Can't We Just Eat?

I am among the world's least adventurous eaters (stay away from garlic, my friends). Cereal and a toasted english muffin for breakfast (Pop-Tarts are now out - thanks a lot, Doc!), a sandwich with some combination of deli meats for lunch, and something lovingly prepared by my amazing wife for dinner. I double-check and triple-check expiration dates (OK, quadruple check) and sniff every food for even the slightest trace of onions, hydrolyzed or otherwise. And I have only begun to fight the urge to resist leftovers.

So even though I'll never come close to test driving every restaurant genre listed in the latest Zagat's guide, I'd still like to share a few thoughts about the current state of eating in America, at least as it's described by the media.

Every food- or weight loss-related behavior we see and read about is intense. Food Network host Guy Fieri and his spiked hair attack food like it's freshly fallen game. Jamie Oliver cavorts around the world, a disheveled missionary saving us and our kids from our unhealthy diets. Author David Zinczenko demands that we "Eat This, Not That!" When she's not being paid by Big Pharma to hawk medicine for a belatedly announced case of diabetes, Paula Deen unashamedly continues to offer up artery-clogging treats. And we recently learned that Good Eats, hosted by the extremely intelligent Thomas Dolby lookalike Alton Brown, was leaving the air after 10 years. Where can we turn for 30-minute dissertations on crepes and fried chicken?

And if every child in America isn't dangerously obese or a foodie-in-training, they're just one waif-like model's image away from becoming anorexic or bulimic. Reporters routinely ignore the contextual factors that contribute to eating disorders, preferring instead to blame magazine covers. Teenaged girls, we are told, spend much of their time cruising so-called "pro-Anorexia" websites, looking for advice on how to become super thin.

Can't we just eat? Do we have to sit in the chef's lap as a meal is prepared? Do we have to Yelp about an establishment's tap water? And isn't it possible to lose weight in a non-bootcamp setting, or without spiraling through a binge-purge cycle?

My wife's apple pie is the single greatest food product ever to come out of an oven. I ask for it instead of a cake for my birthday. I want to be buried with one - that is, if I change my mind on cremation. Yet while I think about it often - especially the sweet velvety crumb topping - it doesn't occupy every brain cell not devoted to baseball and West Wing and Star Trek reruns.

When I find myself in times of cooking zeal, I turn to Jacques Pepin, one of the few who still actually teach you how to cook. Yet even Jacques popped up a year or two back on an episode on cooking's grudge match, Top Chef.

But I'm a sometimes reasonable person, so I propose a compromise: I'll be OK with the six-burner Viking stoves and the Barefoot Contessa catering for all of eastern Long Island, but only if someone puts my show, tentatively titled Food For Chickens, on the air. It would be aimed at folks who just want to enjoy their food, and who don't want to have to replay the most famous scene from When Harry Met Sally to show their appreciation.

Maybe I can persuade Jacques Pepin to be the host.