We’re down to the last five days of the month. I woke up this morning thinking how easy it is to run out of steam right at the end of a project like this, and wondering what extra effort I might need to put forth to get the rest of the way to the goal, which was to give time and attention to this blog every day in July.

I was also thinking about how I’ve struggled for the last couple of months to get rid of the weight I gained while I recuperated after my eye surgeries. I’m close to that goal, but the last couple of pounds are hanging on tight. I’ve been banging away on my exercise routine as hard as ever, but with a lot going on in my work world, I’ve stumbled in the commitment to eat well. Too much snacking, too many poor choices, too many stray calories. Not enough veggies, whole grains, and lean meats.

So I asked myself, “What can I do with the five remaining days of July?” I have ideas for a few more blog posts. We’ll see if it’s enough to carry me across the finish line. But what else can I do in my sprint toward the end of the month? I decided to turn my focus to the practice I call “eating with intentionality.” For the last five days of July, I plan to pay more careful attention than ever to every bite of food or drop of drink that goes in my mouth. I’ll write it all down, and I’ll take my own advice about making sure that I eat only when I’m hungry. It’s a challenge. But we’re talking about five days. I know that I can do this for five days.

What’s the goal you’re working on? What could you accomplish toward that goal if you gave it everything you’ve got for five days? Ignore all the distractions—it’s only five days, after all—and give your time and attention to the facet of your life that needs them most right now. Five days of eating well, five days of exercising at your full capacity, five days of writing poetry, or making art, or doing yoga, or cooking nutritious meals.

Then come back here to the comments area and share with us what you’ve done.

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I’m an emotional eater. I’ve learned this about myself over and over again, but sometimes the realization doesn’t set in until 10 or 15 minutes after the food goes down. Here’s the process:

1. Experience mildly negative emotion—frustration, boredom, anxiety, irritation.
2. Seek comfort in food.
3. Later, realize that I ate for the wrong reason.
4. Feel disappointed in myself.
5. Repeat process starting at step 2, ad infinitum.

I’m trying to train myself to anticipate step 3 before I act on step 2. This is the heart of my philosophy of “eating with intentionality.” I try to evaluate every single impulse to eat by asking the question, “Am I really hungry?” Sometimes my awareness that the answer is no is enough to give me a push in another direction.

But sometimes the answer is “no, but…,” and then it’s important to consider the follow-up question, “Then why do I want to eat?” When I have the strength and the presence of mind to ponder this question, I’m often surprised by the answer:

• I want to eat because I don’t relish the next thing on my to-do list.
• I want to eat because I had a bad day yesterday.
• I want to eat because I didn’t get the phone call I was waiting for.
• I want to eat because I don’t know what else to do next.

And so on. (See more Bad Reasons to Eat.)

If you’re an emotional eater like I am, try to cultivate the habit of asking, “Am I really hungry?” And don’t beat yourself up when an act of impulsive eating gets past your vigilance. One snack isn’t going to ruin the progress you’ve made, and wasting your energy on guilt or shame will only reinforce the cycle you’re trying to break. Recognize the emotion that’s troubling you, give yourself a pat on the back for paying attention, and renew your commitment to the changes you want to make in your life.

Try this exercise: Drop in on a Chinese buffet at the height of the lunch rush. Take a quick visual survey of the first 10 adults you see. Notice how many of them are overweight. Count the number who could probably be described as morbidly obese.

Now turn around, walk out, and go eat somewhere else.

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I understand the arguments in favor of buffet dining: you don’t have to limit yourself to a single menu choice, it’s easy to feed yourself quickly, there are plenty of things that the kids like, and so on. I’m also not bashing Chinese cuisine in general—it offers plenty of options for eating well.

I’ve focused on Chinese restaurants because they’re the segment of the buffet market with which I had the most personal experience in fatter days. The people who run them have figured out that “all you can eat” (or “all you care to eat”) is a popular draw. If the model is profitable, that’s because it relies on stuffing diners full of cheap food—mountains of rice and fried stuff doused in sauces full of sugar, salt, and monosodium glutamate. The buffet setting encourages us to overeat by reinforcing our flawed perception that volume equals value. It’s hard to resist the drive to “get your money’s worth.”

I hope I don’t sound judgmental or dictatorial. People should certainly be free to eat at buffets if that’s what they want. But that’s not what you want, is it? You want to be healthy, and you want to make food choices that are about quality, nutrition, and genuine enjoyment.

Don’t sacrifice your food values in favor of speed or cheapness. Unless you have the self-control of a Buddhist monk, stay away from buffets except as an occasional treat.

I ate a wonderful meal tonight. On the advice of friends, my dinner date and I went to check out Divino, an Italian restaurant that’s somewhat more pricy than my typical dining choices.

