I have had prouder moments than the time yesterday when I was twenty minutes away from meeting my friend Ashley for dinner, and found myself standing in the kitchen, desperately spooning gobs of peanut butter into my mouth and breaking off pieces of crumbly cheese onto tiny toasts and cramming them in my gullet, suddenly confident in the knowledge that if I had to wait twenty more minutes to eat, I would die, DIE, right there on my kitchen floor, or in my car, or, hell, in line at Chipotle.
Hunger has morphed from a somewhat annoying natural daily phenomenon into a beast whose wrath I fear if I don’t keep it sated with a constant trickle of snacks. The goal is to make the hunger purr instead of roar when it’s time for an actual meal, but it’s not an exact science, and I suck at all kinds of science anyway.
Right now, every raisin in the vicinity of my mouth needs to fear for its shriveled little life.
I’ve spent my whole life being fucked up about food and eating, and what amount of consumption is proper and appropriate and necessary. Suffice it to say that this extreme shift in how much I want and need to consume is throwing me for a bit of a loop. But it’s also very freeing to have no choice but to put that bullshit aside.
Courtney was nice enough to invite me to go strawberry picking at Jones Orchard with her and Dustin, Daphne, and her sister Chelsea. The weather was amazing and I didn’t even break a sweat. That’s how I gauge good weather. Sunny? Check. Breezy? Check. Sweaty? Nope. EFFING FABULOUS. We let the munchkin go nuts, picking her own crop and sampling some of the pickins first — to make sure they met her quality standards, of course. This is what a qualified strawberry quality tester looks like after a hard day at the office:
I got a pretty good haul myself — a box of big, fat, red berries for $4 or so. And I picked up a little apple cake wrapped in plastic, which I disposed of easily AND WITHOUT SHAME later that night. I made quick stop at McCarter Coffee down the street to pick up some beans for the boyfriend (and for me, in my moments of weakness) and came out smelling like I’d bathed in the stuff. Mmmmm.
Millington is such a charmer when it wants to be.
I haven’t historically liked beans or tomatoes, and yet this was delicious. Thanks, AY-D!
I usually only need about eight practice pancakes before I can make a decent one.
The boyfriend’s attempt to trick me into eating more avocados. Hint: They’re in the topping.
And a whoooole lot of it. It took me three or four tries in my adult life to get on the sushi bandwagon fully. This was the first time I actually understood. Yum.
Still can’t use chopsticks for shit, though.
Fuel is quickly becoming one of my favorite lunch places. So good.