I had grand illusions about living alone and being able to take care
of myself. It was going to be great; I'd make dinner every other night
and pack the leftovers up for lunch at work the next day. All of those
cookbooks and recipes I had collected over the past four years would
finally be put to use. My coworkers would reap the benefits of my newly
found love of cooking by feasting on cookies and fruited breads. Yes,
it was going to be great.
Reality quickly set in after
unpacking and rearranging my tiny studio kitchen. Right, I hated
cooking. I have no usable counter tops. Suddenly bachelorette life
wasn't looking so sweet when I had to carry 3 or 4 bags of groceries up
the stairs to my apartment by myself while simultaneously trying to
unlock the doors. By the time I get home from work at 6:30, making
dinner is generally the last thing I want to think about. I suddenly
found myself as that woman in the grocery store, piling frozen dinners
and chocolate chip muffins into her cart, hoping no one would see her.
Do I really need to marinate those chicken breasts? It takes only two minutes to microwave a handful of chicken nuggets and chug a can of Coke.
Fast
forward to now. I have lived alone for about three months and have
started dating someone who I'm pretty sure has a mild form of anosmia.
This has allowed me to indulge all too frequently into my love of
chicken nuggets and cookies. No one is here to keep track of how many
cookies I've eaten in the bed. The need to impress with my culinary
prowess is pretty low when you're with someone who can eat a three day
old unrefrigerated pulled-pork sandwich. I've regressed so far as to
being satisfied by eating handfuls of chips and a mini candy bar for
lunch. I'm a mess.
I have started this blog in the hopes that it will kick start me into taking better care of myself. The plan is to attempt at least
one new recipe a week. The plan is to spend less money, eat out less,
and eat better. Do you know when the last time I had some vegetables
was? I'm starting Monday. Until then, excuse me while I eat a bowl of
pasta with a ripped up slice of cheese for dinner.
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