LJ Idol 2011; topic six.
Food Memories
In my memory, food is wonderful.
In my memory are holidays in a beach-house. We were so close to the shore that the wind was never-ending, howling outside the window in the company of waves crashing on the reef and making my bed seem even warmer. My dad would make bacon and eggs and toast for breakfast, the eggs sunnyside-up and still runny, the bacon just the slightest bit crispy on the edges.
Then there was the first and only ‘traditional’ family dinner I had a few years ago, with my mum’s side of the family. We went to my aunt’s roadhouse, stayed in the empty units and pigged out for two days. I think of the succulent legs of honey ham, the rows and rows of white chicken laying in beds of lettuce, the king prawns sitting in their bowls and begging to be eaten.
I think of the prawn curries at my favourite restaurant, still sizzling on the plate and with vegetables still crunchy. Sometimes my sister and I would share two different dishes and carefully dole out the prawns so we’d each get an even number. I’d carefully push the prawns to the side of my plate and eat the vegetables first, using the rice to sop up the sauce before ending, nearly overstuffed, with the rows of prawns left. (Five or six. It was always either five or six prawns from each dish, ten to a dozen total.)
During usual Christmases with my dad and siblings, the turkey and ham would be laid out on platters along with cheese and chicken and sometimes still-shelled prawns. We’d eat as the day went on, stealing slabs of ham and turkey as we passed through the dining room. (The prawns never lasted long.)
Sometimes we would have semi-special nights, when it was too hot to cook; instead there’d be a platter of ham and salami and cheeses and bread. I’d always have camembert and brie, with a layer of salami or ham.
In my memory are my favourite foods. Like bacon; I love bacon. Hell, I love ham-all kinds of ham. If all the pigs died tomorrow, I would go into withdrawal. I also like fish. Salmon is nice, but barramundi is my current favourite; barramundi with Cajun powder, or perhaps fried with mushrooms.
But my ultimate favourite must be prawns. Even shelled or tailed prawns take me but a moment to prepare, I’ve eaten them so often; nothing more than pinning with a fork and a flick and twist with a knife. (Prawns, shrimp, what’s in a name; it would still taste as sweet.)
When my stomach growls I remember all those things, and they are wonderful.
And then reality intervenes. How long has it been since I woke up? If it’s less than two hours I know I’ll only feel sick if I eat more than a small bowl of cereal or some fruit … and sometimes even then. I hate apples; they taste so bland. Oranges are nice. I like oranges.
Sometimes, if I’m lucky and on holiday, I’ll be able to eat soon after rising. But most days … most days I have no breakfast at all. Many days I don’t even eat until well after noon.
Lunch has gotten to be around one o’clock. There are a few things I know how to make, which are simple to make. Bacon and eggs. Scrambled eggs. Microwaved macaroni and cheese. Cheese and crackers. Toasted sandwiches. Things that are quick, easy-things that I eat over and over, so that even as wonderful as they seem in my memory, when the times comes to eat my throat and stomach rebel.
When I do get them down I’m hungry again only a few hours later.
Dinner is easy and hard at the same time. Fish is so easy to good. So are ham steaks. I can grill a lot of things; frozen meals, porterhouse steaks. Stir fry. (Prawn stir fry? Yes please.)
Yet dinner is neglected also. The meat is simple, but must I bother with vegetables? It’s so much easier to make the staple and never mind the fixings-or at least not fixings I actually need to cook. Raw mushrooms, raw beans, raw snowpeas-maybe some cherry tomatoes. That will do for the vegetables, right?
I’ve been told I’m a creative person, but you’d never know it when it comes to my food. What can I eat that I haven’t already eaten a thousand times? What can I have that my stomach says it wants, but on which my throat closes once it’s made? What can I cook that won’t require me to spend ages on a task I have very little interest in? What can I make that I will actually enjoy?
I plan my days around my meals; I ensure that I only leave the house just after I’ve eaten, so that by the time I feel hungry again, usually only a few hours later, I’ll hopefully be home. Home where I can distract myself from the hunger. I struggle to find things to snack on to stave off the pangs until mealtimes-and then forget to eat at all. I wind up starving when the meal finally comes. What do I do when I should eat, need to eat, and yet getting food seems so hard?
In my memory, food is wonderful.
In reality, food is a chore.
