EOCAWKI: Food-Based Decision Making Worked for Me

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I have a confession to make.  I really like food.  Food is important to me. I like eating it and I like cooking it. Good food makes me happy. Bad food really bothers me. And as it turns out, food has influenced my attitudes and informed my decision-making throughout my life in ways that weren’t always obvious even to me.

I believe strongly in food-based decision making.

I realize now that as a child, I was able to sit patiently through Mass on Sunday morning no matter how long and boring the homily was because my mind was focused on the delicious Sunday meal that Nonna, my grandmother, was preparing at home.  I was anticipating the luscious aroma of the sauce that would wrap around  me like a loving hug when we got home. I was imagining the taste and texture of the perfect meatballs and braciole that simmered in the sauce, the pasta that would be covered by it and the crispy Italian bread that I would dip in it. And I knew that Nonna had probably set aside a couple of fried meatballs as a pre-dinner treat for my sister and me. With those delights waiting for us at home, an hour in a pew seemed like a small price to pay.

In my formative years Election Day was a time when I didn’t as much anticipate the outcome of the vote as I did the tasty English muffin pizzas that were our family’s traditional evening snack while watching the returns come in.

While working as a pharmacy delivery boy during my college years, (I referred to myself as a pharmaceutical distribution engineer), I could get through long, rainy delivery runs on cold dismal days if I knew that my friends and I were going out for a nice meal later.  The shrimp and salad bar and New York strip at Beefsteak Charley’s was incentive enough.

Nonna in her natural habitat in the early 60s.

When I graduated and started working as a reporter, I would volunteer to cover corporate events where I knew the food was likely to be good.  I still recall one legislative reception in Albany where I swear the shrimp were as big as my hand and the roast beef on the carving board called to me every bit as seductively as the Sirens of Greek mythology. 

Even more recently food continued to influence my professional choices. When traveling for work, I tried to book flights on Delta because they serve the bigger Biscoff cookies. I looked for connections in Cincinnati because I really like the Gold Star chili restaurant in the airport food court. And I stayed in hotels that housed or were close to good restaurants.

Given the central role that food plays in my life and work it seems odd that one of my favorite food-related work memories involves a vending machine.  Early in my career while still working as a reporter, the newspaper moved its printing operation from the city to a suburban site where food vending machines in a canteen offered the only nearby dining option. Luckily, I didn't have to work there very often. But they did have a wide variety of machines, including some that dispensed hot food in cans, something I had never seen before. The editor of the paper, a gruff guy, was showing me around the new facility. We got the canteen around lunchtime and he observed, “You can get a good meal here,” then mused aloud, “Let’s see.... what do I want? Yodels or Ring Dings?”

It was a tough choice. But given an option, I’d still go for Nonna’s meatballs.