Pas De Food

When I was 8, my ballet teacher, Monsieur Pierre, would walk down the line of little leotards and pointed toes and whoosh his cane down the back of anyone whose butt was sticking out. He never connected with actual juvenile flesh, but the point (the pointe?) was made. In spite of Monsieur, I love and revere ballet above all other art forms to this day.

In ballet, I learned my driving principle: “If it doesn’t hurt, then you’re not doing it right.” When I became older and finally convinced of my fundamental gracelessness, I turned first to weightlifting, then to kung fu, then back to weightlifting. No other disciplines offered the same neurotic fascination with perfection as ballet, the same extremity of aesthetic, the exaltation of endurance.

Somewhere along the way, I became equally obsessed with food. Nutrition first, sad to say, then taste. I’d like to think I’ve found a balance between the two. You can argue if you want to, I might even listen.

Today I ran across the following quote, by Julia Child: “Non-cooks think it’s silly to invest two hours’ work in two minutes’ enjoyment, but if cooking is evanescent, well, so is the ballet.” (‘Culinary Artistry’, Dornenburg & Page, 1996)

This proves two things. One, I was right in the first place and two, Julia Child rocked. Q.E.D.