Truths of Moderate Convenience

There are some realities that I am reluctant to face.

Example:
- brown sugar is just refined white sugar mixed with molasses. True and a total bummer.
- a one cup measure is a different volume for dry ingredients than liquid. True and annoying.
- baby carrots are just badly formed big carrots that are shaved down to look like amputated fingers. True, unsurprising, but disappointing.

There are other realities I ignore completely. For instance, taking lactaid pills might improve my experience with most dairy products. Instead I just limit my general consumption and reserve the journey to fartland for really important things like Fromage d'Affinois and pints of Ben & Jerry's Oatmeal Cookie Chunk ice cream.

And then there are realities that I create for myself that are just not real at all. Like thinking I'm starving. It's a well known part of privileged American culture to open up a mostly full fridge *see nothing*, close the door, and declare in total disgust "there is NOTHING to eat." This the way I ended up breaking one of my various vegetarian spells. During college I came home to my parents' house to find the fridge barren - on the most barren of fridge days, their fridge is STOCKED, they live in the woods, it's not as if the store is just down the way and they can pick up whatever, whenever. In their most modest states of larder emptiness they have on hand enough to throw together a multi-course dinner for 45 people- and yet, I couldn't see a thing in there save the great majority of a barbequed chicken from the night before that was gracefully contained inside a greasy, recycled plastic bag.

Now birds are pretty far down on my list of preferred meaty bits. Given the choice I'd put steak and lamb WELL ahead of any fowl. The stringy texture of that animal....ooof, gives me the willys. Nevertheless, in that moment of total starvation I saw no other choice. I assumed it was a pre-meditated plan to derail my honorable vegetarianism. After exactly 6 seconds of consideration, I decided I would give them a piece of my mind just as soon as I had replenished my energy stores.

I virtually inhaled this bird's thigh, licked that bone clean before starting in on a drumstick. I was standing in the kitchen, leaning over the island (couldn't even manage the decent move of getting a plate and having a seat), chewing bones and sucking marrow, when someone (mom?) finally noticed that I was eating chicken, and that it was weird, and then warned me - geniusly - not to make myself sick. I'm sure I did. I just can't remember.

I was struck by a similar moment and feeling last night in my kitchen. I got home at 11:00pm from a 4 hour DEEP quilting session (ps I'm a quilter now) and was famished. I opened my fridge - it's little, I can see everything it has to offer and saw this: six beers, a bag of brewers yeast, two sticks of butter, an unripe Fuyu persimmon, half an onion, a rind of some old parmesan, wilting kale, eight eggs, and a jar of plum jam. It was an odd assortment. I had no bread in the house, no crackers, nothing of the quick fix nuts and fruit snack variety. I assessed the dry goods: cous cous, panko bread crumbs, lentils, pasta, Arborio rice, brown rice, several types of beans. There was no easy solution for short term satisfaction. I finally found the inner strength to saute the kale and fry an egg. It took all of six minutes and I just about passed out. But I survived to tell about it.

And what is my point in all of this? Maybe just that I'll never be good at being a truly starving person. And for that I am sorry because every day millions of people are doing a much better job at starving than I am. I only hope that in their lowest moments they open the fridge and find the better part of a whole barbequed chicken. It might not be their first choice but, like me, it may let them live to see dinner.