I took myself out to breakfast yesterday morning. It’s not something that I would ordinarily do, but I was out and about extra early for a doctor’s appointment and afterwards I felt like I deserved a treat.  Maybe it was the lingering scent of rubbing alcohol and the sting from my flu shot, but I needed comfort. The sky was threatening rain and I had no umbrella. I stepped out onto the sidewalk from the Walgreen’s pharmacy and spotted a breakfast place, a temple of All American over eating, across the street. I ducked in from the light drizzle and was seated right away in a cozy red leatherette booth just right for one.

Craving a steaming short stack

I had had pancakes on my mind since before I arrived. I had a taste for earthy whole grains blended in for a dense chewy texture. And I wanted fruit on top, perhaps bananas or blueberries, nothing too cloying or sweet, and my favorite walnuts. I started to sip coffee from a thick white china mug and paused to consider the menu left behind by the teenaged waitress.

The wide selection of waffles pictured on the first page of the sticky plastic menu caught my attention. Belgian waffles with diced bacon on top, an egg or sliced strawberries. My digestive juices started flowing at the images of melting butter and cascading pools of genuine maple syrup.  I felt as giddy as a grade school kid on a sugar high.

Now waffles may be from Belgium, and thin, crusty crepes from France, but pancakes are definitely American and they’re my favorite pick-me-up on a gray morning. Buttermilk, buckwheat, multi-grain – any kind will do. I sneaked a peak around the corner of my booth at the plates of other diners. I wanted to be sure to get the best pancake bang for my buck.

Minutes later, when the young waitress returned, I looked up at her smoky mascara eyes and said, “I’ll have the egg white and three veggie omelet.”

“Bagel toasted and dry?” she deadpanned as she poured me more coffee.  She knew me better than I knew myself.

I was sunk in disappointment when she returned to place my food in front of me. Three unnaturally bright red tomato slices glistened at the edge of the plate. Each dry mouthful of egg, broccoli and mushroom tasted less appealing than the one before. I dabbed some strawberry jam from the little plastic tub on my half bagel with real regret. I had squandered my special treat of pancakes on mere fuel for the day.

Don’t give in to the Tyranny of Should

When an opportunity for enjoyment presents itself, don’t turn away and swallow disappointment that’s as bitter as day old coffee.  Listening to your inner food critic can be a real spontaneity killer. The secret to happiness is not really about pancakes at all. It’s about is catching yourself in the act of blindly following unconscious judgments.  You know, that crabby little voice that tells us what we should or should not do, say, wear, or eat. I call this “The Tyranny of Should” and like any tyrant, should’s and should not’s create huge resentment over time.

The fix is a matter of  developing  non-judging awareness, that is to catch yourself in the act before being swayed by niggling doubts and fears. When a situation like “pancakes” arises, it is an opportunity to pause and practice noticing what that really motivates us.

I ‘ll bet that you don’t go out to breakfast often. And, you are probably aware of and eat healthful foods most of the time. That kind of goes with the territory of being over 50. Assuming that there is no anorexia, bulimia or other emotional eating disorders in the picture, what or who does it hurt to enjoy a few moments of pancake bliss every once in a while?

I know, I know.  These are treasonous words considering our raging national dialog about adult diabetes and weight control. Svelte newscasters cite new research on the potential life threatening consequences of the typical American diet almost every day.  I’m not advocating eating pancakes, or chili dogs or cheeseburgers dripping with grease, as a daily practice!

It’s about the self-caring that a bit of healthy self-indulgence represents. Proust had his madeleines and Robbie Burns his haggis and oatcakes.  Surely it’s okay to savor a few minutes of being waited on and indulge a harmless childhood food craving   once in a while. “A little bit of what you fancy won’t hurt you,” as my grandpa used to say.

Next time you order,  be mindful of what your body craves and less judgmental when making a choice to treat yourself.  There is no reason why anyone should miss out on a little taste of comfort that comes with smiles served “on the side.”

Four simple strategies to banish your inner food critic

Notice the voice that is offering the negative judgment or opinion; make sure that it’s your voice that’s doing the talkin’ and that you’re not just talkin’ trash. If you’re not due a special splurge, put down the doughnut and step away from the table.

Observe the body sensations, words, thoughts, images and emotions that are associated with the judgment – from the past and those you experience right now. A plate piled high with sugary memories will not necessarily make your day, but happy associations can come from even the scent of cinnamon in the air.

Decide, without the value judgments, what you really want to do –  respond rather than react.  If “I can’t believe I ate the whole thing” is your mantra, maybe it’s best to decline.  And whatever choice you make…

Enjoy the full experience in the moment. There’s nothing worse than poisoning a long-awaited treat with recriminations and regrets.  Savor every bite, then climb back on the wagon of reasonable choices.

Tags: baby boomer, food cravings, healthy self-indulgence, inner food critic, non-judging awareness