Frank Bruni and Me; Born Round

I began this book, Born Round; The Secret History of a Full Time Eater, for a number of reasons, one of which was to take a much needed break from all the heavy, depressing material that I tend to wallow in. But what started out as a light-hearted look at the food obsessed life of the big, Italian Bruni family, soon devolved into a painfully honest, open look at the life of a man living with and eventually overcoming, a serious eating disorder.

Readers, and in this case, listeners, can't help but fall half in love with Frank Bruni. He narrates his own story with a mix of self deprecating humor, a deep love of family and tradition, and an amazing amount of self-knowledge acquired along the way, apparently without the aid of years spent on a psychiatrist's couch. As a crazy mad foodie myself, and a lover of Ruth Reichl's fabulous trilogy beginning with Tender at the Bone, I've known of Mr. Bruni through his association with the New York Times and his position there as a food critic, following in Ms. Reichl's footsteps.

I had no idea, however, of the rather illustrious career that preceded the food critic gig, the years spent following George W. Bush's presidential campaign and first year in the White House (yikes, what a dearth of insightful articles he must have found to write), his assignment in Rome as a bureau chief (ah mama mia!) and the difficult decision to return to the states as a food addict who would now be paid to eat. How terrifying that must have been to a man who was on the Atkins diet at the age of 8, binging and purging through high school and college, exercising like a man possessed only to return home to multiple orders of Chinese take-out.

Having been born round myself, hovering somewhere in the vicinity of 10 pounds at birth, and being raised in a family where food and yes, booze, was at the center of all milestone celebrations, ( no one threw funerals like our family) I totally empathized with Frank Bruni's dilemma, how to stop eating for the sake of putting something in your mouth, but rather, pausing  to savor the delights of a rosemary garnished pork tenderloin and the accompanying swallow of a delightful pinot noir. All things in moderation.

I remember how hard my mom worked as a teacher when we kids were growing up while very few mothers in our crowd worked outside the home. Her biggest treat in the world was the Thursday evening buffet at the F-2 restaurant in Sheffield. Not having to cook on a work night was the ultimate luxury in our house and my dad was always happy to oblige a night out since my mom was a very plain cook indeed.

Family vacations revolved around restaurants. Every summer our one week at Bayberry Bluff in Dennisport involved a special night at the Christopher Ryder House and another evening eating on the dock at Thompson's Clam Bar. My own vacations and  business trips as an adult have involved weeks of Internet searching for the finest restaurants in Seattle, Chicago, New York or Washington. Going to Italy? France? Spain or Greece? Sure, museums are edifying but eating around the world is as much of an adventure for me as reading around the world is!

However, I also found some unlovely truths in Frank Bruni's analysis of our relationship to eating. I look in my now stuffed refrigerator and can be overcome with a deep sense of guilt when I think of those who have so little. At the same time I recall several unhappy years when the cupboard was bare and friends fed me, as I struggled to support myself with three menial jobs while a philandering husband disappeared for 5 or 6 months at a time without a word let alone a paycheck.

I noted the irony of listening to Born Round while preparing for the once every ten years colonoscopy the other day. I realized how easy it is to fast, how quickly one can assuage hunger pangs with a bowl of broth and some apple juice for a sweetener. How virtuous I felt! Suddenly the "reward" I had promised myself, brunch at Mimi's after the anesthesia wore off, didn't seem as exciting as it had when I had planned it. My ever-supportive Don didn't really understand the pleasure I got from contemplating the croissant provencal but he went along for the ride, even fasting along with me and ordering eggs benedict for brunch so that I wouldn't have to eat alone. I'm pleased to report that we both brought home doggie bags.