domestic funk
I'm standing in my kitchen tonight, jacket still on, eating almonds and raisins out of the canister while eyeing all the other food I should be eating instead. A squash, eggs, polenta, quinoa, possibly pasta and some of those canned tomatoes with garlic and red pepper flake. G-ddamn, do I love the combination of garlic and red pepper flake with tomatoes.
I have grand dreams of cooking and eating well, and hell, sometimes I do. Growing up it seemed like there was all this time between when my parents came home and when I headed to bed. Now, 5pm feels like 9pm feels like Midnight and nothing seems to be accomplished, nothing cooked. I waiver between social and hermit, poking my head out occasionally and getting swept up in dinners and lunches and brunches and tea until the laundry threatens to cover every inch of the bedroom and Dora is filing separation papers.
I want domestic bliss--lazy Saturday afternoons adventuring around the City, Sunday mornings in bed with a book and NPR, Sunday evenings on the couch with a project and something cooking itself into goodness in the oven. I want to be (geographically) close enough to my friends that popping over for dinner at the last minute is de rigure. I want all the recipes I have on backlog to be tested and honed if they're worth anything. I want to actually use the food I have, instead of letting it sit until I can't remember when I've purchased it.
But typically, it's raisins out of the canister with chocolate milk in my jacket instead.
I have grand dreams of cooking and eating well, and hell, sometimes I do. Growing up it seemed like there was all this time between when my parents came home and when I headed to bed. Now, 5pm feels like 9pm feels like Midnight and nothing seems to be accomplished, nothing cooked. I waiver between social and hermit, poking my head out occasionally and getting swept up in dinners and lunches and brunches and tea until the laundry threatens to cover every inch of the bedroom and Dora is filing separation papers.
I want domestic bliss--lazy Saturday afternoons adventuring around the City, Sunday mornings in bed with a book and NPR, Sunday evenings on the couch with a project and something cooking itself into goodness in the oven. I want to be (geographically) close enough to my friends that popping over for dinner at the last minute is de rigure. I want all the recipes I have on backlog to be tested and honed if they're worth anything. I want to actually use the food I have, instead of letting it sit until I can't remember when I've purchased it.
But typically, it's raisins out of the canister with chocolate milk in my jacket instead.