I Need An Intervention.
Not that kind.
When something is on my mind or I’ve gone through a particularly difficult stretch, I cook. I close myself off from the world and shop, and chop, and stir and taste for a couple of days.
I’m guessing this is similar in intensity (or pathology) to a drinking binge–but there’s no danger in getting a D.U.I., unless there’s a new law that prohibits pork chops while driving.
I believe my cooking frenzies to be cathartic for me…I guess all of the work minutiae is replaced with meal-planning, measurements and timing (and wishful thinking).
Check out all of this weedend’s food preparation–and keep in mind, it’ just for my husband and myself, (and a bit for the dog):
List does not include breakfast or lunch.
Roast turkey breast (with gravy!)
Nappa cabbage coleslaw
Barbequed pork chops
Oven-fried sweet potatoes
Pasta
Meatballs
Antipasti
When I woke up this morning, the refrigerator was bursting with leftovers, and all I wanted to do was clean it all out.
By all accounts, I should be a very gigantic person, but the thing is…once I’ve done all of this cooking, I’m not really that hungry. But I am ready to get back to work.
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