Touching Me, Touching You
I have a habit of eating with my hands. Whether that’s seen as acceptable or not depends on my dining companions, most of whom don’t usually seem to mind. I hope. Of course, I don’t attack a whole steak with my bare hands, although sometimes I get the urge to do just that. But should that steak be served nicely sliced, my hand instinctively reaches in, far quicker than I am able to deliberate if others would mind or not. It is eager to feel the warmth, texture and bounce of medium rare red meat. Then the best part comes — ferrying it straight into my mouth. Hand to mouth just feels…right.
When I use my hands, I feel like I can really pay attention to what I’m eating. It’s weight, it’s temperature… everything. Aside from practicality, its just more fun to eat like this. Just think about it. Getting absorbed in the trance of scraping the precious meat out of crab legs with your fingers and tearing your warm mantou apart, dunking it into gravy and licking your hands clean, before starting all over again. Slicing into a cold Sara Lee pound cake and lifting out a golden piece from the flimsy container with your fingers, shoving it hastily into your mouth before anyone notices how big a piece you’ve cut. Carefully navigating the tip of a slice of pizza into your mouth as the melty cheese threatens to throw itself overboard. Ripping a warm pita in half and swiping at luscious baba ganoush and hummus, and also, that slightly awkward process of eating a drumstick, turning it every which way to get all the meat out. I don’t see why you can’t do just that in every fancy restaurant, I mean, are you really going to let that roast chicken sit there unfinished because there your knife couldn’t get into the nooks? Or leave the best, caramelised fatty bits on the lamb bone just because you were afraid others might judge you for sucking on it? If anyone at your table does, I say they suck. Maybe you shouldn’t even be eating with them. (Unless they’re your parents. Please eat with your parents.)
Perhaps that’s why I enjoy barbecues, pizza parties, burger nights, popcorn at the movies, tacos and burritos so much. I think it makes us feel young again.
The next time you people-watch, I hope you see a middle-aged man eating a McDonald’s ice cream cone (I don’t know why but I see these men a lot). Just watch him (in a non-creepy way) as he connects with the confection in hand. Observe how he looks at it, eats it, holds it and pays it attention. Watch him relax, enjoy his dessert, and smile. They usually do.
