I eat popcorn for dinner a lot. Sometimes cereal. Every now and then, I will get it in my guns to make, like, real food — which is, for me, one of the hardest things to do.
Recipes require organization. Meals require parts, and prep. I have to make sure I have everything, properly measure, and then add at appropriate times. What does that seem like, you say? A puzzle. Because it fucking is. A puzzle. It is astounding, maddening, and challenging. Puzzles aren’t fun.
I woke up this morning rearing to go. By 8 a.m., I had prepared a french toast bake, cleaned out my bedroom closet, vacuumed the ceiling fan and all the window sills. I was not playing around. I got high off of it – my productivity. I felt like a million bucks.
So when it came time to think about dinner, I went to work. Stuffed red peppers, tonight. I made the rice, the faux meat crumbles, adjusted spice, stuffed them. And then…I pulled out all the produce hiding in this house and put it to heat. I baked sweet potatoes, sautéed eggplant, shredded giant zucchini. I even made my own damn breadcrumbs.I drank a little beer while I worked, but I was drunk off my own pride.
I can feed my family. I can feed myself.
I have hands that can help me. Chemistry adds necessary intrigue. I’ve got this. I’ve got this.
I get really emotional when I eat. I close my eyes a lot. Perform audible appreciation.I get overwhelmed easily.
I love to go to restaurants. People MAKE SHIT FOR YOU AND THEN OTHER PEOPLE BRING IT ALL THE WAY TO YOUR TABLE! WHILE BEING NICE TO YOU! An idea that will never fail to be less than wondrous to me.
But I would choose your table over a restaurant any day. Sometimes I think the only thing I have ever wanted is someone to feed me.
It’s not because I’m filled with greed. Or because I’m hungry.
It’s because you solved the puzzle I so rarely solve.
You took food + food, added warmth and love. You figured out how to care for me.