Musonius Rufus, Lectures 18.4

We have come to such a point of delicacy in eating and gourmanderie that as some people have written books on music and medicine, so some have even written books on cooking which aim to increase the pleasure of the palate, but ruin the health.

 

 It is at all events a common observation that those who are luxurious and intemperate in food have much less vigorous health. Some, in fact, are like women who have the unnatural cravings of pregnancy; these men, like such women, refuse the most common foods and have their digestion utterly ruined. 

 

Thus, as worn-out iron constantly needs tempering, their appetites continually demand being sharpened either by neat wine or a sharp sauce or some sour relish. 

 

Is there some problem with receiving pleasure? Not at all, but, as with all things that should be in themselves indifferent, pleasure is not an absolute good, just as pain is not an absolute evil. The context is what will matter, and that context is all too easily lost. 

 

“What do I enjoy?” can only make sense through first asking another question, “Why do I enjoy it?” 

 

Finding satisfaction in bringing my wife a coffee when she wakes up is very different from finding satisfaction in bringing my neighbor’s wife a coffee when she wakes up. 

 

My better half has recently been working as a chef, and much of our recent pillow talk revolves around food. She knows much more about the “culture” of food than I do, and yet I am surprised at how much we both agree about the degradation of fine dining. 

 

I appreciate her stress on the distinction between a gourmet and gourmand. One eats to love, while the other just loves to eat. The new “foodies” of our age are the hipster gourmands. 

 

I weep with her when a patron demands a Caesar salad, but without any anchovies. 

 

I wring my hands with her when a dry red wine is suggested to go with a certain dish, and the fellow orders a Bud Light. 

 

And then we worry that we are just being terrible snobs. Is it wrong to ask others to think about the meaning of what they eat, or to suggest what might be both tasty and healthy?

 

A good meal should, I think, satisfy the whole person, not just one part of the person. Is the belly too full? You have eaten too much. Are the passions too dulled? You have eaten too greedily. Are you more interested in the seeming more than the being? You should have stayed at home.

 

I once waited almost an hour for a very simple plate of freshly made cheese dumplings, at an old-fashioned restaurant in Salzburg. When it arrived, it seemed like one of the smallest meals I had ever seen. 

 

It was also one of the best meals I had ever eaten. I would gladly trade every meal since then for a chance to eat those cheese dumplings again. 

 

The wife and I will insist that good taste and good nutrition are not really in conflict, just as pleasure and virtue are not really in conflict. 

 

Eat well, and so live well. Live well, and so be happy. 

 

She already had my heart, but it didn’t hurt when she named her three favorite chefs: Julia Child, James Beard, and Jacques Pepin. Old school, and also built around a balance of simplicity and moderation. 

 

People with sick souls do sick things, and their sick bodies are filled with sick things. Observe the supposedly “better” people, and observe how they dine. They eat not to nourish, but to glorify themselves. 

Written in 5/2000