Hi, I’m Emily, and I’m a compulsive cook.
On Sunday, I baked bread and cinnamon rolls for the week, cooked black beans for dinner, and prepared the dough for the tortillas, which my husband graciously rolled. We also went to the farmer’s market, where I bought assorted fruits and vegetables for the week to come, including the spinach that the next day I turned into a soup.
Yet, somehow, I felt as though I was slacking on Monday because I wasn’t baking anything. No muffins – I’d be doing those on Tuesday. No bread, which I’ll probably need to do on Wednesday. No zucchini bread, which I’ll make on Thursday in anticipation of Zachary’s belated birthday celebration at school, which is Friday.
My weeks are organized around food, which is getting increasingly complicated, I must add. Lilah seems to be allergic to, well, everything. So far, the foods that have made her break out in hives include lentils, chicken, tomatoes, eggs, and all forms of squash. Given that she has only one tooth, it’s a bit of a challenge coming up with food for her, although thanks to the food gods, she’ll eat anything I put in front of her.
Unlike Zachary, who refuses to eat anything. Every day is Yom Kippur for this child.
And my husband, oh King of the Processed Foods.
Fuck if I know what to cook anymore. But, somehow I persevere, partly by making bread for most dinners, so that if nothing else there is something The Pickiest Boy on the Block will eat. And I cannot stop myself. I want to cook, to feel in control of my world by chopping onions. Article rejected? Knead dough. Au pair fired? Bake beans.
Food seems to be my cure-all these days. It is real, concrete, and under my control. I want to be in my kitchen, where good smells and nourishing food are achievable, since so much else feels far beyond my grasp.
So, forgive me as I neglect to read your blogs and let weeks pass without a post. I am in my kitchen dissolving yeast.