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We started off with a bottle of Malbec and an antipasto classico. The platter contained a tiny portion of each of eight or nine savory treats—fresh mozzarella, chunks of aged Parmiggiano, several kinds of preserved meat, little slices of grilled polenta, quarters of baby artichokes, and pickled onions. It was enough food for each of us to enjoy a taste of everything, but not much more than a taste. We were disappointed that the waiter didn’t bring bread—or even offer to bring bread.

Then came the entrees: lasagne Bolognese for my friend and goat cheese ravioli for me. The menu was typical of restaurants in Italy, listing separate prices for the various salads and sides. So we weren’t surprised that neither entree came with any accompaniments. Still, my first reaction when the waiter put the plate down in front of me was to think, “That’s it?” Eight tiny pieces of ravioli were lined in two rows down the center of the plate and decorated with fried sage leaves and a scattering of pine nuts. We’d also ordered a side of roasted fennel to share. The dish contained four small wedges of fennel, beautifully browned and shiny with olive oil.

My companion remarked on the modest size of my dinner. His comment prompted me to tell him about this blog project, and how just the other day I’d written about dividing my restaurant meals in half. I laughed and said, “That practice will not be enforced tonight!”

Can you see where I’m going with this story? Wouldn’t you think that having figured out that most typical restaurant portions are excessive, I’d be able to recognize an appropriate serving when it was staring me in the face? But I guess I’ve been conditioned always to want more, so I looked at the meal and couldn’t help wondering how soon I’d be hungry again.

But by the time I’d worked my slow, relaxed, attentive way through eight pieces of ravioli—the tangy goat cheese perfectly balanced by buttery pine nuts and crisp, fragrant sage—and a few mouthfuls of sweet, spicy fennel, all washed down with the mellow Malbec, I was utterly satisfied. Sure, I could have put away another dozen of those ravioli, but it wouldn’t have improved the quality of the experience the tiniest bit.

I left Divino recalling the Exploring Mindful Eating workshop in which I took part in March. The presenter, chef Adam Miles, emphasized choosing food carefully and giving it the time and attention it deserves. I’ve spent the last several years trying to craft a similar philosophy and psychology of food for myself. I’ve dubbed my collection of tactics, tricks, and mental exercises related to food “eating with intentionality.”

I’ve learned that although you don’t necessarily have to spend a lot of money to get a wholesome meal, you do have to invest something: the time to locate and buy good ingredients, the effort to prepare and cook the food, and your attention to appreciate what you’re eating. Tonight’s divine dinner reinforced this lesson about eating with intentionality:

What we choose to eat is ultimately a reflection of what we value. What do you want from your food? If your goal is to consume the most calories in the least time for the smallest amount of money, you might want to try a strip-center Chinese buffet, or any place that offers to “supersize it.” But if you want the experience of eating fine ingredients that have been prepared with care and attention, it’s going to cost you something. But it will be worth the price.

Nearly a week, and all I’ve managed to talk about so far is exercise. Diet is a more difficult subject to approach. Food means a lot more than sustenance, more than just the source of energy to keep the body running. Food is laden with emotional context.

Image: Carlos Porto / FreeDigitalPhotos.net

We’ll come back to that context another day. Today, I’ll ease into the topic with one of the simplest weight-loss tips I can offer.

Do you eat in restaurants? I love to dine out, but restaurant portions are out of control. Restaurants seem to be engaged in a competition to see who can pile the most food on a plate. I’ve never worked in restaurant management, but I can only suppose that an economy of scale is at work here. Maybe an oversized plate that sells for $13.95 is more profitable to serve than a right-sized portion at $9.95. An overloaded plate certainly creates the perception of increased value for the consumer. But where’s the value in consuming hundreds of surplus calories when you’re already full?

No one was more surprised than I to realize that you don’t have to eat everything the restaurant serves you. When the server lays a super‑sized meal on the table, make up your mind at that instant to take half of it home. If you doubt your self-control, ask the server for a to‑go box the minute she bring your plate, and don’t start eating until she returns with the container. Use your knife and fork to isolate a reasonable portion of food to eat now, and put the rest straight into the box to take home.

If you’re concerned with presentation, ask the server to have the kitchen split the meal in half for you, and to put the leftovers in a to‑go box before he even brings it to the table. The worst he’ll do is say no. He’s working for tips, after all.

The first few times I followed this practice, I felt sorry for myself, a little deprived. But I found that I wasn’t going away hungry. Too much is too much, and all I needed was to train myself to pay attention to being served too much. Later it dawned on me that I’m now getting two meals for the price of one! I’m a cheapskate, so that realization made my new habit taste even sweeter.