I remember the first time I heard about the new raw food fad, a diet claims that it is healthier to eat uncooked food. One of my friends told me she had met raw food followers who had explained the whole philosophy to her, and she was enraptured. It sounded a little like a new religion. My friend sent me a lot of email forwards that explained the health benefits (I’ve forgotten most of them), but her most compelling words were that she just felt so much better after eating raw.
I’ve tried it a handful of times. One friend gave my husband and me a gift certificate to a raw food restaurant that was well acclaimed. It seemed like a pretty cool gift. We used it, and I felt strangely ill afterwards. I kept waiting to feel so much better, as had been described to me, but I mostly just felt mild indigestion. There was still money left on the gift certificate after the first meal, though, so we returned to the restaurant for another try. (It’s hard to be a cheapskate.) I got indigestion again.
And I’ve been to other raw restaurants, always with the same result. But this isn’t my only complaint.
I look at the menu, and it’s rather overwhelming at first. I’m a vegetarian, so typically there are two or three options for me to choose from on a menu, even in California, but at a raw food restaurant, every entrée is an option. Waves of anticipation run through me as I contemplate the possibilities. The menu advertises Reuben sandwiches! I haven’t eaten one of those since I became a vegetarian five years ago! How exciting. Or should I get the teriyaki chicken? That used to be one of my favorites. Or the pad thai! That’s always yummy. I settle on the Reuben sandwich, excitement building while I wait for its arrival, and when it comes, it’s some strange lettuce combination that looks nothing like a Reuben sandwich….with almond paste. There’s always some derivation of almond puree in any raw food order. And, worse, it’s…cold!
My husband always out-orders me at these raw food restaurants, a reality that bothers me because, as the vegetarian, you’d think I’d have the upper hand. I order something, and it’s a cold mess of lettuce and almond puree, but he orders something, and it’s a cold mess of lettuce and almond puree that looks slightly more appetizing (and, for the record, never causes him indigestion).
Despite the indigestion, I’ve always tolerated raw food in the past, but this last visit has convinced me to fight vehemently if ever dragged to another such restaurant again. The meal seemed relatively edible. I almost enjoyed the cold almond mush and hoped no indigestion would follow. The experience went downhill after that.
The first indication of trouble was our waitress. Why is it that people who work at these restaurants are always a bit spacey? And why don’t they ever brush their hair? She was very nice, and relatively normal until the end of the meal, when she visited us and, instead of just taking our plates, asked us, “What do you believe is true about life?” She then looked at us with her head cocked to one side with a kind of spaced out look in her eyes. Several seconds passed before we ascertained that she did still have a pulse and was just waiting for an answer.
“Huh?” one of us uttered.
“I ask everyone that,” she responded. “For instance, I believe that one truth about life is to hold on to what you love. What do you believe?”
And then she waited there, head cocked, spaced out look, unkempt hair, while each of us stammered a truth about life. I like deep conversations. Philosophy is kind of fun. Sometimes I even seek those kinds of conversations out. But, at that moment, I kind of just wanted her to bring the check.
During the strange interview, one of my friends made a joke, and the waitress smiled and reached out with her hand to grip my friend’s forehead, leaving it there for several seconds longer than is socially acceptable. (That is, if putting your hand on a stranger’s forehead is ever socially acceptable.) It all just makes me conclude that we should cook our food.
That night, I had a series of nightmares, and I rarely have scary nightmares, as I’m not five-years-old. I woke up very thirsty, very traumatized by the monsters that had haunted my dreams, and very angry at raw food establishments everywhere. That sealed the deal. The repeated indigestion I could forgive. But the monsters? I just don’t think raw food makes me feel good.
During her extended inquisition, the waitress also asked us what we were thankful for. Microwaves. I’m thankful for microwaves.
Now all mention of raw food fills me with unnatural hostility. Why can’t we just cook the food? I like my Trader Joe’s meals that I throw in the microwave. I love my oven. I like being a member of the 21st century. I don’t want to live in a hunter-gatherer society. I think the cave man’s discovery of fire was good, to be embraced and loved, not shunned. And I like sugar in my food, not the agave nectar that flavored all of the raw food desserts. And I don’t like eating almond puree in five different forms. And why is raw food always so expensive? You’re not paying for an oven. All you’re using is a blender, and you’re only feeding us nuts and berries that you found in your backyard.
