Food & Me

It turns out that I do love food, after all. Especially the preparation. The more from scratch it is, the better I like it. I learned how to turn coconuts and almonds into flour and milk on Tuesday, and made more almond flour & milk today. Soaked almonds are good, I discovered! In the past four days, I have made seven batches of cookies - four of the same kind. I made borsch today (my Ukrainian housemate insists there isn't supposed to be a 't' at the end). I made sourdough pancakes this morning, and they finally - after 4 rounds - turned out perfect. The past couple weeks when I've thrown what I have together, it's turned out tasty and mostly colourful. I think each success builds my enjoyment and desire for more cooking, baking, and food.

Food and I have an interesting relationship. "It's complicated," you might say. It never used to be. Up until a couple years ago, Food and I got along great. I ate what I pleased, baked whenever I felt like it, lackadaisical and worry free. Then came the wrench - gluten. Now, mind you, I am SO much better off when I don't eat gluten that I have NO desire to ever, EVER eat it again. The concept of eating gluten-free doesn't bother me. In fact, it makes me happy. Even dairy free (this past year) isn't hard in itself (except for cheese...). BUT. The complication is this: when my diet is that restricted, I eat alone. I cook alone, I eat alone, I don't bake because I can't eat it all. I can't just join the dinner party for kicks and giggles. I can, theoretically, plan to prepare a meal for myself and others, but getting others to actually BE here when it's dinner time, or breakfast time, is rather tricky. A couple months ago I realized that I was actually avoiding food, and it freaked me out. I love food, don't I? So I sat down and thought about it. As well as I could see it, the problem was the alone-ness of it all. I had gotten so tired of eating alone that I just wouldn't eat rather than have to sit down by myself in an empty kitchen. Oh, dear.

Apparently, I just want to share. So when my Faithgroup has a potluck, I jump at making dessert. Then do it again, and again... and enjoy the making better each time, and even if I don't eat very much of what I made, watching others enjoy it makes me love it. Then, when they come to me before we eat to double-check ingredients with me, oh! it makes me smile! They remember! They think about gluten when they're cooking, and lo! and behold! I can eat with them! And it makes all the difference in the world. Food has always been with people, you see. My family ate dinner together every night. I grew up with church and music department potlucks, and whenever friends gathered, we ate and drank tea. So when Food and I get locked in a room together with no one else around, we don't get along too well. I don't know how to relate to Food, and he just looks at me. Awkward silence ensues. But if we get outside that room, and promenade down to the park, and sit around tables at the cafe, and converse and interact with other people, suddenly we get along much better. More or less depending on the people, of course, but it's like one's relationship with Food is not meant to be kept to oneself. Food must be shared, like that adorable puppy everyone stops to pet.

Ah, Food. I like you, I really do. We just need to learn to communicate. I like you, want you, and need you, so do you think we can work this out? I hope so.