It strikes me that a fair number of my journal entries have been about food, or at least make some mention of it. I suppose it shouldn’t surprise me too much. Like I said to S-, much like blue is the new pink, food has become the new sex. Ok, not entirely, but given my ‘detached’ situation, I’m left with precious few ways in which to amuse myself.

Not that that’s a super awful thing. I’ve always held that food and sex share a great deal in common, and are perhaps the most intimate things that we share with one another. Both give us pleasure, encourage us to communicate, and tend to allow to a great deal of experimentation and compromise. Both are better when shared with someone you enjoy. Both tend to be associated with a great deal of emotional baggage, in large part because most of us are not provided with a healthy model under which we may explore these very real needs.

One very often leads to the other. Chances are, if we’ve ever had sex, I’ve probably had a strong desire afterwards to make you breakfast or maybe even share a white pizza with you (now those are some memories...). Similarly, if I have ever made you food, on some level I probably want to... oh, wait... erm... Look! Mitt Romney's being abducted by drag queens! [points wildly]


I baked Tuesday night, and in the process killed my much too tiny bottle of "The best frickin’ molasses ever." The result was the jumbo molasses cookies I mentioned eyeing last time I made cookies, and I am pleased with the results. In the process, I learned that a) a Delirium Tremens bottle makes a poor substitute for a proper rolling pin and b) I really need to get a second baking sheet if I’m going to continue making cookies and the like. I also learned that there’s enough heat radiating upward from the oven that I probably shouldn’t leave things like, say, saran wrap on the stovetop while I’m baking. That bit of hard-won knowledge wasn’t directly related to the cookies until such time as I attempted to wrap the cookies after they had cooled. Sometimes plastic wrap clings. Sometimes it fuses into an unusable mass.

Such activities may slow down considerably in the near future. I am submitting an application to take part in a USDA study on diet and weight loss. From the information I’ve gathered, it’s a year long study in which my diet will be more tightly regulated. I will need to attend weekly meetings down at Tufts Medical. It sounds a little like Weight Watchers, but with a twist. There will be a six-month period in which the cost of food is covered, and upon completion of the study, I will be awarded $2,000. I’ll be sacrificing some freedom, but between the promise of a kick-start on my return to being healthy and the potential for monetary reward, I’m rather looking forward to it.

I will miss the beer and barbecue, though.

Current Mood: mischievous