[Written for therealljidol, week six, topic six.]
In my memory, food is wonderful.
In my memory are holidays in a beach-house. We were so close to the shore that the wind was never-ending, howling outside the window in the company of waves crashing on the reef and making my bed seem even warmer. My dad would make bacon and eggs and toast for breakfast, the eggs sunnyside-up and still runny, the bacon just the slightest bit crispy on the edges.
Then there was the first and only ‘traditional’ family dinner I had a few years ago, with my mum’s side of the family. We went to my aunt’s roadhouse, stayed in the empty units and pigged out for two days. I think of the succulent legs of honey ham, the rows and rows of white chicken laying in beds of lettuce, the king prawns sitting in their bowls and begging to be eaten.
I think of the prawn curries at my favourite restaurant, still sizzling on the plate and with vegetables still crunchy. Sometimes my sister and I would share two different dishes and carefully dole out the prawns so we’d each get an even number. I’d carefully push the prawns to the side of my plate and eat the vegetables first, using the rice to sop up the sauce before ending, nearly overstuffed, with the rows of prawns left. (Five or six. It was always either five or six prawns from each dish, ten to a dozen total.)
During usual Christmases with my dad and siblings, the turkey and ham would be laid out on platters along with cheese and chicken and sometimes still-shelled prawns. We’d eat as the day went on, stealing slabs of ham and turkey as we passed through the dining room. (The prawns never lasted long.)
Sometimes we would have semi-special nights, when it was too hot to cook; instead there’d be a platter of ham and salami and cheeses and bread. I’d always have camembert and brie, with a layer of salami or ham.
In my memory are my favourite foods. Like bacon; I love bacon. Hell, I love ham-all kinds of ham. If all the pigs died tomorrow, I would go into withdrawal. I also like fish. Salmon is nice, but barramundi is my current favourite; barramundi with Cajun powder, or perhaps fried with mushrooms.
But my ultimate favourite must be prawns. Even shelled or tailed prawns take me but a moment to prepare, I’ve eaten them so often; nothing more than pinning with a fork and a flick and twist with a knife. (Prawns, shrimp, what’s in a name; it would still taste as sweet.)
When my stomach growls I remember all those things, and they are wonderful.
And then reality intervenes. How long has it been since I woke up? If it’s less than two hours I know I’ll only feel sick if I eat more than a small bowl of cereal or some fruit … and sometimes even then. I hate apples; they taste so bland. Oranges are nice. I like oranges.
Sometimes, if I’m lucky and on holiday, I’ll be able to eat soon after rising. But most days … most days I have no breakfast at all. Many days I don’t even eat until well after noon.
Lunch has gotten to be around one o’clock. There are a few things I know how to make, which are simple to make. Bacon and eggs. Scrambled eggs. Microwaved macaroni and cheese. Cheese and crackers. Toasted sandwiches. Things that are quick, easy-things that I eat over and over, so that even as wonderful as they seem in my memory, when the times comes to eat my throat and stomach rebel.
When I do get them down I’m hungry again only a few hours later.
Dinner is easy and hard at the same time. Fish is so easy to good. So are ham steaks. I can grill a lot of things; frozen meals, porterhouse steaks. Stir fry. (Prawn stir fry? Yes please.)
Yet dinner is neglected also. The meat is simple, but must I bother with vegetables? It’s so much easier to make the staple and never mind the fixings-or at least not fixings I actually need to cook. Raw mushrooms, raw beans, raw snowpeas-maybe some cherry tomatoes. That will do for the vegetables, right?
I’ve been told I’m a creative person, but you’d never know it when it comes to my food. What can I eat that I haven’t already eaten a thousand times? What can I have that my stomach says it wants, but on which my throat closes once it’s made? What can I cook that won’t require me to spend ages on a task I have very little interest in? What can I make that I will actually enjoy?
I plan my days around my meals; I ensure that I only leave the house just after I’ve eaten, so that by the time I feel hungry again, usually only a few hours later, I’ll hopefully be home. Home where I can distract myself from the hunger. I struggle to find things to snack on to stave off the pangs until mealtimes-and then forget to eat at all. I wind up starving when the meal finally comes. What do I do when I should eat, need to eat, and yet getting food seems so hard?
In my memory, food is wonderful.
In reality, food is a chore.
[Written for therealljidol, week six, topic six.]