Saturday, April 09, 2011
...and with the weight loss came an unexpected relationship and the strange and new phenomenon of consistency. Wake up, go to work, return home, make dinner, go to bed, lather, rinse, repeat. And more or less for better or worse, richer or poorer thatís been the long boring tale for the past eleven years. Itís much like eating meatloaf every night. Oh wait, I get to do the EXACT SAME THING, I did yesterday? Again? Already? AWESOME!
Cooking became my go to place to exercise a little creativity and to shake things up. I may go to bed with the same person AGAIN (zzzzzzzzzzZZZzzZZZZZzzz) but goddamit Iím not eating meatloaf 400 times in a row. It was a natural evolutionary process that began with just mixing my own salad dressings and experimenting with different kinds of pastas and sauces. I began to roast and braise, grill more difficult and complex proteins, researched marinades, brines and rubs, bought locally, cooked seasonally, explored regionally, paired wines, developed a signature dish, befriended cooks and restaurateurs, planned my vacations around restaurants I wanted to patronize, hosted raucous, boozy dinner parties and steadfastly pursued the culinary arts. Iíd spend my Friday evenings with a bottle of wine (or several) researching recipes and making grocery lists, Saturday morning Iíd hit the Farmerís Market, the bakery, my favorite wine purveyor, the cheesemonger and then cook the whole day. My guests and I would eat and drink as soon as the doorbell rang and wouldnít stop until I passed out with purple teeth, my hand still on my glass. Sunday Iíd nurse my hangover and clean the dishes and scrape the pans.
And the khakis would get tighter, the belt would grow longer, my breath shorterÖmy shirt would stay on longer, my summer tan lessÖfood, my sweetest downfall, I loved you first.*
Four two years, Iíve paid Weight Watchers 40 bucks a month. Iíve lost the same set ten pounds and gained them back probably five or six times. As part of New Years inventory, I stepped on the scale, it screamed and strained under my mass before a spring shot out from the side of it and killed the dog. Never punctual, I began journey in earnest on Monday, February 28th after my last boozy, raucous dinner party. Iíve lost 15 pounds, dropped two inches on my waist and just today ran my first competitive race.
Although the yellow radioactive cloud still yaws and lingers over me, it is dissipating and sometimes I think I can see blue sky beyond it. Today as I was running through the rubble, navigating the killing field and trying to leave my demon behinds, I had to stop. Through the busted concrete and twisted metal was a blade of grass. Through the cataclysm was a glimpse of beauty and I know that I can become the person that I want to be and not the person that I became.
*with thanks to Regina Spektor