Like many boomers, I am a child of parents who grew up during the depression, and lived through the lean times of World War II. Dear Husband’s parents literally starved, as they were in Europe, where food rationing was a reality. When our parents used their hard-earned money to put something on our plates, they made sure we ate it: I can recall sitting at the table for hours until I had cleaned my plate (invariably lima beans) and could be excused. And in a restaurant—reserved for special occasions only—we had doggie bags, so we didn’t have to throw food away. Waste not, want not, they would say.
As lean years gave way to prosperity, larger portion sizes—especially in restaurants—became the rule. Then came the Reagan years: it’s OK, do whatever makes you feel better—you’re the “me” generation, and you're worth it. (And yesterday’s Times tells me that this generation is even more about “me” than mine!) The modest doggie bag that fit in a ladies' handbag gave way to huge clamshells, and we walk away balancing a stack of them. And we eat out more, on average four times a week.
When I was a kid, after supper we used to bicycle over to houses that were being built and scrounge any wood scraps that were lying around. We used them to build forts and stuff. Now as adults, entitled and affluent, we can go to the home center anytime and buy whole sheets of plywood, power tools, and even gas-guzzling trucks to haul them around in (I’m guilty as charged here). And societal mores no longer tells us that this is selfish, though it is.
Which leaves us with people who genuinely have no idea what portion size is. We mock the portion sizes on the packaging of the food and have pressured the FDA to change them: one box of mac & cheese for four people, don’t be silly, we say. But the reason that the box is that size is because it was designed back in the 60’s to feed the nuclear family—and not just as a side dish: that box was the main dish!
Like many Americans, I have had a lifelong struggle with my weight. But after years of buying bigger and baggier clothes, I turned it around. I lost over 45 pounds and have kept it off. I did not change what I eat. I did not follow a fad diet. I did not start exercising (much to my doctor’s chagrin). I started eating one portion. That’s all. One portion.
I had to keep it simple, and there are basic rules to help me stay on track:
- Weigh every day. It encourages me if I’m going in the right direction, and lets me know if I'm not.
- Learn what a portion size is. I read every package, don’t assume I know. I’ve learned the rules of thumb: a portion of meat is a deck of cards, a portion of starch (pasta, rice, etc.) is the size of my fist, a portion of cheese is 1” x 1”.
- Eat the same meals every day. Eat breakfast, but keep it small (this is my morning cup of cocoa). Eat lunch: one portion of something (I try to keep it between 100 and 200 calories—really!). Eat an afternoon snack: one portion! This is my biggest challenge, and I find that pre-measuring one portion of trail mix (that’s ¼ cup, folks) helps immensely. Eat dinner: one portion (no seconds!), though I let myself splurge with as many vegetables and as much salad as I like. Have dessert on occasion (see #1): Do dish the ice cream out into a bowl, or I will eat the whole quart. A quart of Ben & Jerry's has four servings in it, which means it should last me at least a week, not a day.
- Eat really good food, and make really good meals. My grocery bills have not gone up, because I’m eating less. I don’t cringe when I spend $3 on a bar of incredibly good chocolate, because I know I’m not going to eat it in one sitting.
That’s it, really. Simple, but not easy. It does take incredible discipline to create good habits, and I do fall off the wagon often. But there’s a huge difference between a 200-calorie lunch from home (half a tuna sandwich and a small orange, two squares of Belgian chocolate) and a 2,000-calorie lunch in a restaurant.
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