On Eating and Being.

It seems really pretentious and self-centered to write about why I started this blog ("let me blog about why, me, I started this me I me me I me blog..."), but I'm doing it anyway (being afraid to do things because they are too "___," but doing them anyway, is a new theme in my life). My decision to start a food blog was not pre-meditated in any way. It was a whim. I never thought I'd be comfortable enough to write about food, and it's still really hard for me. I don't know exactly why I started it, but blogging has cracked the little nut that is my heart in ways I didn't anticipate.

Writing a food blog feels like it would be the least challenging of blog options. We all eat, we all cook in some capacity (microwaving leftover pizza is a form of cooking, if you keep an open mind), so writing on and taking pictures of food seems really simple. I've always wanted a blog, so of course I decided early on that I could never have a food blog, because it'd be a cop-out, and because I have always had -- and probably always will have -- serious issues with food, weight, and body image. So, instead, I just didn't write at all. This was a poor decision. Read Natalie Goldberg's work to find out why.

Surprisingly, the double-whammy of having "food issues" and being all defeatist about a food blog not being "challenging enough" was what lead me here. I've come to learn that I am not very smart about taking care of myself; I tend to do what I feel I am supposed to do, not what I really want to do. I have even less perspective on what truly makes me happy. In short, creating this blog was a small fuck-you to myself: to constantly telling myself that what I want to do is not what I'm supposed to do, to thinking that I have any idea of what will make me happy or unhappy, to being constrained by what arbitrary limits and restrictions I put on, well, everything.

I'm not trying to make this blog sound huge and important, because it isn't. It's really quite plain, and forgettable, and nothing compared to the plethora of elegantly designed and cohesively themed food blogs dotting the rest of this internet landscape. The fact that it is so unimpressive and small is revolutionary on a personal level, though, because usually if projects don't fit up to my asinine standards of what is relevant and worthy of my time and effort (honestly, nothing makes the cut, so I live quite an anxiety-ridden life of semi-productivity), I drop them, or never begin them at all.

But, a little happy voice in my head (it really is alone up there, amidst all the nasty, viciously hurtful ones) told me to just make the boring, worthless food blog despite its blandness, its poor design, its lack of focus. Just do it, because I can, and because I want to a little bit, and because maybe (god forbid) it will bring to my life some arrhythmic drips of joy. That really is enough of a reason, I now know.

This blog also exists as a form of rebellion from my body hate and food issues. I can write about food, and eat the food I write about, and not feel guilty about enjoying both! Okay, still working on that, but I love writing, and I'm allowing myself to use that love to write about something that brings me great pleasure and even greater pain. I'm not using this blog to work through my hang-ups, but the simple act of deciding that what I eat isn't embarrassing or shameful -- that the fact that I eat at all isn't embarrassing or shameful -- has been revolutionary to me on a personal level. To be a woman who eats and enjoys it seems to be a shameful thing in society, unless you are extremely thin and can brag about your god-like metabolism. To not be this sort of thin, god-like woman and to be writing about food makes me feel brave.

I think that everyone should do whatever it takes to make themselves feel a little more powerful, less oppressed, more positive, and less downtrodden, even if what they choose to do is inconsequential in the grand scheme of things (their personal lives, their families, their country, the world, etc...), and even if what they do has no "ultimate goal." It makes me feel brave to write this tiny blog that no one reads. Sometimes, it even makes me cry a little.

Contributing to your own well-being is like plugging in a small, but fiery, space-heater of hope that thaws your icy, cynical body more and more every time a contribution is made. I have no hopes of fame or improvement or self-actualization. I just want to feel happier and braver. Maybe a little, maybe a lot. Who knows anything about being happy, really?

Cinnamon-Pumpkin-Pecan Pancakes!

Vegetarian Tacos, with Caramelized Onions, Sweet Corn, & Curly Kale!

Kale, Mushroom, & Pepperoni Pizza!

Forest of Beech Trees by Gustav Klimt, 1903

Fall is finally here. Yesterday, it was in the high 70's (boo!) but for the rest of the week, it's going to be in the high 50's/low 60's (yay!). To me, this means cooking more comfort food because my semester is filled to the brim with stressful responsibilities. It means less fresh fruit and vegetables, and more canned ones, which is depressing, but it also means more melty casserole type things and pumpkin and cinnamon and warm beverages!

I'm keeping this post short because I have a big post coming (more cooking adventures: pizza and tacos -- with lots of delicious secret ingredients that I will reveal upon posting), and because I have homework to do.