I think a lot of the problem stems from my being vegetarian. People think that because I’m a little to the left, food-wise, I must be completely liberal in all of my food beliefs, and so they want to give me raw food. Maybe I’m moderate, though. Maybe, sometimes, I just want to eat red state food.
I’ve tried it a handful of times. One friend gave my husband and me a gift certificate to a raw food restaurant that was well acclaimed. It seemed like a pretty cool gift. We used it, and I felt strangely ill afterwards. I kept waiting to feel so much better, as had been described to me, but I mostly just felt mild indigestion. There was still money left on the gift certificate after the first meal, though, so we returned to the restaurant for another try. (It’s hard to be a cheapskate.) I got indigestion again.
And I’ve been to other raw restaurants, always with the same result. But this isn’t my only complaint.
I look at the menu, and it’s rather overwhelming at first. I’m a vegetarian, so typically there are two or three options for me to choose from on a menu, even in California, but at a raw food restaurant, every entrée is an option. Waves of anticipation run through me as I contemplate the possibilities. The menu advertises Reuben sandwiches! I haven’t eaten one of those since I became a vegetarian five years ago! How exciting. Or should I get the teriyaki chicken? That used to be one of my favorites. Or the pad thai! That’s always yummy. I settle on the Reuben sandwich, excitement building while I wait for its arrival, and when it comes, it’s some strange lettuce combination that looks nothing like a Reuben sandwich….with almond paste. There’s always some derivation of almond puree in any raw food order. And, worse, it’s…cold!
My husband always out-orders me at these raw food restaurants, a reality that bothers me because, as the vegetarian, you’d think I’d have the upper hand. I order something, and it’s a cold mess of lettuce and almond puree, but he orders something, and it’s a cold mess of lettuce and almond puree that looks slightly more appetizing (and, for the record, never causes him indigestion).
Despite the indigestion, I’ve always tolerated raw food in the past, but this last visit has convinced me to fight vehemently if ever dragged to another such restaurant again. The meal seemed relatively edible. I almost enjoyed the cold almond mush and hoped no indigestion would follow. The experience went downhill after that.
The first indication of trouble was our waitress. Why is it that people who work at these restaurants are always a bit spacey? And why don’t they ever brush their hair? She was very nice, and relatively normal until the end of the meal, when she visited us and, instead of just taking our plates, asked us, “What do you believe is true about life?” She then looked at us with her head cocked to one side with a kind of spaced out look in her eyes. Several seconds passed before we ascertained that she did still have a pulse and was just waiting for an answer.
“Huh?” one of us uttered.
“I ask everyone that,” she responded. “For instance, I believe that one truth about life is to hold on to what you love. What do you believe?”
And then she waited there, head cocked, spaced out look, unkempt hair, while each of us stammered a truth about life. I like deep conversations. Philosophy is kind of fun. Sometimes I even seek those kinds of conversations out. But, at that moment, I kind of just wanted her to bring the check.
During the strange interview, one of my friends made a joke, and the waitress smiled and reached out with her hand to grip my friend’s forehead, leaving it there for several seconds longer than is socially acceptable. (That is, if putting your hand on a stranger’s forehead is ever socially acceptable.) It all just makes me conclude that we should cook our food.
That night, I had a series of nightmares, and I rarely have scary nightmares, as I’m not five-years-old. I woke up very thirsty, very traumatized by the monsters that had haunted my dreams, and very angry at raw food establishments everywhere. That sealed the deal. The repeated indigestion I could forgive. But the monsters? I just don’t think raw food makes me feel good.
During her extended inquisition, the waitress also asked us what we were thankful for. Microwaves. I’m thankful for microwaves.
Now all mention of raw food fills me with unnatural hostility. Why can’t we just cook the food? I like my Trader Joe’s meals that I throw in the microwave. I love my oven. I like being a member of the 21st century. I don’t want to live in a hunter-gatherer society. I think the cave man’s discovery of fire was good, to be embraced and loved, not shunned. And I like sugar in my food, not the agave nectar that flavored all of the raw food desserts. And I don’t like eating almond puree in five different forms. And why is raw food always so expensive? You’re not paying for an oven. All you’re using is a blender, and you’re only feeding us nuts and berries that you found in your backyard.
I think a lot of the problem stems from my being vegetarian. People think that because I’m a little to the left, food-wise, I must be completely liberal in all of my food beliefs, and so they want to give me raw food. Maybe I’m moderate, though. Maybe, sometimes, I just want to eat red state food.
