Why are we so hungry for answers about food?

What problem are we really trying to solve?

This Easter our kids ditched the coloring kit in favor of writing messages on their eggs. Perhaps being raised by a mother who is a perpetual daydreamer caused my teenagers to hunt for order and logic in science and math. In our home there are numbers, numbers everywhere and not a drop of poetry to drink. 

But maybe logic and intuition are not as diametrically opposed as I think they are.  My love of food is not just a hedonistic, artistic endeavor.  I have always been hypersensitive to foods and can get tired and sick if I put the wrong 'gas' in my tank.  At age 45, I feel my body has suddenly reached its "40,000 mile warranty" .I am looking for that elusive formula that keeps this old minivan of a mom running smoothly.  

So I research food.  My friends and I talk about food. We talk about what is working and what isn't working.  It can be overwhelming to know when to stop. When I start circling in the tank with my other foodie friends, I wonder if we are becoming food perfectionists, searching for answers.

We question protein, fish, vegetables, power foods, omega 3 fatty acids, flax seeds, chia, GMOs and organic, toxic free solutions. I have friends who will only shop at Wholefoods, never shop at Wholefoods (GMO labeling rage), refuse to subject themselves to fertilizers, unfiltered water, food that isn't local, chemicals, packaged food, fast food, red meat, farmed fish, wild fish, white pasta, white sugar, white anything. I know folks who hate Dr. Oz, love Dr. Oz, and have myself been subject to quite an organic panic when I can't find my favorite foods. I have heard foodies hail carbs as the messiah, denounce carbs as Lucifer.  The other day I read a story about the dangers of omega fatty acid imbalance, and one  which deemed that the only sensible fat to cook with was goose fat.

"Goosefat?" I said to myself, and announced over my shoulder to my dogs,  "alright, enough is enough!" I shut down my computer, and went into the kitchen to defiantly saute some veggies in garlic and olive oil.

As I chopped my vegetables, I wondered if we were so ravenous for nutrition solutions that we are not enjoying the process of simply eating a humble bowl of home made food. Have we gotten so obsessed with what goes in our bread, that we aren't present while we are breaking bread? Not only do we want answers to our nutritive questions, we want them now.  No, we want them sooner than now.  We want them yesterday.  

Sauteeing in reverie, I began to wonder about the attempt to manage what we eat. If we become the authority of all the germs, all the chemicals, and the mechanics of the human body, can we inject some order in this seemingly chaotic universe?  Is this just a poetic dreamer's way of trying to delay the inevitable ending to the story she doesn't want to stop? Will we ever have the perfect equation that keep us humming smoothly? And if so, would we even want to be around that long? We'd be stuck with all the other perfectionists in the shark tank of survivors and find out who is the new power food! Eat or be eaten!

My stomach rumbled and shocked me out of my dietary daydream.  I sighed and sat down with my bowl of escarole,  cannellini beans, garlic and olive oil. It tasted like what I imagined my ancestors ate.  It felt good enough and simple, just as it was.

When I finished lunch and started cleaning up, I looked through my cabinet at the cornucopia of hope for my aging body:  menopausal herbal supplements, vegan grains I never heard of 10 years ago, and my newest quest for relief,  "Juice Plus"; the caplets that will add an extended warranty to my used car heart.  I don't plan to ditch these pills, my vitamins, my chiropractor, my organic food, or any other of my 21st century 'Mother's Little Helpers'.

I don't know if that's logical, but my intuition usually tells me what tastes good.