I used to joke in college that you could tell I was stressed out because I ate almost everything out of mugs and cups. It wasn’t really a joke. Spoonable foods, easy foods, gave me a sense of control over my time and my brain. I could take them and run for the hills. Fuck plates.
I don’t eat well in periods of transition.
I emptied out my fridge before traveling to New York for two weeks. I came back to zero weird rotting food (bless up) and no real sense of what was in my kitchen anymore. Coming home to nothing after spending time in a house that seemed to have everything was hard. I feel like the kids stumbling out of the wardrobe who, having known Narnia, must return to their realities. Dizzy. Misplaced.
Restocking my fridge has been a slog. I don’t make sense right now. I stumbled over to the Mexican grocery store down the block and stocked up on pasta and onions and a can of tomatoes. I had half an intention to make this one NYT recipe for tomato sauce, but then I found the leftover fajita mac and cheese I had squirreled away in the freezer. It took forever to unfreeze in the oven. I could still taste the frozen through the bechamel.
Then came the Amazon Pantry order to combat my freezer foods and helterskelter grocery shopping. I can’t remember what I ordered except for a twelve pound bag of rice. I don’t know why I need that much rice, but I do.
I popped over to the coop a few blocks away after a three hour nap because I realized I didn’t have any greens. They were selling $6 raspberries. Less than a week ago I was picking raspberries off wild bushes. I picked up tofu and cabbage and kale and grapefruit and a half baguette.
I want to blame the heat. It slows everything down. It makes me want to eat out of cups. I know it's not the heat. I keep buying ingredients, hoping they are the right things to make me feel more normal. I made Sarah’s cabbage recipe and ate it with a fried egg and tried to settle back into this place and its routines. I left the dishes in the sink. I’m running out of cups.