Eating Well Without the Flavor of Shame

That’s the thought that crossed my mind the other day as I sat hungrily at a counter in Eataly with Peter Kaminsky, a veteran food writer and the author of a new book, “Culinary Intelligence: The Art of Eating Healthy (and Really Well).” Mr. Kaminsky’s manifesto makes the not-altogether-depressing argument that some of us might be able to tame our gluttonous appetites (and maybe even slim down) by focusing on eating foods that deliver maximum flavor.

A few of those foods had been placed in front of us on the counter, and their presence was both tempting and reassuring: a tennis-ball-size globe of fresh mozzarella, dressed in olive oil and sea salt and crimson sun-dried tomatoes, and four fat-stitched sashes of prosciutto. Ham and cheese: yes!

Rich deposits of protein and umami would satiate us during our midday tour of the Flatiron district food emporium, Mr. Kaminsky promised me, and would help prevent us from succumbing to various white-flour pitfalls, like pizza and pasta, that fragrantly lurked in other parts of the marketplace.

Two modest supplies of bread arrived, but the 65-year-old author initially chose not to liberate his from its paper wrapping. The 45-year-old writer strove to do the same, even though I suspected it was very good bread and would taste even better dipped into that olive oil and topped with a knuckle of mozzarella.

“We’re having lunch!” Mr. Kaminsky announced.

It didn’t look like quite as much lunch as I had anticipated, especially when I realized we were supposed to share. I envisioned myself dueling with Mr. Kaminsky over those four papery strips of cured Italian pork.

“Don’t let me shame you into eating less,” he said.

Indeed, “Culinary Intelligence“ (Knopf) has nothing to do with shame, and everything to do with the idea of enlisting pleasure as your dietary ally. “I didn’t want to write a finger-wagging book because I don’t think that motivates people to eat well,” he said.

In the book, Mr. Kaminsky makes a case that healthier eating can be achieved, in part, by cooking with foods that pack a lot of what he calls F.P.C., or flavor per calorie. The idea is that by amping up the taste, you can satisfy your cravings with smaller portions.

Mr. Kaminsky advises readers to steer clear of processed ingredients, white flour, sugar and potatoes, but has high praise for anchovies, chickpeas, capers, plain yogurt, olive oil and roasted almonds. And he happily finds room in his dream larder for bacon, butter, Italian sausage and dark chocolate. (Not tons of it, mind you. He recommends using sprinkles and dashes of bacon and sausage as a source of seasoning and crunch in, say, a lentil stew.)

“It’s really not complicated,” he said. “Many weight-loss systems are complicated.” Instead of directing people to a meal-by-meal regimen that’s “a lot to remember, hard to follow,” Mr. Kaminsky offers an approach that factors in our impulsive desire for the delectable.

“Eating, just like sex, is not something you can make a four-week schedule for,” he said. “Spontaneity has something to be said for it.”

So does fear. In November 2007, after 15 years of voraciously eating his way around the globe, including a four-year stint as New York magazine’s Underground Gourmet, Mr. Kaminsky found himself at a grim impasse. His doctor had told him he was borderline obese and prediabetic, and an application to renew his life insurance was nixed.

His initial response to the news was, alas, unprintable. Suffice it to say that he endured a period of professional vexation. “Telling a food writer that he’s got to stop eating stuff is like telling a piano player that he’s got to use 44 keys,” he said.

He weighed 205 pounds back then. He’s at 165 today, and his blood sugar has dipped back to normal levels. He credits the approach that he lays out in “Culinary Intelligence” with restoring his health and reeling in his waistline.

“I cut out everything white right away,” he said. “That meant that what used to be pasta dishes became lentil dishes or farro dishes.” He cut back on dessert. He dodged French fries. “Of all the things I walked away from, I would say that that was the toughest,” he said. “But it no longer is.”

Mr. Kaminsky said he had gradually come to learn, particularly when consuming several herds’ worth of grilled meat for “Seven Fires,” a cookbook published in 2009 that he produced in collaboration with the South American chef Francis Mallmann, that it is possible to “go through the valley of temptation and come out on the other side feeling pretty good.”

I’d opted for Eataly because it ranks high in the “valley of temptation” department, stocked as it is with juicy porchetta sandwiches, bubbling-crust pizzas and aisles of beckoning pastas. (Still, as Mr. Kaminsky would later point out, “At Eataly it’s kind of hard not to find the right stuff. It’s the shopping equivalent of flock shooting. The trick comes at Key Food or on the road or at neighborhood bodegas or when I visit my wife’s family in Rockford, Illinois. There are good choices everywhere if you look hard enough.”)

He promised me that our ham-and-cheese repast would mute the shriek of my cravings. “We just ate prophylactically,” he said. “Now we can walk around this place.”

He led me through the bounty for 45 minutes or so, pointing out items that he saw as emissaries of F.P.C. (olives, porcini mushrooms, spelt) and steering me away from trouble. His stuck his hand out like a traffic cop when we got to the gorgeously bottled Italian sodas.

“No,” he said. “Not necessary. Empty calories.”

But they’re from Italy, I offered in defense.

“So is Topo Gigio,” he said. “I don’t drink fruit juice, either. Fruit juice is sugar with no fiber to mediate its consumption. When people tell me they’re going on a juice cleanse, they might as well tell me they’re going on a root beer cleanse.”

When forms of protein materialized, he nodded approvingly. “I would do the fish station,” he said. “There’s a salumi station, which is not on most diets. Those are things that will be flavorful and will satisfy you. I think a plate of charcuterie is fine. Fat is not the enemy. Sugar is the enemy.”

Nevertheless, our journey through Eataly ended at the candy counter, where Mr. Kaminsky picked up a bar of chocolate from Venezuela and noted with approval that its first ingredient was “cocoa mass.” (The second was cane sugar, and that appeared to be it.) Mr. Kaminsky ends a lot of meals with a square of dark chocolate.

“It’s extremely satisfying,” he said. “It’s a natural up. All I know is, it really works for me.”

I agreed. But I was still pretty hungry, and less inclined to share. So when we got to the cash register I didn’t buy one of the Venezuelan chocolate bars.

I bought two.