我是一名苗條的美食作家

"If you work in a bakery," a woman in the back row hollered, "why are you so thin?"

"你說你在面包店上班，"后排的一位女士喊道，"但你為什么這么瘦?"

Back then, I did work in a bakery, a pie shop in North Carolina. My shifts started in the middle of the night, when roaches scurried along the sidewalk and the only other people awake were on the radio across the sea. I also worked as a recipe developer, a restaurant critic, and, every so often, a culinary instructor to home cooks.

那個(gè)時(shí)候，我的確在面包店(北卡羅來納州的一家餅鋪)工作。我的工作時(shí)間是半夜--那時(shí)候，蟑螂在人行道上匆匆爬過，海對(duì)面的電臺(tái)工作者和我一樣醒著。我還干過食譜開發(fā)專員和餐館評(píng)論家的工作，有時(shí)候還為家庭廚師進(jìn)行烹飪指導(dǎo)。

I wanted to ask the woman in the back row questions. But instead I answered her question, sort of: "I run marathons."

我原想反問后排的那位女士一些問題，但我沒有那么做，而是回答了她的問題，差不多說了句："因?yàn)槲遗荞R拉松。"

That felt more appropriate than getting into it. Than saying, I haven't felt thin since the seventh grade when one of my friends - you know seventh grade friends - whispered behind me in the hallway that I had the biggest butt in school. I started wearing a lot of sweatpants and A-line dresses, but this didn't preclude many a boyfriend and friend and co-worker from sharing "feedback" on my proportions.

我感覺這樣更合適。其實(shí)七年級(jí)時(shí)，我的一位朋友--你懂的，七年級(jí)的朋友--在走廊里壓低聲音說我的屁股是全校最大的，自那以后我就沒覺得自己瘦過。我開始穿運(yùn)動(dòng)褲和A字裙，但這并不妨礙我的眾多前男朋友、朋友和同事對(duì)我的體型'評(píng)頭品足'，

I could have told the woman in the back row that my torso is thin. I could have told her that in college I used to weigh myself twice a day, used to do Food-Free Mondays until my friend, who used to be anorexic, suggested I go to therapy and I did, and the therapist, who also used to be anorexic, spent our first and last session talking about how she's worn the same pants sizefor a decade. I could have told her that I chucked that scale years ago. That I haven't bought one since. That "thin" isn't a compliment.

我本可以告訴后排的那位女士：對(duì)，我的確很瘦。我本可以告訴她：上大學(xué)那會(huì)兒，在朋友(曾患厭食癥)建議我做治療前，我每天會(huì)稱2次體重，周一會(huì)不吃東西。后來，我聽從朋友的建議做了治療，那位治療師也曾患厭食癥，在第一次和最后一次的治療過程中，她講述了自己十年來都穿相同尺寸褲子的經(jīng)歷。

But all I said was: "I run marathons."

但我只說了一句："因?yàn)槲遗荞R拉松。"

I don't work at a bakery anymore. "Do you miss it?" a friend asked me over a night dinner, which wouldn't have been possible with the bakery, which made answering easy: "No."

我沒有再去面包店工作了。"你懷念嗎?"共進(jìn)晚餐時(shí)一位朋友問道，懷念面包店是不大可能的，所以我輕松回了句："不懷念。"

I don't miss it. Not really. Not the hours: falling asleep to the sun, waking up to the moon. Now, I work a sort-of 9-to-5, writing about food. But I still get up in the dark because old habits die hard. Or something like that.

我不懷念面包店。但也不盡然。我懷念那些時(shí)辰：伴著日出而睡，伴著月亮而醒?，F(xiàn)在，我過著朝九晚五的生活，寫一些有關(guān)食物的文章。但我仍在天黑時(shí)起床，畢竟積習(xí)難改嘛!