Indulging in what is often thought of as comfort food feels like the antithesis of what I have learned over the past two years on my path recovering from disordered eating.  The thought of comforting myself with food just does not fit anymore, but then it never did fit because I didn’t know that was what I was doing!  If someone had told me, you are eating for emotional reasons, I would have said, no, I’m not.  I eat because I am hungry, I have a big appetite, I love all kinds of food, I love to cook and it tastes good.  I did not know I was eating because something inside of me hurt so bad I grabbed food and it became my band-aid.

So what do I do now?  The band-aid is gone, but sometimes life hurts.  I have learned to comfort myself in many lovely and constructive ways.  Creating something or getting outside to let the world in are my current favorites.

Growing up in a household where eating to live was the motto has many disadvantages.  It also has a big advantage:   I have absolutely no cravings for, desire to recreate or fond memories of the food my mother cooked for us.  I have no desire to broil chicken until it is black and crisp, serve liver and onions ever, pork chops are iffy and I have a love-hate relationship with grapefruit and Lima beans.  There was no mac and cheese, rice pudding, mashed potatoes and gravy, chocolate milk, fluffernutters or chicken soup.  You would think there would be something, but there is not.  I am grateful for this, I do not crave any of the food some define as comfort foods.   My mother set a lovely table every night, we ate together as a family and talked about our day.  What sounds idyllic was not.  For me, mealtime missed the feeling of comfort.  I was uncomfortable eating what my mother prepared because all eyes were on me.  I was the chubby one and it was made clear to me the food on my plate was to nourish my body, not feed my soul.  She never changed her ways, never realized the “weight problem” I developed was in part created at her table.

We all have days when there isn’t enough comfort to be had and on top of everything else, it’s dinner time.  I might choose to go out for dinner.  Out of the house, with lively energy and people around me unwinding from their day, helps.  Other times I wold rather not be around a lot of people, I find comfort in the familiar, the small rituals of setting the table, chopping and sauteing; creating.

My criteria for comfort food is simple:  Fresh, healthy, easily prepared and quick to cook.  Appealing to look at, yummy smelling, baked in the oven, and most of all, leaving me feeling comfortable at the end of the meal.

A Frittata was just the thing last night.  Two small pans went on the burners with a little butter and olive oil in each.  I whisked 4 eggs and 2 egg whites with 1/2 cup of milk and a few snips of chives.  Half of the egg mixture got poured into the pans with the heat on low.  After the egg began to set I added the layers.  This is the fun part because you can really put in anything you want and mine were all leftovers!  I had thin slices of browned red potato, a sprinkling of raw onion, raw grated zucchini, crumbled goat cheese, sauteed mushrooms, a few pieces of crisp crumbled bacon and tomato slices.  After the Frittata had been on the burner for about 6 minutes I poured the remaining egg mixture over the top and popped it in the oven at 350 degrees for about 20 minutes.  One Frittata was ample for my husband and I to share, served with rye toast and fresh strawberries.  An added bonus is the one left, lurking in my refrigerator, an instant meal over the weekend.

Is it taboo to call any food comfort food?  Would thinking of food in any way as comforting be the first step on a slippery slope backwards?  What is your solution when out of sorts and done in when dinner time arrives?