Comfort Food

The other day I was in a little hole-in-the-wall Cuban restaurant and had a wonderful comfort food lunch: braised and shredded flank steak with black bean soup and a hefty side of yellow rice.

And while many of these dishes seem more apropos for the colder months, the summer's no stranger to comfort food: grilled steaks, barbecued ribs, pulled pork sandwiches, potato salad, bean dishes, and of course, ice cream.

Lately there has been a renewed interest in comfort foods. A number of comfort food cookbooks have arisen in recent years. Maybe it's a backlash to the interminable fat-phobia that has plagued this nation to epidemic proportions.

Like many forms of fanaticism, there's a kernel of truth shrouded by layers of misinformation and disproportional fear. But even more disconcerting is the self-righteousness of the anti-fat crusade in particular, and the pro-health movement in general.

There's a blatant sentiment that because something is bad for your health, that it is morally bad. If I hear one more TV chef apologize for adding butter or cream to a dish, I'm gonna gorge myself on lard until I induce a massive coronary. I'll die a martyr and become the patron saint of comfort food.

Healthy eating is not the road to virtuousness or perdition. The whole issue boils down to quality vs. quantity of life and there is no right or wrong answer because it is a matter of personal choice.

First of all, none of us know whether avoiding fat and worshiping the treadmill will buy us more time. Any of us could get hit by that proverbial bus or perish from a non-diet related disease.

But for the sake of argument, let's assume a restrictive diet will stall your fatal heart attack for a number of years. People still have a right to choose whether it's worth the cost.

Moreover, there's no eternal yardstick for measuring that. The "right" choice is the one consonant with your beliefs and values. Each of us has to decide how much comfort we are willing to sacrifice for our waistline and our arteries.

I assume most of us reconcile the quandary with moderation; that elusive balance whereby we endeavor to serve two masters. So get your butt to the gym and make a hearty beef stew for dinner.

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