When You Eat at the Refrigerator, Pull Up a Chair: 50 Ways to Feel Thin, Gorgeous, and Happy (When You Feel Anything But) [Anglais] [Broché]

Imagine you... invite a friend over for dinner. Tell her that the two of you are going to eat the way you eat when you are alone. Explain that you are going to treat her the way you treat yourself. Lead her to the refrigerator. Open the door. Stare. Begin picking up Tupperware containers. Use your fingers. Graze through yesterday's Chinese food or last week's tapioca pudding. Make loud grunting noises of pleasure. Open the freezer. Try to chink off a piece of frozen cake with your fingers. When that doesn't work, hack it off with a carving knife. Notice the fine spray of sugar settling on your floor.

Now, imagine treating yourself the way you treat people you love. This means actually sitting in a chair when you eat. And although I do not recommend eating at the refrigerator, I urge you to sit down no matter where you eat. So, when you eat at the refrigerator, pull up a chair.

Sitting down allows you to concentrate and take pleasure from what you are doing. It also dispels the illusion that you are not really eating while you are standing -- you just happened to be looking around, on your way to somewhere else, and yesterday's Chinese food landed in front of you. Sitting down at the refrigerator not only allows you to be kind to yourself, it also allows you to be conscious. On a practical level, it keeps your teeth from being broken by fossilized cake.

From Chapter 15: Carry a Chunk of Chocolate Everywhere

If you don't like chocolate, please don't feel as if you need to develop a passion for it now. (My husband, Matt, doesn't like chocolate. He has many other lovable qualities, however, and I am certain you do as well.) But if the existence -- not to mention the taste -- of chocolate is one of the ways you know that ecstasy is available on a daily basis, I offer the following wisdom from years of chocolate education and appreciation. First, carry your favorite chocolate with you at all times. Don't depend on restaurants or other people's definitions of good chocolate. I have been shocked and dismayed at what even my best friends consider good chocolate. Devil's food cake with marshmallow filling and gooey icing. Milk chocolate with raisins and nuts. Treats with names like the Seven Dwarfs or Santa's Helpers. Hi-Hos. Ring-Dings. Yodels. If you want to make sure that you get the kind of chocolate you prefer, slip it in your pocket, your purse, your eyeglass case. Don't leave home without it.

Second, don't be ashamed to eat it in public; you never know where it might lead. A few months ago, a television producer asked to interview me for a show he was developing. We met for dinner, and at the end of our meal, I whipped out my purse, pulled out the bar of bittersweet chocolate, broke off a square, and offered him one. His mouth, which had been hanging open since the chocolate first appeared, closed in time to say yes, he would like a piece. We shared a silent moment of ecstasy as the chocolate melted on our tongues, then I put the bar back into my purse, and we proceeded with the meeting. A week later, he called and told me he would like me to appear on his show. "I liked you before you took out the chocolate," he said, "but that clinched it. Anyone who speaks about weight loss, eats chocolate every day, and stays thin knows something other people deserve to know.

What I know is that things, tastes, people, and activities that give you pleasure are good. Not every thing that tastes good is bad for you. Chocolate has a place in your life, but like any relationship, you need to pay attention to it.

My third principle of chocolate wisdom is, therefore, "Suck, don't chew." Take time with chocolate. If you pop it in your mouth while you are driving, reading, watching television, feeding your children, talking on the phone, you will keep reaching for more. Soon you will finish the whole bag or box or bar. You will have missed the taste because you were not fully present. You will believe that chocolate and you have a dysfunctional relationship and cannot be in the same room together any longer.

In my workshops, chocolate appreciation begins with Hershey's kisses. Students hold a kiss in their hands, smell it, rub it on their lips, savoring every part of the experience. When they place it in their mouths, they pay close attention to how the taste unfolds. To the explosion of sensation on their lips, tongues, throats. To the difference between sucking on a piece of chocolate and inhaling it. Two or three rapturous minutes pass. They open their eyes, astonished. They can't believe what happens when they pay attention to what they love (a lesson with a wide variety of applications). "One little piece of chocolate tastes so big," they say. They've never eaten just one. The one in their mouths was always merely a precursor to the one they were reaching for, and the ten more after that. Some of them say they thought they were going to love the taste, but are shocked to find that it's too waxy. Others say it's too bland, and they prefer bittersweet chocolate. Still others say if anyone had ever told them they would be satisfied with one kiss, they wouldn't have believed it, but they actually don't want another. One final chunk of chocolate wisdom: Bring enough to share. Trust me, no matter what is going on at the table before you take out your chocolate, the tone will instantly change when you unveil the wrapper. Conversations will stop. Eyes will gleam. People who didn't notice you before will suddenly find you scintillating. When you share your chocolate, a ripple of excitement infects the gathering. You become everyone's friend.

Chocolate reminds us to wake up, pay attention, stop reaching for what we don't have, and focus on what we do have. It teaches us that we don't need a truck full of love to satisfy our hungry hears. When we pay attention, enough is possible, here, now, right this very moment. There are many doors to wisdom. Why not choose one that tastes like shooting stars? --Ce texte fait référence à une édition épuisée ou non disponible de ce titre.