Once upon a time, humans ate very simply. Not only were choices few and variety small, but our relationship with food was simple, too. We ate primarily from physiological cues (hunger, the desire for comfort and sensual pleasure) and as social activity. Many cultures held certain foods as sacred, and there was a good deal of reverence and ritual around consumption of these items. In general, food (agriculture, hunting, cooking, consuming) was deeply integrated into all cultures: a part of life, if not life itself.

But things have changed. In our modern world, there is much alienation, not only from the sources and preparation of real food, but also from our bodies, our physiological selves. Many of us no longer know how to shop for food or prepare it ourselves, and our "food literacy" is borderline. Through no fault of our own, but due to the great complexities of Modern Life, we now filter the Feeding Experience through a maze of psychological, cerebral, and social processes, that leave us thinking of food as a separate, foregin substance. Then we ascribe personality traits to it. We often see it as an adversary. As in:

Does the food have little evil little secrets?
Food has designs upon us... Is this food good or bad?
Will it exercise powers of revenge?
Is food mischievous? Is it kind?
Can it console me?
Can it bless me?
How we talk about food says a lot about how we relate to it. "Coffee makes me jittery." "I can feel this crème brûlée going straight to my thighs." "Cucumbers don't agree with me." It's as if the food were a being with a mind of its own, maybe even a whole karmic agenda. The refrigerator is a Pandora's icebox filled with edible demons, each with its own inscrutable designs on us.

I have a friend who can't sleep if she knows there's a piece of chocolate anywhere in the house. She can sense its presence. It's dangerous. It has to be dealt with. She'll jump out of bed, race to the kitchen and wolf the thing down before it does something truly awful to her. (I'm scared to ask what.)

Just think about this simple phrase we can scarcely go a day without using: "This is fattening." Is it really? Does it actually set out to fatten us with deliberate intent? Of course not. It's the eater who makes the choices, has the second helping, or spends a day fasting. The food is not to blame.

And yet, we hold food accountable for our happiness and our sadness. We imbue it with magical powers–to comfort and to heal, to wound and poison, to grant eternal life.

Sound familiar? Our attitude toward food reminds me of a kind of ancient idol worship with a rich mythology all its own. We worship at the temple of smoothies and fresh organic produce. We purify ourselves through sacrifice and deprivation. And then, we abandon ourselves to bacchanalian orgies of indulgence, only to repent and start the process of purgation all over again.

Ours is the cult of chocolate chip cookies washed down with non-fat milk. Or Devil's food cake (the infernal allusion is, of course, no accident) with a diet soda to even the score. Did you know that 52% of us check the fat content on food labels, but only 1% make sure the serving size is what we actually eat? We buy fat-free cookies and then polish off 2,000 calories-worth. But hey. They're fat-free. Their power to plump has been magically annulled!

Personally, I think there's a little trouble in paradise. As long as eating remains an out of body experience, an encounter with an opponent of questionable motive and intent, we're bound to feel conflicted about it.

What to do? Well, I think one small step toward regaining our balance when it comes to eating and thinking about food is simply to listen to ourselves talk about it. We'll quickly discover that what comes out of our mouth has everything to do with what goes in–and that sometimes the best way to get a little perspective on life's everyday food phobias and fixations is simply to admit they're there. Of course, demons, edible or otherwise, can't just be willed away with a turn of phrase. But it's a start.

But even more important, we need to learn about food–to become more literate about what real food is, where it comes from, how to shop for it and prepare it lovingly and beautifully. We need to re-learn how to trust good, wholesome food, and to restore some sacredness and pleasure to the experience. With this knowledge will come trust. And most of all, we need permission to love food–and to love to eat.

Healthy eating isn't just about grains and fiber. It's about what the Romans called mens sana in corpore sano, a healthy mind in a healthy body. In other words, it's about mindfulness–about being conscious of the choices we make and the balance of power between eater and "eatee." In future columns I will begin a series of pep-talks and practical advice about how to better feed yourselves and your loved ones, and how to enjoy every aspect of it more. So come back for more helpings! I'll be here to help

Until then, as Gertrude Stein would say, "Go easy, and if you can't go easy, go as easy as you can."

Yours in Health and Pleasure,
Mollie