Today, I recommend taking time to read and drink some hot tea, or hot chocolate. It will do your soul some good, especially if you're a student of any kind dealing with the torrential downpouring of new stress that comes with starting a new semester! I recently finished "Incidents in the Life of a Slave Girl" by Harriet A. Jacobs for my Black Women's Autobiography class, and I highly recommend it. It's not a light or fun read, but it's an important one: can you remember ever reading a slave narrative written about a woman, much less by the woman herself? Probably not, because this is one of the only ones. It was published in 1861, by the way, and initially under a pseudonym, because Harriet didn't want those who helped her escape to get in trouble upon its publication. What a woman! If you're looking for something light, steer clear, but I truly believe that the most rewarding part of being a reader is the discomfort one feels when having to grapple with a challenging text full of difficult ideas and thought-provoking insights. Make yourself uncomfortable, and feel your brain grow.

Also, feel your stomach grow as we transition into fall, the season of comfort food! Next post soon!

On public transit and the masses.

Up until this academic year, public transportation has been nary a blip in my day-to-day life. Unwilling to walk up hills? Take the free student bus! Need to take a trip somewhere once a year? Check, check, & re-check the bus route to make sure you make it, do it once, and vow you'll never take the bus again. Now, taking the bus is part of my everyday life. I have a daily commute: 25 minutes to get on campus, 45 minutes to get home (usually, because of traffic; sometimes it's only 30 or so). This isn't really inconvenient for me, because I, ideally, get some time to wrap myself up in headphones and ignore the world for a while, or make a dent in my mountains of homework. It's a sort of interlude between work and home, during which I can calm down, forget the day, all while sardined between at least two people, if not more. 

The whole "forgetting the day" thing the ideal, though, and it rarely happens. There's always people on the bus who are chatty, or loud, or under the age of 5, or distracting in one way or the other, and inevitably I spend my time people-watching, baby-oogling, or (deliberately) people-ignoring. On my route, there's a guy who will (and does) talk to every single person on the bus and, if they have a young child, he will congratulate them on being parents. Intrusive? Yes; Harmless? Completely. Yesterday on the bus, I saw someone who looked like my twin. We started talking, and it turns out she knows people I know, is in my department, and has the same professional aspirations that I do (birth doula!). Pretty remarkable. A few days ago, I gleefully watched a female toddler enjoy the hell out of a piece of caramel. Today, a toothless, but smiling, old woman who works at Salvation Army (she told me) started talking to me about the Famous Daves' ribs she was holding in her lap and, subsequently, about the fat blunt she was going to roll when she got home. The list goes on.

Sometimes the bus totally blows, and sometimes it's a revelatory experience, providing me with a place to sit and be transported physically to my destination, and mentally -- sometimes by force, sometimes by choice -- into the worlds of people I'd never otherwise interact with. Sometimes the bus is just the bus. Mostly, though, it's an experience in humanity: being stuck in a smelly, hot, and strange soup of people, of which I misguidedly feel as though I don't belong, only to be struck with the realization that I am a key ingredient in this amalgamation which is mostly comprised of the tedious, flavorless drone of living but, threaded throughout, is the occasional, smile-inducing, day-improving spot of laughter, complicated characters, and unpredictable happenings. 

I'm afraid that I'm making it sound too cinematic. It's not like we all look at each other and smile knowingly that we are going through different but similarly challenging life paths and at the end we all hug and cry. It's just that sometimes the bus isn't all that bad, and sometimes it is really bad, and in both instances, it affirms my faith in humanity and swathes me in my discomfort with the gross, unsavory side of human existence, forcing me to get the fuck over myself for at least one minute in my otherwise mind-blowingly self-centered day.

Take the bus. It'll do you good to make your day a little less comfortable.

"Comfort the afflicted and afflict the comfortable." -- Dorothy Day

Chicken Salad Melts

So, this is just a tiny cooking adventure. More like a cooking jaunt? On this day, the first day of the year that truly feels like fall, we opened our windows (all two of them) wide and let the air that so immediately reminds me of apples into this little apartment. I cut myself some blunt straight-across bangs, and then remembered how limited our food options were because of the bullshit electrocuting stove we have. Last night I all but touched the burner, and I got electrocuted. It's a wiring problem and it'll get fixed, but until then, no stove. No range, no oven, no nothing! Luckily, we have a toaster oven, so that's how the chicken sandwiches got melt-y. If you don't have a toaster oven, AND if you have a broken bullshit stove like we do, then you'll have to eat these sandwiches cold. Pretty sure they're good that way too, just forget the cheese and pile on more crunchy vegetables, like cucumbers, peppers (I like that in some places outside of the U.S., the kind of peppers that you eat plain or in dip are called "capsicums" because I hate not having a way to verbally distinguish between the type of spicy peppers you add to things and the kind that you eat plain), or avocado! Next time I should mix avocado into the chicken salad mix -- you should, too. See, we're learning and growing together, I think.

