in a long time (really, probably just a month or so) that I am allowing myself to sit down and taste my food. No, I don’t have COVID; lately, eating has become a chore, less important than writing or editing or dancing with Akhilah or cleaning or reading or visiting a park or drinking coffee or paying bills or decorating or exercising or even breathing. Somehow, the simple joy I once derived from cooking and then eating is now madness, energy wasted since I could be doing something else.
Food has become something gobbled quickly for the sole purpose of continued living. Mostly I still eat healthy: a lot of grass-fed beef, expensive eggs, greens, avocados. Crackers and rice, even granola, when the carbs call. I treat myself to burgers and fries from local restaurants or sometimes fast-food joints. On the rare occasion, Talenti is dinner. I’ve discovered beef tallow and now, grapeseed oil is faux pas. I still like Lärabars with peanut butter and cilantro is my go-to herb. Next to coffee, there is tea: dandelion, matcha with turmeric, blue vervain, chickweed. Herbal blends featuring elderberry and rooibos, lemon balm and ginseng. I supplement and drink water. Nevertheless, none of it is the same.
Life demands my attention be elsewhere. At least, this is what I tell myself. So yesterday, it was nice to sit at my table, no phone, no computer, no book, just my thoughts (until I grabbed a notebook to write all this), and a plate of food. It was nice to taste the beef and eggs with every chew.