What Our Ancestors Can Teach Us About Healthy Eating

Much of what I learned about healthy eating came from my grandmother’s kitchen.  My grandmother lived to be 96.  She was born in Brooklyn, NY in 1904.  Her mother emigrated from southern Italy through Ellis Island by herself at 18 to marry and begin a new life in America.  I remember my great-grandmother, who lived to be 88 herself, sitting in a rocking chair I still have and rattling off Italian I didn’t understand.  What was the secret to their longevity?

My great-grandmother brought the ways of her upbringing with her when she came to America.  In the early 1900s, she and my great-grandfather grew much of their own food in a small yard in Brooklyn – grapes for wine, figs and other fruit, tomatoes, olives, and vegetables that they would enjoy in the summer and preserve the surplus for the winter months by canning and storing the jars in their root cellar.  It’s completely urban now but my grandmother used to tell stories of walking across big open fields to get to school among horses and wagons making deliveries in the neighborhood.

When my grandmother married, she fed her growing family with what is known as peasant food.  These meals were simple and hearty, made from inexpensive ingredients. Meals such as polenta, which is corn meal and red gravy, aglio e olio, which is macaroni with garlic and olive oil, and pasta e fagioli, made with ditalini pasta and cannelli beans and tomato sauce. These modest dinners kept her family nourished in a healthy and economical way.

Sundays were different.  I have fond memories of my grandmother coming home after church and cooking up a storm for the legions of cousins, nephews, siblings, children and grandkids that would visit her three-room apartment.  The tomato gravy would have meatballs and meat, there would be Italian bread and rice balls. We’d always start off with a tomato, onion and lettuce salad with oil and vinegar.  The red wine flowed.  For dessert, she’d make black coffee and a homemade treat – maybe a pie or donuts or zeppolis if we were lucky.

Exercise was imbedded in the day-to-day.  My grandmother never learned to drive, but she walked her beloved Bay Ridge neighborhood every day.  She walked to church, the bread store, the cheese store, the butcher, the supermarket, pulling her groceries behind her in a metal shopping cart and then lugging that cart up four flights of stairs to the top floor of her walk-up apartment.  The ultimate Stairmaster workout.

She knew where her food came from – even in a city of eight million people.  She enjoyed long established relationships because she was born and lived within a one block radius her whole life.  Her “healthy” eating patterns came out of necessity, not from being health-minded.  Small portions and no snacking came from limited resources.

My grandmother did enjoy her little sweet treat in the afternoons with a cup of decaf coffee, though – I loved those coffee breaks.  Food was seasonal (i.e., on sale) and locally sourced because air freight didn’t exist yet.  She ate whole foods before both words came to be capitalized.  The food was homemade, prepared with love and eaten in community.

And there was always gratitude – a moment to say grace, to be thankful for the food they were about to eat – because they could remember what it was like to grow up during The Great Depression.  Now that I think about it – this was mindful eating before there was such a label.

I know now how lucky I was to grow up as I did.  We didn’t have much, but we had all we needed and love was plentiful.  My eating habits have evolved over the decades – and in many ways, they’ve come full circle.  As I reflect on this, I wonder how much epigenetics come into play here, that is, the degree to which I’ve been influenced by the behaviors and environment of my ancestors.

I can feel the connection.  I can feel it in my love of sharing home cooked meals, fresh ingredients, chatting with the folks at the market, harvesting wild foods, living an active lifestyle, enjoying a nice glass of wine and my coffee breaks – all a nod to those who came before me.  

To be clear, I don’t want to go back to the old ways – life was hard for my grandparents and great-grandparents. Women were expected to run the household, raise the kids with no modern conveniences and many worked in the home, as did both my grandmothers.

So no, this isn’t about going back.  It’s about moving forward mindfully, learning our lessons from those who came before in order to live our best lives today.

Journal Reflections:  Looking back into your personal history, can you recall a time when food was prepared simply at home?  What lessons can you learn from those who came before?  How might you incorporate those lessons into your life today?