I Went Three Days Without Eating Just for the Pleasure of Eating Again
It was an experience I had to undergo for myself, in the name of science.
Whenever I tell this story to any of my friends, they frown, laugh, and say very seriously: “You? Not eating for three days? That never happened.”
To be fair, I was known in high school for being the only student who preferred a stout beer paired with a plate of shrimp over a night at a club. In University, I was called Nugget because of how many I could devour a week. Last year, two of my friends dared me not to speak about food for a day. I lost when they asked what the book I was reading was about.
Still, it is in the name of my love for food that, a few years ago, I decided to fast for 3 consecutive days.
Let me explain:
My parents have been going through a period of fasting every year for the past 10 years. Generally, at that time, it is recommended to stay out of the house as much as possible: the smell of their disgusting evening broth, the looks they give you if you dare to enjoy biting into a warm apple pie, the mood swings are all good reasons to watch it from as far as possible.
But what fascinated me, was the pleasure they took when eating again.
They would religiously start with a green apple. I would witness them biting into it like it was the most delicious fruit they had ever placed on their palate.
“Interesting…” I thought “Would everything taste 100x more delicious if I forgot what it is to eat and then ate again?”, “Maybe I would even like foods I normally don’t just out of being very hungry?”.
It was an experience I had to undergo for myself, in the name of science. I already knew I would not last seven days so I decided to do a mini fasting:
I would go down for five days, giving up every day a group of food like my parents did. Then for three days eat nothing solid except a clear broth in the evening and a small juice in the morning.
The first day was difficult. I had forgotten about one major challenge: I was working at a burger joint in Geneva. Which usually meant spending the day snacking on fries and thinking about what burger I would prepare for my break.
The temptation of picking a fry from under the warming lamp was huge. Several times, I had to stop myself and throw away the one I had picked out of reflex.
The memory of the salt on my tongue was all I could think about and I was pretty disappointed when I sat down at my lunch break and had nothing else to do, but watch customers bite into burgers with fatty juice drooling down their chin.
The second day was terrible. It was a slow day at the burger place so I was bored. Being bored and unable to eat is hell on earth.
I needed to do something so badly that I started cleaning the restaurant in places it had never been cleaned before. Behind the black metal rack that covered part of the wall, I found greasy little bites that I considered eating. I felt like all joy had left me.
Nothing was making sense anymore. I was so tired.
The third day went much better than expected. Maybe my stomach had already been made aware by my brain that it would get food again soon. Maybe I was finally in the “zone” of fasting. I stopped picking up fries and started reading on my break to avoid stealing a burger from the hands of a client and running away.
The fourth day arrived: breaking the fast was all I could think about for the past three days and it was finally there. I felt beyond excitement. It felt like I was at the dawn of a life-changing experience. I decided to follow the example my parents had set and chose a beautiful green apple with the same seriousness I chose my university.
As if my whole journey depended on it.
I sat down and for once, did not eat as fast as I could. I took a first bite.
Sweet, fresh, acidic.
My mouth tasted like a sip of homemade ice tea on a suffocating summer day. Ravishing.
I would not have shared even a bite of that apple with Adam. I kept eating new foods and rediscovered in a new light all the different flavors playing with my nose, tongue, and belly. Everything sounded delicious, even the green peas I would usually frown at.
Sometimes food is so integrated into our day-to-day that we forget to stop and enjoy the magic of our senses interacting with it.
Writing about this makes me want to do the experience again, are you down to join me?
PS: It is really not that difficult if you stay away from salty fries.
This story was brought to you by Rooted, a publication dedicated to deep dives through food and drink culture. They are for entertainment purposes only and should not be considered as nutritional or health advice.
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