Philosophical shifts
Thaaaanksgiving. I feel a change this year.
In my natural state, I think a great deal about food. I don't get to eat a lot of things other people get to eat, but I love food all the same. Fortunately, after many months of keeping good habits I successfuly snuck shells and cheese (not a lot of it) and cornbread stuffing (also not a lot). I am outrageously happy to see rice coming back into the picture without any pain.
I don't plan on pushing it further than the occasional treat any time soon of course, because it is not an exaggeration to say that "surprises" like that are horrifying. But even more, I feel like the new way of eating --while it would seem highly restrictive to most people-- spoiled me. I got into the swing of eating as much as I wanted to without worrying. It sharpened my senses and made me feel much better than I had in over a decade. As into novel gluttony as I tend to be, I am surprised to find myself naturally wanting to go back to it as soon as possible. Cornbread stuffing almost seems disappointing in comparison to a nice breakfast of sweet raspberries and brie.
It occurred to me, when Thanksgiving rolled around, to try looking at it the way the French might. Their meals are celebrated and profoundly spiritual. They plan. They take time to prepare and enjoy-- and when it's time to present, they frame the whole experience with a beautiful ambiance. My mother tells me that all senses are employed in some way during the simplest of French meals.
I love the idea of this.
We planned the menu and bought groceries for our own dinner well ahead of time, so having to go get them wouldn't be stressful (imagine what it's like to smoosh in with 195,000 other frantic procrastinators). I laid the dried goods out on the kitchen bar so I could look at them and feel excited.
For the first few years, young American newlyweds seem to fall headfirst into the trap of, "how much can I produce?" Most of us watch our Grandmothers cook insane amounts of great food for people over the course of a lifetime-- when we start families of our own, isn't it our turn?
Taking this on right away.... is sometimes an error in judgement.
And although the spread wound up being enough for maybe six people, pulling it off was much more fun this time around. Being able to put music on and breathe and chat, much like it feels to paint or write, made the quality of the food surpass anything I've made in the four years I've been doing this. We tried every course, and we both cleaned our plates.
The promise I made to Steve on his birthday motivated me to have the living room completely set up for our luxurious comfort, and not just baseline functionality.... we actually got to set dinner on my antique buffet for the first time in the two years we've owned it. And God, was it beautiful. I wish I hadn't left my camera at work. There's still Christmas, I suppose, although I doubt we'll be here for dinner.
We sat down at the table and just looked around for a minute. When it was my turn to talk about what I was thankful for, I cried out of joy. Steve's eyes welled up a little too. This is probably the closest we've felt to having a home since we moved here.
Somewhere in Slaughterhouse-Five a British POW talks about how he makes sure to stick to his familiar routines as much as he possibly can. He says the war is full of little indignities that will eventually break you-- if you let them.
While I don't begin to compare my situation to something like that, what he's talking about is important. Applying that frame of mind to my own circumstance helps. I don't think being unhappy with a location or a job, the fact that we are childless and ostracized from our loved ones in a tiny condo right now, should shit us out of experiences that nourish the soul. That's what this is all about.
As all of what I've talked about unfolded, I took a couple of weeks to study this awesome cookbook. It's wonderfully written and inspiring without an iota of pretense. It tells you everything you need to know without coming off as preachy, which is important to me as someone who does not want to be an obnoxious vegan. And after contemplating the recipes and how realistic it would be to try them on a daily basis, I decided to make a rather steep financial commitment by buying some equipment.
Carrot sticks only stay interesting for so long, you know? It's time to get artful. And to do that, sometimes you just need tools. I have yet to regret anything.
I ordered these:
A mandoline slicer: In a former life I used to sell these, so I already knew they were cool. It's a simple, small tool that manually juliennes and slices at thick and thin settings. Tonight I did a large onion on four different inserts in about two minutes. I wanted to run around the room with my cutting board when I saw.
The first thing I'm going to try with it is these little pierogies made from paper-thin slices of jicama. They've got a creamy filling of cashew butter and spices.
Spirooli slicer: Also simple and small. Can turn raw zucchini and other fruits/vegetables into spaghetti-like strands of varying thickness.
Spaghetti squash, like carrot sticks, only stays interesting for so long.
This is where it gets a little weirder.
A food dehydrator.
I've balked at owning one for the longest time. But as a vegetarian who's run the gauntlet from merely excluding meat from an already lacking diet, to fake meat, back to real meat, and finally forced to develop a genuine appreciation of produce-- well, I feel it's appropriate at last to jump off this damned cliff.
I'm especially looking forward to making breakfast bars and cookies that consist of little more than fresh fruit. There's a crispy onion thing in the cookbook that looks a lot like something we enjoy at Cafe Belga.
So, yeah. I'm continuing on with a largely vegan/raw diet because I liked it, but if I want an egg or some cheese, I'll have at. No reason to force any constraints if it's not going to hurt me....
But there's finally an option of just how processed it has to be, and I like that most of all. I'm not curious to see if this sticks. I just can't wait until my tools come in so I can get started.
For the first time in such a long while, I feel like keeping things in perspective is possible. Nothing feels better than knowing what you want to do and making it a reality. It is the ultimate anti-depressant.
