This Clean Plate Club (CPC) stuff is admirable, or at the very least well-publicized, but we aren’t looking at the underlying consequences of what it means to our “belly brains.” The belly brain, by the way, is like the head brain in many ways but its location is in your belly instead of your head. We all have major psycho-intestinal issues thanks to the great abundance of food surrounding us, and CPC seems to be a poor solution to those issues.
I’ll start by addressing my Freudian problem with the CPC. To me, joining this club as a child was not “fun” or “a means to be like Arnold Schwarzenegger.” I recall images of my father pressuring me to eat disgusting, overcooked broccoli. Don’t even tell me if I don’t clean my plate at Harris I won’t get any ice cream because I’ll just make my plates extra filthy for everyone.
When we had trays, which was a surprisingly short time ago despite the fact that we’ve been brainwashed to believe a 12” diameter saucer can hold all the food our bodies can take, our belly brains were free. Freeing the belly brain is a crucial step towards bellyvana, which is like nirvana, only with your belly.
And then there’s this contract that people are signing. Do you know what you’re signing? Because I think if you read the implied fine print you’ll realize there is a lot more to it than just an agreement to try to finish everything on your plate. The agreement isn’t only to eat all the crap you put on your plate, but also to make sure that all future meals eaten on that plate are thoroughly cleaned – that’s called sustainability, dawg. That basically means you have to sign the plate. And if you knew how serious a commitment that was, you might think twice about joining the CPC.
I used to run cross country, and whenever there was a false start and the runners were told to walk back to the starting line and start over, my legs cramped up, and I couldn’t will myself to finish. This never actually happened, but the point is, eating is a race against your own body and mind, just like running a foot race.
The clean plate rule says, “Dinner is over when the plate is clean.” My rule says, “Dinner is over when your body can’t take anymore.” If I choose to run too hard, my body either punishes or rewards me. If I eat too hard, digested Harris food just says, “Hey, I’m soaked with laxatives and I’m getting out of here one way or another.”
My point is, in the form of a question, are we really so dumb that we don’t know how much food we can eat by now? Are our belly brains so unsophisticated that after 18-22 years of cycling foodstuffs, they cannot gauge appropriate amounts of food for specific feelings of hunger? Is a signature all we need to monitor and mend this? Do I need a lobotomy/lobuttomy?