Chicken Salad Melts

About 15 minutes to make

Makes 3 sandwiches

1 can of fully cooked chunk chicken breast (10 oz)

1/2 cup of Hellmann's Olive Oil mayonnaise (I would recommend using however much floats your boat, though, people are picky about mayonnaise)

2 t. basil (fresh, if you can!)

1 t. dried onion

1 t. oregano

1 pinch of garlic powder

1 T. yellow mustard

some ground black peppercorn

one shake of Lawry's (optional)

two shakes of red pepper flakes

Oroweat Oatnut bread (found at Target or any typical chain grocery)

Pepperjack cheese

Drain the can, mix all of it together. Mash up the chicken a little so you don't get huge, unmixed chunks of dry chicken. It's unpleasant. Spread this on a slice of bread, thickly if you're like me (I made more like 2.25 sandwiches out of the mix), and put relatively thin slices of Pepperjack (melts better) on top of the mixture that's on top of the bread (it's like Inception, in case you need clarification). Put the top slice of bread on, and put on toast setting in your toaster oven for about 5 minutes, or on your functioning stove low-and-slow for about 10, with a cover so everything melts and heats properly. When it's all finished, add tomatoes and lettuce and maybe an avocado slice or two.

If you'd like to be fancy, cook a fancy chicken breast and then put it in your fancy food processor. Really, go for it! But I don't have thawed out chicken (it's the last break before school! As if I'm going to have the foresight required to do that for a meal in the middle of the goddamn day, come on) or a food processor, so eat me.

Also, substitute mayonnaise for whatever sort of -naise you eat. Veganaise? Miracle whip (may the good Lord help you)? Whatever you prefer, but I can't vouch for anything flavorwise unless you use Hellmann's Olive Oil Mayonnaise. Same goes for the Oroweat Oatnut bread, which I highly recommend, for reasons both financial ($2.99 at Target!) and flavorful.

We ate these tasty sandwiches in bed while watching Netflix (King of the Hill!), and then had Door County peaches from this Saturday's Farmer's Market for dessert, and some pretzel M&M's. Overall, a really relaxing Labor Day.

I'm Carly. I probably have watched "Julie & Julia" too many times, but blogging actually seems like an appealing thing to do, so I'm doing it, reluctantly and with a teaspoon full of confidence in my abilities. Nearly being done with a degree in English Lit and Gender & Women's Studies, I'm totally burnt out on the following things: reading other people's writing, writing about other people's writing, and reading about writing about reading about writing about reading. I've decided I'm ready to write something that isn't guided by an assignment sheet, because tomorrow school starts again. Maybe this blog is a futile attempt at breaking up the drudgery that is my inevitably heavy courseload/workload, but maybe it's the beginning of something reasonably wonderful, potentially even beautiful? Or maybe this will be the first and last entry. 

My inspiration/spirit animal is Natalie Goldberg, zen Buddhist and writer-who-writes-about-writing extraordinaire, because she emphasizes that the best time to write is right now, not when the weather is better or you don't have bed bugs (true story) or you have less school work, but right now in this very moment when life is hectic as it always is and your pen can provide balance to the world. I guess I'm not using a pen, but my fingers are involved, so that's close enough. 

I don't think this blog will strictly be a cooking blog - I frequently have thoughts and ideas about things that are only mildly related to food, and many that aren't related at all! -- but here are a few things it definitely will be: sporadically updated, feminist-theory-influenced (how can a blog about cooking be political, you ask? you'll see soon enough), and extremely hodge-podge. Hodge-podge is how I would describe my sort of cooking style, as well as my preferences relating to interior decorating and life-living, in general. You've been warned, fairly!

This is me, with the binoculars. I like camping with my partner, who from this point forward will be called Mr. Cheap for reasons both absurd and protective (moreso absurd).

This is Mr. Cheap and me again. We look happy because we are.

And this is the tiniest kitchen in America which happens to reside in our one-bedroom apartment somewhere in a college town in the Midwest. 

Last night I was fortunate enough to be electrocuted by our bullshit stove! This is college living, folks. Please notice all the coloring book pages on our fridge. Only one of them was actually colored by a child; the rest were artfully filled in by our goofy, nature-loving, park-loitering friends, some of whom are in college like me, and some of whom are taking other paths.

Our kitchen is so fucking small we, out of necessity, added this strange, relatively old film-reel rewinding table we ganked for free from a garage sale. Nails have been driven into the side for hanging things that have no home in our miniscule amount of cupboard space, already overflowing with utensils and whatnot. Did I mention that we just moved in 5 days ago? Check out the herbs: lemon thyme and rosemary.

These are our two basil plants. They are really the closest thing to a pet or child we have, so we nurture the hell out of them because, well, it feels good. They don't have names or anything, but they are so tall! Look how tall they're getting. I'm considering carrying this picture around in my purse to show to strangers, proudly.

Well, that's all for now. Next on cheap tomatoes: a cooking adventure!