Until recently, my nutrition business name was “Ideal Feast.” I chose this name both for the chomping assonance (“ea ea”) and the personal significance, but eventually the time came for change. As I’ve posted previously, I began to see that the concept of “ideal” meals (ea ea) was too resonant of the dangerous idea that perfection is possible or even desirable. Try to achieve exactly what you want and you will end up empty-handed and dissatisfied. Embrace the good rather than struggling for perfect and happiness can result.

But why did Ideal Feast ever speak to me?

For years, as I struggled with my own relationship to food and body, I would create list upon list of “ideal meals,” or even more sweeping, “ideal days,” in which I planned out exactly what I would eat on a perfect day, could I wave a magic wand and make it appear without lust or confusion. Whenever life got overwhelming, I would retreat to a comforting list of whole grains and vegetables. I don’t think this exercise is entirely negative, but visualizing ideal meals is certainly complicated. It buys into the diet culture assumption that food is only fuel, that we can “decide” what to eat without our body (or taste buds) having a say. It carries quite a bit of implied privilege. Worst of all, it is founded on the dangerous idea that certain foods are “good” and other foods are “bad.” (In reality, all foods have a place in a balanced diet! It is the overall pattern that affects our health). A great practice for nutrition school homework, perhaps, but one in which dissatisfaction always lurks in the comparison between what is real and ideal, and the expectation that anyone could or should ever eat that way.

And so to balance myself out, and give the rebel an outlet, I luxuriated in the retreat of listing “ideal feasts.” For me, a “feast” rather than a “meal” was something like a graceful binge: a day of eating everything I really wanted, as much as I wanted (Thanksgiving-style), with pleasure in every bite. Although I never prepared an Ideal Feast (or an Ideal Meal, for that matter), it provided a fantastic vision of what satisfaction could be.

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The first Ideal Feast I ever created was for an elementary school art project. Our family’s diet was disappointingly simple to me, so I jettisoned myself into the realm of magical desire through painting by depicting a table heaping with all my favorite foods: cake, pie, mashed potatoes, ravioli, macaroni (I glued on macaroni shells for emphasis). My visionary use of edible mixed media even won me the blue ribbon at the school art completion.

I kept up my dreaming throughout high school and college, and culminated my efforts in a household-wide food desire survey when I was in my twenties. At the time, I was living in an urban intentional community. My housemates and I pooled our minimum wage incomes and shared a meager budget for living expenses, which resulted in lots of rice, beans, onions, and food out of dumpsters. We met our fiber needs, but the complete lack of pizza, white sugar, or wine and cheese parties left us all fantasizing about tasty luxury foods. So when I went from person to person at Bob The House asking, “what is your ideal feast?” the reception was awe-inspiring.

I still keep these lists on my computer as much for a personality study as a record of foods. One man’s list typifies the chaotic hunger I would expect from someone living in the dark basement of a bean-filled Victorian. Another woman’s ideas center on a definite need for more double chocolate lava sex in her life. My youngest housemate asked for at least three soups, understandable for someone living in a building kept at 55 energy-saving degrees year round. There was trauma, there was romantic heroism, there was one fermentation-loving dude who just wanted to fuel up, have a good poop, and get back on his bicycle. I’d say my future husband Ross’s feast was the most “normal”: a delicious meal of lasagna, salad, bread, apps and dessert with nothing restricted, nothing excessive, one comfortable plate. He grew up in a middle-class home filled with candy, so no surprise there.

And my Ideal Feast? Oh sweet little Anita. I was on my last dying gasps of veganism at the time, trying to convince myself that enough cashews and tofu could remove my cravings for dairy. And yes, the meal I created still sounds wonderful to me today, but screw that Sour Supreme crap. Today I’d switch it for real sour cream and add some golden butter to my mashed potatoes, because that’s what feels satisfying. (I’d keep the cashew cheese, not to replace cheese but as one of my all-time favorite dips!) But the meal was a little all over the place, and might have certainly resulted in an uncomfortable tummy. Most of all, the list tells me how much desire I held for food, and how hard I was trying to hold it back.

