Seeking satisfaction in old apples and wolf stories

Hunger in St. Francis and the Wolf of Gubbio and Moonstruck

Applesauce and toast.

My three-year-old daughter has a habit of eating about half of an apple at a time: entirely eating the skin and some of the flesh, leaving the soft and browning fruit in the fridge. It’s no longer edible in her eyes.

Four or five of these maligned apples had accumulated in my fridge when, a few days ago, I diced them up, along with a random mushy nectarine, and cooked them with water, sugar, cardamom, ginger, and cinnamon over low heat for a long time, mashing with the back of the spoon. Repurposing something that might end up in the trash feels good, but beyond that, the applesauce is delicious. It has to taste good, or the transformation loses its power.

Last night, I was on Instagram when I probably should have been writing and came across Ben Wildflower's stories, where he shared the story of St. Francis and the Wolf of Gubbio. Ben is one of my favorite artists, and his radical Magnificat print used to hang by my desk (it's in storage; I'll get it back soon.) St. Francis and the Wolf is a story I half remember: A wolf was attacking and eating people who lived in the Umbrian city of Gubbio until he was tamed by St. Francis of Assisi, acting on behalf of God. The story is found in the Little Flowers of St. Francis, an anonymous text divided into 53 short chapters composed at the end of the 14th century about the saint's life.

Ben’s print right behind my giant water bottle.

In the story, the wolf starts to eat anyone who goes outside the city walls, and the people are in terror. St. Francis, who was in the city visiting family after he denounced his father, decides to meet the wolf. People warn him against it and watch him as he walks toward the animal. The wolf rushes at St. Francis, who makes the sign of the cross and demands the wolf stop. The wolf comes quietly and lays at the feet of St. Francis. People watching are astonished. St. Francis tells the wolf he must stop eating people, and he'll be forgiven:

"As thou art willing to make this peace, I promise thee that thou shalt be fed every day by the inhabitants of this land so long as thou shalt live among them; thou shalt no longer suffer hunger, as it is hunger which has made thee do so much evil; but if I obtain all this for thee, thou must promise, on thy side, never again to attack any animal or any human being; dost thou make this promise?"

After this, the story goes that the wolf lived in peace with the city for the rest of his life, being fed by the people. As I was reading late last night, I found that the wolf is thought by some modern analyses to be a human who had a mental breakdown, perhaps from hunger. But, like Ben wrote on his stories, I don't need to know if the story is literally true or not. It's a compelling way to think about hunger. I can identify with the wolf. I also see hunger gone reckless, tearing across our cultural landscape, leaving death in its wake. 

Speaking of wolves, one of my favorite movies is Moonstruck, the campy, earnest, and romantic family drama starring Cher as Loretta and Nicolas Cage as Ronnie. I think about the movie a lot, and I'm not alone. Loretta's character's aunt says to her husband, "I seen a wolf in everybody I ever met and I see a wolf in you." 

Later, in an oft-quoted scene, Loretta tells Ronnie he had to cut his hand off to escape from his engagement, like a trapped wolf chewing off its foot to be free. The part I like best comes a little later in the conversation. Loretta continues, "You did what you had to do between you and you. And now, now you're afraid because you know the big part of you is a wolf that has the courage to bite off its own hand to save itself from the trap of wrong love." The whole time, Ronnie scoffs and squirms as we all do when someone can see and articulate our hidden truth.

As a child, and as my parents weathered paying off student loan debt on a single income, my family didn't eat meat often, and we had many meatless meals. Leftovers, not meat, were the cornerstone of our eating habits. When we ate meat, it was a treat or a flavor agent, and it was eaten and cooked and saved fastidiously. Broth was made from bones and vegetable scraps. To this day, leftovers are always seen as food on my table.

I finished reading No Meat Required this week, which I highly recommend to anyone interested in what and how they eat. I was struck by how Alicia wrote about not seeing animal flesh as food anymore–a fundamental change has occurred over her years of being a vegan and then vegetarian.

What happens to the human brain when the slaughter of animals for human consumption becomes so normalized, so removed from sight, and so commodified as it has in the United States? Eating meat signals power (and masculinity) in a world where most people have little connection to growing or raising and slaughtering their own food. Power can get to our heads. And consumption can be addicting.

I'm reminded of sobriety. U.S. culture promises that once the alcohol is taken out, then things are fixed. But in my experience, that's not entirely true. The underlying reasons for drinking are still there and must be dealt with, honored really, or the hunger will latch onto something else. So often, alcoholism is "the big part" in us demanding help.

Telling myself that leftovers are food is one way of satiating hunger and curbing consumption I can practice daily. I remember how little I can eat and still thrive when so much supposed abundance tempts me. It's not an abundance when so many go hungry, I say again and again. Transforming food that's going bad with sugar and spices to stave off the smell of decay and eke out more nourishment is a time-honored act of economy and generosity.

We could all be the wolf destroyed and destroying with our hunger. The hunger for love, power, forgiveness, connection, comfort, or escape can grow into a ravenous beast. There are endless "cures" available (for purchase, of course) that promise quick fixes and silver bullets, but they only work for a time. They are a bandaid when we need holistic healing. St. Francis' healing presence and the town's forgiveness of the wolf and promise to feed it sounds closer to what I want: “Thou shalt no longer suffer hunger, as it is hunger which has made thee do so much evil.” We need to find ways to feed and be fed without letting our hunger destroy us and those around us. 

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Reading - Touched Out by Amanda Montei, Sweetness and Power by Sidney W. Mintz, How to Be an Artist by Jerry Saltz, and Persuasion by Jane Austen. 

Writing - An interview I did with

Christine Sneed

about her new collection of short stories Direct Sunlight was published a few weeks ago – I'd love it if you read it!

Cooking - Quick cucumber salad following the recipe on the side of the Mother In Law's Gochugaru Chile Pepper Flakes bottle. Pasta and jarred sauce. Applesauce.