Monday, August 17, 2009


I have been sitting at this computer for the last hour and so far I have written and erased two, not even complete sentences. The coffee is gone, I have finished my oatmeal and two peaches (one of which was soaked in wine from last nights dessert--a mimosa of sorts). And nothing. Blank. So i got up to do the dishes and decided to write about not being able to write, because it seems to be mirroring perfectly, my not being able to crave.

Most people have heard of writers block. Well, in my experience, it usually occurs not for lack of an idea, but for two many half formed, overlapping, mumblejumbled ideas, incoherent unless allowed to relax and seperate into themselves. In other words, take a break, stop thinking, go for a walk, come back when its clear.

Well, I have what I am going to call eaters block. Not cookers, eaters. Because it is not that I am uninspired to cook, it is that there are too many things I want to try. Too many newly discovered recipes, too many old favorites, too many options in the fridge, and an exasperating obligation to use them all. It is this last part that is the most cumbersome, because the need to use up certain fridge dwellers overshadows my actual dinner desires, so meals are much less satisfying than they ought to be.

It doesnt help, either, working late nights, because than I am too tired to care, or listen to my stomach. I just want something easy, but wholesome, because it is late at night and I dont want to wake up regretting that bowl of cold potatos dipped in mayonaisse, or burping pesto from the pasta I had but five hours earlier. To avoid such grab-easys, I usually plan what I will make for dinner when I get home, and can prep for it before leaving. Usually this helps, and actually gives me something to look forward too when finished. However, such plans lately have centered growing older veg that must be eaten before I leave for Vancouver (so excited--sisters trip) in four days. So again, eating what I have to, not what I want, and really losing touch of what I do want.

I think that is why the artichoke was so unbelievably satisfying the other night. It was not what I had planned, but when I opened to crisper to get out the patty pans in dire need of cooking, but still with no plan of how i wanted them, and saw that big globe, i knew the little squashes would have to wait another day. It was impulse, but the mere sight of it reignited a craving I had had for awhile, long before purchasing it waiting for the time to make it happen.

So now, as I write this, I am trying to shake the plans from my head. Ill go for a walk, stop thinking, finish work, open to fridge and hope for an artichoke moment, hope to see a craving.

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