• Mashed potatoes with roasted garlic
• Freshly made cranberry sauce
• Vegan Tofu Cheese Imperial
• Vegan Broccoli Casserole
• Blackened tempeh and spinach with peanut sauce
• Cashew “cheese” dip
• Enchiladas with refried black beans, roasted portabellas, chipotle, Sour Supreme
• Salad with grapefruit, pomegranate, daikon, ginger pomegranate dressing, toasted hazelnuts
• Guacamole and tortilla chips

Recently, I sat down and wrote out an “Ideal Feast Day,” trying to think about the exercise differently than I had in the past. Instead of trying to imagine a meal that would satisfy every nutritional checkbox or serve as a one-time panacea to all the want in my life, I just tried to imagine what my body and mind were craving on that exact day. (I often recommend this exercise to my clients as a way to draw out body signals). I was feeling pretty luxurious anticipating a trip to Vermont after days of cleaning out the fridge bits (mostly zucchini), and my day reflects that. I was also, I think, feeling some geographic nostalgia anticipating a return to the coast of my birth. In many ways I think this list is more of an “Intuitive” Feast day than anything I wrote previously, with the caveat that in real life, we never have a food fairy-godmother ready at hand to materialize exactly what we want. Ideal can be a starting point. After the plan is made and the plate is filled, we must remain open to the idea that we’ve prepared too much, or too little, or not enough coffee. Flexibility in the moment is the hallmark of a more Intuitive path.

But here’s my Ideal Day. It speaks volumes about me and food: my desire for food as pleasurable luxury that also feels nourishing, though sometimes light enough to allow movement. My body’s very real craving for colorful vegetables and fruits in times of dietary stagnation. My penchant for Southern, Northwest, maple, citrus, smoke, wine, cheese, and berry flavors. My history and memories, the origin of everything I crave. In case it matters, this was a Thursday.

Breakfast:

• Blueberry-huckleberry-black raspberry muffin with crumble top and butter
• Homemade veggie soysage links with maple syrup
• Fresh grapefruit slices, golden milk chai, meyer lemon mineral water

Lunch:

• Giant local wild mixed greens salad with mustardy poppy seed dressing + slivered toasted pecans, dried cranberries, red onion, toasted chickpeas, avocado
• Pimento cheese grilled quesadilla
• Mixed heritage breed apple slices
• White wine (something peachy with a hint of sparkle)
• Mini chocolate lava cake bite with coconut whip and strawberries

Snack:

• Crackers with smoked salmon dip and guacamole

Dinner:

• Fresh herbs and pea soup with lemon
• Light lemony parmesan salad
• Roasted purple potatoes with garlic and black olive tapenade and pesto
• Wild mushroom soufflé
• Red wine (perhaps a pinot)
• Hot buttered rum cake with rum raisin ice cream and black coffee

I love food. I love eating food; I love thinking about food. Sometimes I love it too much, at the expense of my own personal growth and distress tolerance. Sometimes I love it just the right amount, and it loves me back with a reward of satiety and pleasure. Over the years, I’ve even come to accept that expanding to the higher end of my weight range allows me to be a happier, foodie-er person. I would go so far as to say I think it can feel happier for many people.

But right now, at this moment, what is my Ideal Feast? It is 10:30 in the morning. The list above seems like a rich and overwhelming amount of food. I went on that Vermont trip, and fully indulged my cravings for maple creamees and local cheese. I had a mostly satisfying, but imperfect breakfast (pumpkin muffin with butter, brown rice with nuts and nutritional yeast, black tea, a vitamin C packet). My body would have enjoyed a little more protein, but grocery shopping time is nigh and sadly the eggs and yogurt are out. I would have liked a Vermont apple, but I left those behind in Vermont.

So at this exact moment? Eh, I’m not actually hungry. Breakfast was just over an hour ago. My belly feels warm and full. I know lunch is going to be rice and beans and pumpkin soup and some extra butter, because that’s what’s in the fridge. I know that when I do go to the store, I have the right to buy whatever I want.  At this very moment, I don’t think I need to think about my Ideal Feast at all. I think I can go for a walk.