Living with flair means to savor. You take the smallest thing (a punctuation mark, a turtle, a hand in the wind), and like some judge on Iron Chef, you test its quality. Then you announce its worth. Announcing the worth of small things has changed my life this month. I anticipate the greatness of common moments.
Today's "flair moment" came in the form of a meat cake. They do exist. http://www.blackwidowbakery.com/demo/meatcake/. A friend celebrated her 28th birthday party at my home last night, and someone honored her with a meat cake. The frosting was mashed potatoes whipped as lovely as buttercream. The rosettes were perfectly formed swirls of bacon. It was food art at its best.
I tried a little--just enough to savor the taste. Appreciating its artistry provided more pleasure than the actual eating (although it was good). I love to consider the art in food. Give me sushi or lemon meringue pies, and I'll enjoy the composition and admire the chef. I tend to not overeat when the food itself is lovely.
And food is lovely. Why don't I notice it? Eating is common; I do it usually 3-5 times a day, every single day of my life (sometimes more--sometimes a lot more). I tended to not notice my food, though, until this year.
I've lost 35 pounds, and it has something to do with living with flair--with savoring things. Stopping to enjoy the beauty of my food has helped me not shove it so quickly, and in such large amounts, into my mouth. Can eating be an act of thanksgiving, of worship, of . . . flair? I want to savor flavors, textures, colors, and smells. I want to take small bites and be completely satisfied with the greatness of small portions. I really don't need more.
Living with flair means savoring. And, as a result, being satisfied with much less than I thought I'd need (in my stomach and in my life).