In my natural state, I think a great deal about food. I don't get to eat a lot of things other people get to eat, but I love food all the same. Fortunately, after many months of keeping good habits I successfuly snuck shells and cheese (not a lot of it) and cornbread stuffing (also not a lot). I am outrageously happy to see rice coming back into the picture without any pain.
I don't plan on pushing it further than the occasional treat any time soon of course, because it is not an exaggeration to say that "surprises" like that are horrifying. But even more, I feel like the new way of eating --while it would seem highly restrictive to most people-- spoiled me. I got into the swing of eating as much as I wanted to without worrying. It sharpened my senses and made me feel much better than I had in over a decade. As into novel gluttony as I tend to be, I am surprised to find myself naturally wanting to go back to it as soon as possible. Cornbread stuffing almost seems disappointing in comparison to a nice breakfast of sweet raspberries and brie.
It occurred to me, when Thanksgiving rolled around, to try looking at it the way the French might. Their meals are celebrated and profoundly spiritual. They plan. They take time to prepare and enjoy-- and when it's time to present, they frame the whole experience with a beautiful ambiance. My mother tells me that all senses are employed in some way during the simplest of French meals.
I love the idea of this.
We planned the menu and bought groceries for our own dinner well ahead of time, so having to go get them wouldn't be stressful (imagine what it's like to smoosh in with 195,000 other frantic procrastinators). I laid the dried goods out on the kitchen bar so I could look at them and feel excited.
For the first few years, young American newlyweds seem to fall headfirst into the trap of, "how much can I produce?" Most of us watch our Grandmothers cook insane amounts of great food for people over the course of a lifetime-- when we start families of our own, isn't it our turn?
Taking this on right away.... is sometimes an error in judgement.
And although the spread wound up being enough for maybe six people, pulling it off was much more fun this time around. Being able to put music on and breathe and chat, much like it feels to paint or write, made the quality of the food surpass anything I've made in the four years I've been doing this. We tried every course, and we both cleaned our plates.
The promise I made to Steve on his birthday motivated me to have the living room completely set up for our luxurious comfort, and not just baseline functionality.... we actually got to set dinner on my antique buffet for the first time in the two years we've owned it. And God, was it beautiful. I wish I hadn't left my camera at work. There's still Christmas, I suppose, although I doubt we'll be here for dinner.
We sat down at the table and just looked around for a minute. When it was my turn to talk about what I was thankful for, I cried out of joy. Steve's eyes welled up a little too. This is probably the closest we've felt to having a home since we moved here.
Somewhere in Slaughterhouse-Five a British POW talks about how he makes sure to stick to his familiar routines as much as he possibly can. He says the war is full of little indignities that will eventually break you-- if you let them.
While I don't begin to compare my situation to something like that, what he's talking about is important. Applying that frame of mind to my own circumstance helps. I don't think being unhappy with a location or a job, the fact that we are childless and ostracized from our loved ones in a tiny condo right now, should shit us out of experiences that nourish the soul. That's what this is all about.
As all of what I've talked about unfolded, I took a couple of weeks to study this awesome cookbook. It's wonderfully written and inspiring without an iota of pretense. It tells you everything you need to know without coming off as preachy, which is important to me as someone who does not want to be an obnoxious vegan. And after contemplating the recipes and how realistic it would be to try them on a daily basis, I decided to make a rather steep financial commitment by buying some equipment.
Carrot sticks only stay interesting for so long, you know? It's time to get artful. And to do that, sometimes you just need tools. I have yet to regret anything.
I ordered these:
A mandoline slicer: In a former life I used to sell these, so I already knew they were cool. It's a simple, small tool that manually juliennes and slices at thick and thin settings. Tonight I did a large onion on four different inserts in about two minutes. I wanted to run around the room with my cutting board when I saw.
The first thing I'm going to try with it is these little pierogies made from paper-thin slices of jicama. They've got a creamy filling of cashew butter and spices.
Spirooli slicer: Also simple and small. Can turn raw zucchini and other fruits/vegetables into spaghetti-like strands of varying thickness.
Spaghetti squash, like carrot sticks, only stays interesting for so long.
This is where it gets a little weirder.
A food dehydrator.
I've balked at owning one for the longest time. But as a vegetarian who's run the gauntlet from merely excluding meat from an already lacking diet, to fake meat, back to real meat, and finally forced to develop a genuine appreciation of produce-- well, I feel it's appropriate at last to jump off this damned cliff.
I'm especially looking forward to making breakfast bars and cookies that consist of little more than fresh fruit. There's a crispy onion thing in the cookbook that looks a lot like something we enjoy at Cafe Belga.
So, yeah. I'm continuing on with a largely vegan/raw diet because I liked it, but if I want an egg or some cheese, I'll have at. No reason to force any constraints if it's not going to hurt me....
But there's finally an option of just how processed it has to be, and I like that most of all. I'm not curious to see if this sticks. I just can't wait until my tools come in so I can get started.
For the first time in such a long while, I feel like keeping things in perspective is possible. Nothing feels better than knowing what you want to do and making it a reality. It is the ultimate anti-depressant.