Yesterday I felt like I was starving to death. I quite obviously don‚Äôt know what it feels like to starve to death, but yesterday I was sure I was learning. For the past few weeks I‚Äôve been eating what people are supposed to eat. The quantity, the quality, and the flavor are all there. Black rice, for example: The newest superfood? It was dry and grainy, as you would suspect, but not awful. I imagine that things would be a lot harder for me if I were a picky eater.. That is, things would be harder now that I’m not choosing my own meals.¬† On the other hand, maybe I wouldn’t have gotten here if I were a picky eater. ‚ÄúMayonnaise? Disgustoid!‚Äù ‚ÄúBone marrow!? I would never!‚Äù Truth be told, I still haven‚Äôt had bone marrow, but it is high on my bucket list.¬† I digress.¬† I‚Äôve been having a series of thoughts about the quantity of food that I‚Äôm eating. Most of them take place around three o‚Äôclock in the afternoon and on until dinner, and some of them near bedtime. These thoughts contain three bullet points.
1)      This can’t be enough food for anyone, especially me. Is this the correct meal plan?
2)      I mean, get a load of these vegetable portion sizes! Aren’t you supposed to eat a lot more of those?
3)      I could probably add something to the menu like.. (insert gateway food here)
This morning I ate what was called “Mexican egg.” No article. I reckon that it really doesn’t need one. “The Mexican egg?” No. It doesn’t deserve an article. They knew it, too. It is the first in the succession of foods the internet has sent me that I wasn’t thrilled with. That’s a lie. Most of the egg dishes aren’t my favorite, but then again, you know how I feel about eggs. This one in particular represented two HUGE offenses.
The first? Whatever cheese and pepper concoction they had whipped up to cradle the “egg” was a mealy version of salsa con queso. It was granular and waxy. Two things a cheese based substance should NEVER be. Unless we are talking about Gouda or similar cheeses coated with wax. One doesn’t eat the wax, though! (unless you are me, and countless other kindergarten age children) Actually, there are some cheeses that are one or both of those things. The Spanish Manchego is waxy, for instance, as is your typical Gruyere. Merkts Cheese Spread is gritty. (I like it. It’s supposed to be that way. It is the absolute tops when applied to a patty melt.) I guess the problem I have is that this cheese and pepper nonsense was supposed to be a sauce. Cheese sauces are not supposed to be that way. The appropriate adjectives to describe a cheese sauce usually begin with words like “smooth, creamy, velvety, etc.” I have standards. As all of us should.
The second offense is the one that really gets my goat. I can let a sandy sauce slide by, but this? Atrocious. The “egg.” Whites. “Egg” whites. Clearly prepared in a giant catering pan, a group of egg whites are thrown together, and placed in a steamer. They are then steamed for no less that six hours, removed, and cooled to set. After placing a tablespoon of the “cheese sauce” down as a base, a food factory worker uses an ice cream scooper and divvies out “egg” shaped lumps to each microwaveable tray. This should never happen. Not ever. Any of it. This whole paragraph is an abomination. An affront to the egg. I guess “not thrilled” wasn’t the best descriptor, as I am mostly livid. Fronting on the egg, man. It’ll get egg alllll over your face. Disclaimer: The side of halved red potatoes with rosemary were phenomenal.
I know that I’m not starving to death. I know that this is what it feels like to lose weight. My brain tells me that. The last time I lost weight was ten years ago, and I did it with the help of a tiny little pill. This pill also contained anti-depressants and appetite suppressants. I didn’t feel hungry, and I felt happy all the time. My anti-depressant without pharmaceuticals is food. (and booze, but that’s an entirely different post) Thus begging the question, “What happens now?” I spend the time that I am not counting down to my next meal frantically organizing/decorating my apartment, chugging copious amounts of water, and planning dinner parties. Planning extravagant food gifts I will give myself for my little triumphs. I think about food almost constantly. I think about the times I have to eat, the ritual in which I will do so, and the clean up after each meal. I think about foods I can not have, but think more about the foods that I can. It’s only been a month, but I can feel each day getting a bit easier.
What happens, though, when I have no more to organize, and I don’t think about food the way I used to?(unfathomable!) I will have to find productive ways to fill my time. I think now about classes to take, art to create, and new adventures to pursue as an entirely different person. One day I’ll know what it’s like to be sated. I feel that, too.
