On Food

The fact that I don’t write about food anymore is hard on me, for sure. It was how I started blogging, how I found my voice and how I forged a relationship with a lot of readers. Cooking is where I feel most at home, where I can zone out and enjoy myself, where I create. Preparing meals brings me a satisfaction I don’t feel often. It is a place where I can pour out my heart and show to people how much I care. Whether it is for a sick friend in need of soup or the office in need of a pick me up in muffin form or a guy who needs to rip my pants off and a meal is the final push, food conveys a lot of things.

But…I had to give it up. For those who have asked about my job, yes, it is connected to food. That is all I will say because I love said job and I would like to keep it. I am not made for roughing it and I appreciate the things a steady income keeps me in, which is mainly Prosecco and shoes.

But the desire hasn’t gone away. I think about my last meal: pigs in a blanket, short ribs with cheesy polenta and brussel sprouts and carrots cake. I would make it myself, savoring every course.

I think about throwing dinner parties for friends: comforting warm spinach salad with bacon, creamy butternuts soup, slow roasted lamb with bright citrus cous cous and sharp lemon tartes.

I dream of moving in to a bigger place and throwing a housewarming party. I would serenade my guests with homemade crackers and simple goat cheese spreads. Plates of mini grilled cheese with prosciutto and bowls of spicy nuts would adorn the table. Cool celery and crunchy carrots would lose all health benefits after a swim in a yogurty onion dip. Mac and cheese bites and homemade ice cream sandwiches would delight everyone’s inner child.

So, no. I am not writing about food anymore, but I am making it and thinking about it all the time. You can’t really change who you are now, can you?