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Saturday, May 20, 2006

 
The High Art of "Cooking"
I have a strange relationship with food. I'm never particularly ravenously hungry, and when I do feel hungry, it's sort of a toss-up as to whether I'll feel like actually getting any food or just continuing with what I'm doing and ignoring it until the feeling goes away. In times of high stress, I'm never hungry. During that second year at MSU, I was down to eating maybe 1.5 meals, and it seems to have shrunk my stomach even now. At some point in middle school, or maybe even earlier, I realized that I would find it much more convenient if they would just invent pills that I could take that would make me full and contain a fully balanced set of nutrients.

So anyway, since I am essentially both too lazy and too disinterested to actually cook, I rarely pay attention to how much food I have in the house, and there regularly come to pass days when I suddenly realize I truly have almost nothing to eat, but I don't want to go to the store. And strangely, these are the times I find it the most amusing to prepare food. Having to go a choose what I want to eat out of a selection is no fun. Having to figure out what I can make to sustain myself out of an extremely idiosyncratic collection of odds and ends, well, that's a challenge. I generally end up finding food I had forgotten I had even bought, too.

Today was one of those days. I had been up for about an hour and half, my stomach was insisting it wanted some sort of middle meal, brunch in this case, I suppose, and I looked in the fridge to find: 1 container of cherry yogurt, juice, 10 eggs, some tortillas, some shredded cheese, maybe two spoonfuls of hummus, 4 baby carrots, some butter, grape jelly, marmalade, salad dressing, and some milk that is probably bad now. So I decided to have eggs with cheese. (And some juice.)

After I had beaten the eggs and poured them in the pan to cook, I added some cheese, and when they seemed bubbly and hot, started poking at them with a fork to see what they would do. It occurred to me then that I have no idea what to call the way I do eggs. I started by folding the eggs around the cheese in a half-hearted attempt at an omelette, but they leaked, so then I pushed them all together in the middle, and they ended up getting sort of scrambled, but I don't like wet eggs, so they kept getting cooked until they might also have been sort of fried on the edges. I discovered this method of "cooking" eggs in Japan, and it's really the only way I like to have them, unless I'm going somewhere that people will make omelette's or fritatas for me properly, so I now declare myself both weird and the inventor of the semi-fried scrambled omelette.

Now I'm off to explore the freezer, where there is, as I recall, ice cream and coffee. Mmmm, coffee.

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