I stopped writing the food blog because blogs started to feel archaic and old school, and also because I somehow felt terrible all the time and writing about myself//food pretty much made me want to barf. It turns out I’m a very private person. But as time has gone on I find myself missing writing about what to eat a lot. Food is never just food, I’ve been working at a busy “important” restaurant and as it turns out it’s never really just about the meal— it’s more about the experience of wonder and suspension of reality.
I write from a bakery where I always end up when I’m out of sorts. It’s different and the same, and I feel good/okay because my period is coming. I feel like the older I am, the more I feel the tugs of the moon and the seasons, which is magical. I ate two huge crusty slices of bread slathered in butter and glass of red wine. I feel like a woman.
Life goes on and on don’t it? People move and come back and get married and I love waving to babies at work and drinking Rolling Rock on the steps of new porch— the bottles are satisfying heavy and green and even though that beer tastes like peanut butter I am into it. I take a lot of baths. I can’t believe that this is my life sometimes. I feel like an artist, I feel better I feel more grown and happy even when I am so tired that I fall asleep wordlessly. We have two medium sized cats now and they wake us up in the morning by pushing their cool little noses into my face and meowing loudly. I try to not take it all for granted— I’m scared of shootings and driving and random accidents because the world feels so unstable and strange and somehow I go to the same bars and Harrison comes over and we all keep buying sparkling water like tomorrow is a guarantee. I want it to be.
No one remembers this but I’m thinking about it now— in the late aughts Mark Bittman wrote an article about bread that literally shook the earth— he’d developed an impossibly good recipe for overnight, kneadless bread where you basically stir some flour water and salt together and bake it in a pot with a lid and voila— delicious, homemade slightly fermented bread. I haven’t made it in our new house yet but I’ve been thinking about it. Sometimes you just need bread with butter. Report to me if you enjoy it. I’m trying to live a stress-free life so I’ve been on cruise control in the kitchen so I don’t have much else to say. Anyways, I can’t promise I’ll write often, but I will write. It feels good to be back.