I grew up in Texas, where food is fast and portions are vast. Its time to ditch the chicken and waffles and embrace the greens
September marks the end of summer and the start of a new school year for US students. Parents and caregivers will soon begin packing school lunches or dispensing money into their childrens lunch accounts, leaving them at the mercy of the government for sustenance.
My parents decided to go with the latter. They tried meal prepping before the term was even coined, but a kid can only eat so many Lunchables and peanut butter-and-jelly sandwiches. It was therefore agreed that my siblings and I would eat the standard cafeteria food at our school.
Maybe thats where my problems began.
Fast forward 15 years. I am now 24. Its 7pm and Im starving. I pull myself up three flights of stairs to my apartment. The day has flown by, and Im feeling a little faint.
My eyes scan the kitchen for something to eat. I open and close the cabinets and refrigerator door several times before deciding on Cheetos. I eat about half the bag for dinner and watch season three of Stranger Things until I fall asleep on the couch. I wish Cheetos were carrots, I really do. I wish carrots tasted like Cheetos, but they taste like water and tree bark. And dont even get me started on green vegetables.
To be clear, this is not a junk food propaganda piece. I agree that most fast food is artificial (and probably carcinogenic). I try to limit myself to eating absolute garbage to just once a week, but considering I hate vegetables, that can be tricky.
I suspect my hate affair with veggies can be traced to my Texas upbringing. I grew up in Houston, where we have the best tacos in the nation not to mention the honey-butter chicken biscuit. The state-mandated fruit and vegetable requirement for public school cafeterias is three pieces of lettuce swimming in ranch dressing and a peach cobbler. And when I met up with friends after school, wed go to Whataburger.
My mother was a high school English teacher who went to college at night to complete her PhD. My dad was a traditionalist who came home from work at 7.30pm every night. I still dont know what his job was (Finance? Consulting? The mafia?) but I knew the time he came home, because thats when my brother and I would turn off the TV and run to the kitchen to hide our tortilla chips and ramen noodles. The sound of a garage door opening still strikes fear into my soul.
My parents did not encourage junk food. In fact, when I would bring home Tastykakes or Flamin Hot Cheetos, Id find them in the trash the next day. My mom was watching her weight and didnt want to be tempted: she lost 60lb over the course of my middle school years. She never found my drawer of hidden snacks.
Dinner was whatever my mom had made the previous night and left in the freezer. Sometimes it was lasagne, sometimes biryani. She made spinach and eggplant dishes quite often, but with no one to look over my shoulder when I was eating, I left it untouched. My father would eat on his chair in the living room while watching soccer or The West Wing while I ate in the kitchen, hogging the phone line talking to Kelly or Nicole about Kyle or Chad. (I lived in a very white suburb.)
On the days my mom slaved over her dissertation on American syncretism, my dad would bring home McDonalds or Chick-fil-A. Needless to say, I lived for those days. I felt like I would rather starve than eat another helping of rice, daal or cauliflower.