Many moons ago, I visited a Caribbean island with a group of fellow travel writers. We soon learned that the public relations specialist who hosted our stay was more concerned about divulging her eating habits instead of promoting tourism. This twenty-something woman wasn’t quite tall enough to be a model, but acted like she was God’s gift to the cover of Vogue.
I’ll never forget our first lunch. We sat under the shade of a beautiful, colonial portico, silently enjoying cool beer and conch fritters, a local specialty. Out of the blue, without any prompting, Ms. Public Relations Professional blurted out the following statement, as if she had been interrupted mid-conversation by an invisible friend: “I never eat fried crap. That’s why.”
The table remained silent, and those of us mid-bite exchanged quizzical glances.
“I’m sorry. That’s why what?” one writer asked. And she smugly replied: “That’s why I’m so skinny! Duh."
We ignored her answer; this group of seasoned writers didn’t give a rat’s ass about the size of hers.
Sharing a meal with others is a sacred, nourishing experience and if you refuse to partake, at least don't spoil the appetite of others with idle chatter about your body. Sometimes, food tastes better in silence.
