They say that one’s eyes are the window to the soul.
First of all, who are “they,” what exactly do “they” mean, and if there are two eyes, shouldn’t there be two windows? I find this all to be very confusing.
In this case “they” are such luminaries as Cicero, Leonardo DaVinci, Shakespeare, the New Testament Matthew, whoever wrote Proverbs and, if memory serves, Daffy Duck. Or Donald Duck. I can’t remember.
Frankly, I don’t get it. Maybe I haven’t tried hard enough or haven’t spent enough time staring deeply into other people’s eyes, which seems a little rude anyway. While I try to make and maintain eye contact with those people with whom I might be speaking, I’m lucky if I remember even the color of their eyes at the end of the conversation, let alone any notion of their souls.
And while we’re on the subject, what does a soul look like? What exactly should one be looking for during those moments of deeply interpersonal eye-gazing? Or is this one of those metaphysical things of which there can only be speculation?
I’ve found that there are two exceptional—and much easier—ways to discover the essence of a person’s true being: Look into their grocery carts to learn about their eating habits and, given the opportunity, take note of the books on their shelves.
I have been an inveterate cart peeker since I was a child, when I would compare what other mothers had in their market carts to what my mother had in hers. Frequently it made me want to eat dinner at strangers’ houses.
Being curious about other people’s eating habits is what I believe to be a harmless amusement—a by-product, as it were, of one’s own shopping. I never thought much about it and rarely discussed the practice as I assumed that everybody looked at other people’s groceries as a matter of routine. Once, I mentioned my grocery-store behavior to a young woman who cooked at my restaurant. She physically shuddered as she told me she found such activity to be “creepy.”
I explained to her that I didn’t dress in dark clothes and lurk around the aisles peering surreptitiously at strangers’ food. I merely glanced around as I shopped, taking mental note of what others intended to eat. Longer, more studied looks were afforded in line at the checkout counter.
And while I might have harbored a few judgmental thoughts about other shoppers’ selections, I have kept them to myself. Doing otherwise would be rude, insulting and pointless.
A friend once told me that she had been accosted in an aggressive manner in the snack aisle by a neighbor who thought it was her business to pontificate on the health hazards of Cheetos. I doubt that there are very few adults who don’t know that Cheetos, with that almost-irresistible fake-cheese taste first introduced in 1948 by the guy who invented Fritos, offer nothing positive to one’s diet—especially if they’re part of a diet that also consists mainly of Pop-Tarts, Oreos, Top Ramen and diet Coke.
On the other hand, it seems reasonable to believe that a small bag of them every now and then will not cause acute heart disease. Nor will any of their junk-food cousins. However, being yelled at in a grocery store might.
In recent weeks I’ve been talking about what might seem to be aberrant behavior to others. Lots of people, including every cashier at my local grocery store, do what I do. One of them told me she is inspired by some baskets, going so far as to ask her customers what they might be concocting from their selections and asking for recipes.
Another friend once, in the course of an aisle conversation, guessed at what I was making for dinner based on what he saw in my basket. He was spot on.
“It’s a great ice-breaker,” he said. “It gives you something to talk about right away.” I should note that he is recently divorced and doesn’t like to cook.
“A sandwich is so much better if someone makes it for you,” he once observed.
The real marvel of cart-watching is, in all honesty, discovering how others live and wishing that something could be done about it—short of yelling at people in the snack-food aisle. We notice the obese woman with three obese children in tow and are not surprised at the cartload of chips, cookies, ice cream and processed foods whose preparation is minimal. Nor are we surprised to see the emaciated shopper whose cart is filled with kale, almond milk and coconut water.
What I recently found to be quite curious, was the middle-aged woman with four cases of canned tuna, a package of radishes, a box of taco shells and two gallons of 1% milk. Go figure.
EQUALLY AS CURIOUS was, in a first-time visit to a new friend’s house, the discovery of a small row of books that included titles by Sarah Palin, Rush Limbaugh and Bill O’Reilly. I scanned the room for an exit.
Unlike peering into the grocery carts of strangers, scanning somebody’s bookshelves is something you only get to do after getting to know that somebody. (I suppose one could break into some stranger’s house to discover their reading habits, but I don’t believe anybody is that curious.)
Book titles, their subjects, genres and authors may be quite revealing of one’s interests, but I think what is more telling about a person is where the books are kept and how they’re organized.
My mother liked to read romance novels. Upon her death, she had only a small collection of maybe fifty titles. They were arranged alphabetically by title, with no regard for the author. She also had a printed inventory of canned goods on the inside of the cabinet door.
I’ve seen books arranged on shelves as if they were there only for decorative purposes. I’ve seen books displayed as if color-coding might have been employed. Some people organize their books by the language in which they were written. This is not really an option for me. Many people categorize their books by subject matter, author and/or genre.
And there are those of us whose organizing efforts fail with each attempt. But that’s okay. My own system of chaotic clutter seems to work just fine.
Again we hear from Cicero: “A room without books is like a body without a soul.”
I breathed easier knowing that there are books in each room of our house.
Hemingway’s Hamburger
This recipe is adapted from one Cheryl Lu-Lien Tan created after careful interpretation of Ernest Hemingway’s food descriptions in his letters. It first appeared in The Paris Review.
1 lb. lean ground lean beef
2 cloves garlic, minced
2 green onions, finely chopped
1 tsp. India relish
2 Tbs. capers, chopped
1 tsp. dried sage
½ tsp. Spice Islands Beau Monde seasoning
¼ tsp. salt
¼ tsp. sugar
¼ tsp. soy sauce
1 egg, beaten
About one-third cup dry red or white wine.
1 Tbs. cooking oil (for frying)
Break up the meat with a fork and mix in the garlic, onion and dry seasonings. Let rest in the refrigerator for 10-15 minutes.
Add the remaining ingredients, except the oil, and mix well. Allow to rest another 10 minutes.
Divide mixture by four, and form patties about an inch thick.
Fry in hot oil over medium heat about four minutes per side.
Burgers should be crispy brown.
Photography by Courtney A. Liska