As I prepare for a food and nutrition class I’m teaching, I’m focusing on pleasure. I realize this amounts to little more than heresy in the modern world of deprivation dining. To deny oneself sugar, to abstain from gluten, dairy, saturated fat, wheat, is tantamount to sainthood. We mean well, but when we constantly deprive ourselves of foods that are frankly pleasurable, aren’t we also depriving ourselves of some large measure of joy?

When we speak of being nourished, we imply that we’re taking food in—not that we’re shunning or rejecting it. But what, exactly, are we taking in? Is being nourished merely a matter of consuming the proper foods in the correct amounts, of procuring the right balance of vitamins, minerals and phytonutrients? It doesn’t seem so. I think when we speak of being nourished, we are speaking of the sum total of our food experience. We’re taking in not only a certain lineup of nutrients, but also the company we’re with when we eat, the atmosphere of the dining locale, the air around us, the taste of the food, its feel in our mouths.

So, as I look at the notes for my class, I think of all the many things we want and need from food. We want food to help us lose weight, lower cholesterol, reduce blood pressure, prevent cancer, work harder, train better and generally render us infallible. For those with a boot camp mentality, a strict get-healthy-and-never-age diet is enough. The rest of us want—and need--more.
We want pleasure. We want food to taste good, to arouse and delight our senses, to feel velvety or coarse on the tongue, to vary in texture, temperature, flavor. More than just tasting good, we want food to make us feel good. We want it to comfort us when we’re sad, keep us company when we’re lonely, soothe us when we’re anxious or afraid, make us happy when we’re not, bring us joy and peace when we’re feeling put upon, indulge us when we’re deprived. (For an insightful look at these topics, see the work of Marc David, local nutritionist, author and expert on pleasure. His book, Nourishing Wisdom, remains one of my favorites.)

But indulging in food often involves a pursuit of pleasure that promotes guilt, rather than deep satisfaction, or nourishment. For many of us, “indulging” is equivalent to committing nutritional suicide. We indulge with cheap, highly processed foods--ice cream, donuts, heavily salted French fries, cookies by the dozen, the boorish commoners of the food world.

But what would happen if we indulged with more refined fare, with rich, sensual foods that are whole, unadulterated, magnificent in their simplicity? Think of truffle oil or extra-ripe avocados, of heirloom tomatoes sliced thick and served with layers of fresh basil, coarse salt and good olive oil; think of creamy Greek yogurt, fresh figs, Catalan olives, chanterelle mushrooms, juicy blackberries—these are the foods that give me great pleasure, and that leave me feeling deeply nourished.

So, perhaps there is a way to simultaneously fulfill most of these wants and needs, allowing food to indulge and comfort us, and to bring us both pleasure and nutrition. And notice that most of these sensuous, indulgent foods can easily be incorporated into nearly anyone’s version of a “healthy” diet, be it low-glycemic index, organic, vegetarian, dairy-free or gluten-free. (Fat free? Don’t even get me started on that subject.) What if, instead of saying no to “bad” foods, we instead began to say “yes” to good foods--to clean, organic, whole foods? Wouldn’t that be a big step in the right direction toward nourishment?

More food for thought: what if we took the idea of pleasure and joy into our food selection and preparation as well? Years ago, when I cooked for groups of people in a spiritual environment, we in the kitchen came to cook after meditating, in a tranquil state of mind. We moved slowly and spoke in calm, happy voices, occasionally punctuating the air with laughter. We learned to sing beautiful Hindu chants as we chopped onions and stirred beans.

The great peace and calm in the kitchen, the sweetness of the atmosphere, the melodic, rhythmic sounds of devotional chants—all conspired to render a meal as simple as dahl and rice a gourmet masterpiece. This sense of reverence for the practice of nourishing our bodies extended to how we ate the food. We paused before eating. We ate first with our eyes, taking in the colors and textures of the food. As we ate, we chewed slowly, breathed deeply, paused often to notice how the food was feeling in our bodies.

I’d like to say these practices are so automatic to me now, they’re almost second nature. It’s not true. Most of the time, I do pretty well. But I still find myself from time to time falling into bad habits—eating at my computer as I write (or, worse, as I drive), rushing to get dinner on the table before my little boy catapults yet another peanut-butter laden spoon across the kitchen. Which brings me to my final point. Incorporating pleasure, joy and peace into cooking and eating is a lifelong practice. Like any practice, it requires patience, determination and, ultimately, compassion, understanding and forgiveness.

So I leave you with this: as you venture forth into the world (and Whole Foods Market), perhaps you will choose your foods with what makes you happy, knowing that will also leave you more soundly nourished. As you enter your kitchen to prepare your next meal, perhaps you will breath a little more deeply, move a little more slowly, smile a little more often. As you eat, perhaps you will look more softly into the eyes of your dining companion and notice the great pleasure, joy and peace of eating.

The following recipe is from my good friend Trusan Comstock, pastry chef and fellow foodie. If you are fearful of the cream in the recipe, I leave you with tow thoughts: first, everything in moderation (you can make the truffles as tiny as you wish, and just have one). Second, to paraphrase the late Julia Child, "If your 're afraid of cream, use butter."

Chocolate Truffles

1 pound organic, semi-sweet dart chocolate, chopped into small pieces
1 cup organic heavy cream
Organic dark cocoa for coating

Place chocolate in a medium mixing bowl. In a small pan,heat cream over medium high just until boiling. Remove from heat immediately, and pour cream over chocolate; stir until chocolate is soft and melted. Let stand for 15 minutes, then refrigerate, covered, until firm. Scoop out truffle mixture with a spoon or melon ball scoop; form into balls of your preferred size, roll in cocoa, and refrigerate until serving.

Lisa Turner is a food and nutrition writer in Boulder, Colorado. She writes food columns for local and national magazines, teaches at Bauman College of Holistic Nutrition and Culinary Arts, and eats chocolate every chance she gets.