I saw a couple of interesting questions on the internet: “What do you like to cook, what do you like to eat?”
I now realize that I no longer like to cook, not even to bake or roast, which used to give me a delightful sense of accomplishment. Now it hurts to stand at the stove, it aches to work at the sink, and it makes me dizzy to walk around the kitchen. And, those who are my age, whom I might be serving something nice, have age-diminished palates so that they cannot distinguish laboriously prepared home-cooking from prêt a manger, so I may as well serve the ready-made. Sad.
What do I like to eat? After the years have taken their toll, texture is about all that is left to me. When I am angry, and I try very hard not to be angry because the stress of it is so tiring and it rarely gains me anything, when I am angry I like chips, all sorts of salty chips to crunch between my still sound teeth. When I want to relax, I like a nice fragrant cheese, which I can no longer smell but I remember the various fragrances in my mind’s nose. I like many dairy products. Day in and day out I like simply cooked rice, beans, potatoes, and multi-grains. I often make a pot of chili from dried beans soaked overnight (thereby rendered gasless), yellow onion, and either lean ground sirloin beef or spiced pork, my not so secret ingredient being a dash of cinnamon, and maybe a sprinkle of sugar if the tomatoes are particularly acidic. I try to limit my wheat intake due to bloating but it is difficult as wheat predominates in this culture, as in many. I rarely remember to have oatmeal even though it agrees with me very much, but I always fortify myself with oatmeal when I travel. I no longer buy fresh fish due to the high price and low quality, but I have several dishes using canned tuna that I like. About once a week I find myself wanting very good beef, so I make myself a prime-rib hamburger. I have inexpensive egg almost every day, cooked in a variety of appetizing ways. I rarely eat chicken out of pity’s sake, but that is only a gesture of denial at the food production industry whose reputation is as cruel and filthy. I can no longer taste the difference in lamb or bison, so there is no point in paying more for it. Finally, after a lifetime of eating my vegetables, I am certain that I do not like vegetables, and I am not sure that I ever did. I can tolerate them pickled.
Caption: Frankly I Just Don't Like Vegetables
by Annmarie Throckmorton 2018