I’m a person that peruses restaurants’ online menus when I have nothing I need to be doing. Seriously. I think about food a lot of the time. I’m not sure about the rest of the population, but I get this weird feeling that people just don’t think about food as much as I do, and they certainly don’t love eating it like I do. Not when I’m hungry necessarily, although I’m sure this brings up the whole privileged debate and all, but like, always. On a random Wednesday I will make myself a tomato, green onion and mozzarella balsamic omelette, with toasted sesame bagel, cream cheese and smoked salmon. I’ll brew some nutso tea on the side (the leaves! not the bags, which I am starting to dislike more and more), and slice up some cheese or some cold cuts on the side. Or a banana. I love yoghurt in the morning too, with some honey, crumble some almonds on top…. mmm…
Seriously, I do this like every day. Or when there’s enough food in the fridge for me to play with.
Needless to say I am not your average university cook. I will make you lamb leg stuffed with rosemary and apricots, with some spinach salad with walnut, pear and prosciutto. Oh, sweet sweet food.
Obviously it’s fantastic that my family can afford to buy me this sort of stuff and especially that I can cook it, but obviously we can’t afford to do this sort of stuff all the time. Breakfasts are my forte in terms of find-what-you-can food, but I love cooking dinner. And lunch, actually. (And brunch. And linner. And late-night snacks.)
I’ve been dying to try cooking several things lately, because I feel like my family might buy me a car if I make this every morning (or, okay, once a week) – fresh bread. I love bakeries. Soviet style cheap ass walk past them and drift on the aroma down the street bakeries. And most of them have closed down in Moscow, to be replaced with Westernized grocery stores (so not the same thing). I’m not sure how many there are in smaller towns, but I know that when I see one, I explode with joyful leakings. Seriously. The smell alone might tempt me out of a depression.
Clearly this is something I need to invest some time in, because I just feel like bread has so much goodness to it. Yes the white stuff is unhealthy, blah blah blah. But there are so many things that can be done with it! It can be sweeter or sour or harder or absolutely melt in your mouth soft. I want to learn how to bake some wicked ass bread this summer.
Now that school is done with (today was seriously the last day, and it didn’t feel epic at all – is this what adulthood is?), I will have lots more free time to pursue such hobbies. I’m not even thinking about exams (er, and an essay?), even though I probably should be. So many other things on my mind. My 20th birthday, for example, but there is nothing to say about that except that it is coming. I don’t like talking about it prior (except telling my close family what I want), because I feel like if I hype, I will be disappointed. This has been a big problem in the past so now I’m just going to write about it as it comes.
Also, I “quit training” at the bar I was working whiling away my days at. Bad energy. And yes, I believe in things like bad energy. I also happen to believe in bad bouncers, and getting stalked by some angry drunk motherfuckas after a long shift is not my idea of a good summer gig. I’d rather make less money than put myself in stupid stupid danger like that. That’s what broke my topsy turvy decision making.
However, this now means that I’m going to have to start all over again on the job search. Fuck. Ah well, I’ll give myself tomorrow… and.. Friday maybe. Okay I’ll do it next week. Yes, I’m tired from drinking last night. I don’t care. I rarely ever let myself go like that and it totally had purpose (no, it didn’t, but I’m still allowed… the ratio of my drinking nights vs. those of other 19 year olds is like.. a snail in comparison to like a T-Rex on roids). Anyway, I’m all droopy and tired today and going to bed early (this is a lie). (I just wanted to get in a post before April Fools day).
This is the best song ever for the summer: Armada Latina by Cypress Hill featuring Marc Anthony and Pitbull. Oh my sweet jeebus. I am just, I am going to eat this song alive. Possibly also Marc Anthony. I am also going to bake bread to this song while softly swaying my nubile young woman’s hips underneath my apron. The sun will be warm and warming outside, it will be humid in the epicentre of my chest, even. I will mumble the Spanish words under my breath until my hot, sexy manhusband wakes up from his slumber and lumbers over to the kitchen in nothing but his tight, black briefs to encircle me with his strong, tanned arms and kiss my neck until we’re finger-deep in flour and I’m mumbling something about challah or matzah or oh oh! Sweet brrrr-ead!
No but really now.
Now you want to bake bread too, I can totally tell by the way you’re breathing and feeling non-carbed up enough.
Well now that I’ve made yet another household duty sexy, I consider my job done for the day. I can curl up in bed and watch 90210 in peace. Guilty, guilty peace.
Guilt is a dish best served warm and buttered up, as I’ve found out.