at the top of the list. Now, if you’ll excuse me, my supremely grilled fat, juicy medium-rare burger is getting cold.