During my childhood, I didn’t have much. We were probably in poverty, although as a kid, I didn’t even notice. I was happy running barefoot in the woods with my barbies and cabbage patch dolls.
My dad, who I think it one of the most creative men I know who can fix or build anything, killed wild game for our meals. Squirrel, rabbit, and deer were a common protein along with eggs and chicken from our yard. I have fond memories of snapping green beans and holding cucumbers and tomatoes in my shirt as a picked them in the garden. McDonalds was a special treat and my parents always had a hot, homemade meal on the dinner table.
So we did not waste food in our home. We didn’t have much and you appreciated what you have by eating what you received at the table. You cleaned your plate out of respect or you may end up falling asleep at the table not eating your peas.
So I took that thought with me as an adult. I cannot waste food and I have to clean my plate…no matter what. If you go out and have leftovers, you take it home and eat it. Being a parent, I think I have to clean the kids’ plates when they are done eating instead of scrapping the plates in the trash can before I put it in the dishwasher.
Megan Webb told me something that has always stuck with me. You have a choice. You can waste it in the trash or waste it in your body. Now that’s a literal food for thought.
Even after 2 years, I struggle with this. Yesterday, I feel that I had a breakthrough. I went to KC and tried Tapas. Small, shared portions of different high-quality, locally grown ingredient dishes. 2 years ago, I would have hated it. Give me abundance and a buffet with no taste and processed foods. Tapas was heaven to me. It was like every bite was full of what food is supposed to be. I didn’t overindulge and when I was full, I was done and boy, was i satisfied. didn’t feel like I had to finish it. Same thing happened today.
I may not eat squirrel and I am blessed to be able to eat actual steak and try fancy restaurants every once awhile – I still love my parents’ cooking. Oh man, can my dad grill and can my mom fry up a pan of fried chicken. But I don’t have to finish my plate. That’s ok. Really, it is.
Tuna Avocado Mini Tacos
(all tapas shared with my hubby)