Try and think of the following boxes as an online version of recipe cards. To see the complete piece, which includes both an essay and an accompanying recipe, you can click the title on the card, the link in the description box, or select the appropriate drop-down option in the navigation bar at the top of the page.
My recipes aren't like other recipes. I don't include über precise measurments, I offer up alternate options for ingredients, and I encourage you to experiment and alter the formula as you see fit. I hardly ever cook from recipes, and, quite frankly, I think that it's made me a better cook. I like using this method of cooking, and I've tried to format the recipes in this text in a way that reflects my method of "cooking from the gut."
I have been changed the names of all of my past flames in these stories in order to protect their privacy. I have not, however, changed my brother's name, and he assures me this is fine. So yes, I do have a brother named Peter Gabriel.
A note on navigation:
On recipe format:
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Why Did I Eat That?
A Love Story
Introduction: A Woman In Crisis
Let me be clear: I am not a food expert of any sort. I'm not a chef, dietician, nutritionist, food scientist, or any other type of "food professional." I'm also not the kind of person who, after listing their lack of credentials, takes to the internet to share wild, unsubstantiated claims and issue a reckless call to action. I am also not here to chronicle all the problems with our present food system because that has been done to death, and I am not in a position to offer solutions.
According to the internet, I, as a 24-year-old woman, am on the brink of my "quarter-life-crisis." While I'm not entirely sure that this is, in fact, an actual "thing" as people say, the evidence is fairly damning: I am, like other young people in crisis, constantly questioning myself and my actions. For example, "Why did I just spend the past hour watching videos of soldiers returning home to their pets?", "Why is it so difficult for me to mail my rent on time?", and "Do I even like beer?" Though out of all the questions I ask of myself, none cross my mind more frequently than the one printed above: Why did I eat that?
There are, of course, times when this query comes in response to a poor dietary choice, say succumbing to the lure of my school's vending machines by eating not one, not two, but three different junk-food items in one sitting (Starburst, Twix, and Elfin Cookies, in case you were wondering), or ordering food for delivery from the same greasy sandwich shop that once gave me food poisoning. But in recent years, this question has also come up in response to other, bigger stimuli, often in an attempt to glean information about how a particular food ended up on my plate and another didn't. In these instances, the question might deviate from its original form, but the idea is still there, "It's March in Michigan, and I can buy organic oranges, why?", "Why do I crave sweets when I'm stressed out?", "Why should I go vegetarian?", "Why should I go vegan?", "What's the deal with gluten?", etc.
In seeking out answers to my endless barrage of food-related questions, I've come to learn a lot. I now know all about the industrialization of agriculture, the corruption of the FDA, and über grossness of American fast food chains. I know the merits of olive oil relative to those of canola, the difference between "good" and "bad" fats, and why whole-grains breads are thought to be healthier than their white counterparts. Of course, it's easy to feel overwhelmed by all of this data, and to find yourself feeling powerless, unable to effect real change. At multiple points, I've often felt confused, not sure which foods were "good" or "bad" anymore. At this point, I would look to other people for answers, and let me tell you -- there are a lot people who claim to have them. But, whether good or bad, I am not one of those people. After all, I'm supposedly in crisis, I'm probably not in a position to tell people what to do.
This collection of essays and recipes is not intended to be read as a model for good, healty, or "clean" eating. Instead, in sharing my experiences with food and cooking, I hope to encourage readers to think critically about the stuff they put in to their bodies, and to advocate for constantly assessment and reassessment of one's choices. I want people to urge readers to be mindful about which sources they trust, and to never be afraid to change their mind.
For what it's worth, I currently subsist mostly on frozen pizzas, greasy late-night bar snacks, and sugary coffee drinks. I know that this is an ostensibly crappy diet, but I'm doing the best I can with what I have. I still ask myself why I eat the things I do, and I'm generally pleased with the answers I come up with, most of which are some version of, "I took on a number of new challenges this year and I've chosen to prioritize getting work done over eating well." In truth, the answer to this question doesn't matter too much to me. I am a young woman living off of limited resources in a world of broken, corrupt food systems and climate change; there's only so much I can expect myself to do. So, I try not to worry too much about answering myself correctly. I just remind myself to keep asking.
Warm and filling, this piece shows that there's always more to a home-cooked meal than first meets the eye. In discussing and examining the meals my mother's made for me over the years, I find evidence of changes within American food systems, as well as clear proof of maternal love. But be warned: these powers are limited, and like all comfort food, the dish's positive effects are often short-lived.
To learn how to make a gooey, delicious dish while educating yourelf about the history of our modern food systems, click here.
This sticky, sometimes confusing piece is both an attack on Cheetos and other villainous foods, as well as pardon to those among us who willingly fall under their spell. The "dirtiness" is derived both from the sneakiness of the modern food industry, as well as messiness of the foods it serves us.
To learn how Cheetos, Poison Dart Frogs, and Saddam Hussein are connected, click here.
Finally, a piece with some nutritional value!
After my somewhat contentious break-up with veganism a few years ago, I find I can't fully endorse the diet on its own, but I don't mind using the term "vegan-ish" in reference to the appropriate recipes. In outlining my struggles with veganism, this piece points out the potential dangers of affixing a strict label to one's diet, and highlights the benefits of more expansive, "ish"-friendly thinking.
For embarassing stories that combine failed romance, malnutrition, and extreme flatulence, click here.
This piece is, more than anything, special, and is therefore perfect for any and all "special" occasions one may encounter.
When charged with the task of cooking for a new flame, I wracked my brain for an awe-inspiring recipe and found this one. Upon examining both the recipe and the process that went in to actually preparing it, I then came to notice what sorts of people and places have taught me to cook.
If you want to learn how to learn how to cook, click here.
I, a self-described hedonist, fell for a person who dreams of some day living in a post-food world, wherein meals come in pill form and humans can get all of the nutrients needed for a survival in a IV while they sleep. In order to bridge the culinary gap between us, I composed this piece, which seeks to propose a way of eating that can both acknowledge a utilitarian view of food, as well as that of a pleasure-glutton.
To learn more about balancing work with pleasure in the kitchen, click here.