Roanoke Times
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: THURSDAY, September 16, 1993 TAG: 9309160026
SECTION: EXTRA PAGE: 1 EDITION: METRO
SOURCE: Beth Macy
DATELINE: LENGTH: Long
I was at the reception for writer Clyde Edgerton at the Patrick Henry Hotel last week, when suddenly I noticed that all the other ladies were delicately placing their chocolate petit fours on china saucers, waiting a respectful number of seconds, then elevating them to their lips for consumption, one tiny bit at a time.
Whereas I was skipping the plate routine altogether and swiftly shoveling the little brown squares from the tray to my wide-open mouth. I think I could've started a riot, had someone dared to step between me and that delicious tray.
What I'm trying to say here is, pregnant women should never leave the house hungry.
Especially if they're about four months along - that frustrating stage when you paunch out just enough to look like you've been eating too much reception food, but not enough to really look pregnant.
Of course I was standing next to the requisite gorgeous skinny people when I finally noticed my predicament. And of course they were eating fruit - sliver-thin slices of honeydew, no less - while discussing the perils of too much sugar in the daily diet.
And of course I'd be lying to you if I didn't mention that I have always been a voracious eater. That in fact, there is such a thing as "Macy portions" in my extended family, wherein all the in-laws will gasp in unison at the amount of food we can pile onto our plates, the speed at which we shovel it in, and the sheer tenacity a Macy can bring to the supper table - if he or she believes a nonblood relative may be about to reach for that last helping of mashed potatoes before we can get to it.
As the late food writer M.F.K Fisher once wrote: "Such avidity is revolting."
And I agree with her, intellectually. Especially now.
I've been reading the books on pregnancy health my friends and relatives have sent (nine at last count, including two copies of "What to Expect When You're Expecting"). I know it's more important now than ever to get in those minimum daily requirements of calcium and protein.
I know the four food groups aren't really starch, sugar, sausage gravy and biscuits.
So why is it that suddenly I'll go six miles out of my way to drive through a Taco Bell? I hadn't even stepped into one since college, where it was affectionately referred to as "Taco Hell," and it stayed open all night to cash in on the after-hours barflies, and you could learn a whole lot about the human condition just by standing in line for your three burritos - but you had to be on guard to make sure no one threw up on you.
And why is it that mashed potatoes are on my mind constantly now, even in my dreams?
It was one of those weird dream conversations where everything makes perfect sense, and my husband and I were having this perfectly rational conversation about what to name our baby. And unlike in real life, where we can't agree on a name, in the dream it came to us both simultaneously, and it sounded just exactly right:
Tater.
This recent surge of hunger reminds me of young hunger, back when you could grow 3 inches in a summer, eat seconds at every meal, polish off two bowls of ice cream before bedtime and still not look the slightest bit pudgy.
I used to love it when my mom would let me go to the store with her. I loved looking at all that food. But I hated it when she'd make me march back to the freezer section - defeated - because, no, we didn't really need that 24-pack of ice-cream drumsticks. And besides, they were too expensive.
I can remember when I was about 7, and I didn't have a very firm grasp of anatomy. I told mom that my "breasts" were hurting, and pointed to a spot in the middle of my back so she could take a look.
She didn't even laugh as she examined the breasts in question - my backbones - and told me it was probably just "growing pains." Her remedy: to drink another glass of whole milk.
I've come to believe now that pregnancy hunger really is just another version of growing pains. And I can polish off a gallon of milk (1 percent) in three days.
The unfortunate part, though, is I'm too tired after working all day to cook the kind of healthy, more complicated meals my body really needs. Besides, all I really want is mashed potatoes.
The other night before the Edgerton reading, my husband and I split a can of Campbell's Chunky Soup for supper. When I got home afterward, I found him starving - and in the middle of assembling a plate of nachos, with refried beans and melted cheese.
After all the petit fours and scones, I couldn't eat another bite, I told him as I walked in the door.
"Good," he said.
We turned on the TV and plopped on the couch. And then we fought over every last chip - right down to whose nachos had the most cheese.
Luckily, I had the old calcium argument in my corner as I explained to him that Tater needs all the dairy products he/she can get.
Beth Macy, a features department staff writer, was spotted at Olde Salem Days last Saturday eating a Philly cheese steak - just moments after consuming a sausage gravy and biscuits breakfast at the Bee Bum Cafe. Her column runs Thursdays.
by CNB