Eating is not just an act of feeding or refueling, it is a time of fellowship. That is why it is so hard to cook for myself when Aaron is gone. I theorize that it all has something to do with the Eucharist and the Lamb's High Feast, but I'll save my philosophizing for another day.
When I taste something yummy, I immediately begin to wonder who I can share it with. If Aaron is having a bad day, I start thinking about what sort of food I can make him. If someone is sick or hurting, I don't send them encouraging notes or even necessarily call them on the phone, instead I march straight into the kitchen. I suppose that food is my love language.
What sort of food do I eat? Well, pretty much anything. I tend to stay away from casseroles as they usually taste like they are made of cream of mushroom soup and cheddar cheese (not that I really have a problem with either of those ingredients, I just get tired of them). Instead, I prefer to enjoy the pure creaminess of coconut milk, the tang of chicken marinated in lemon juice, the summer-like flavor of fresh basil, or the dense, rich smell of freshly baked whole wheat bread slathered with butter. I am a borderline whole foodie. In my opinion, if you can make it yourself, it will be much cheaper and taste much better than anything store bought. The only thing I refuse to make are dolmades/grape leaves. I will stick to buying those little bits of heaven from Greek restaurants.
So what is the point of this post? Good question. I'll let you know when I figure it out. Actually, I originally started this blog in conjunction with my thesis which was about food. Over the next few weeks, I'm going to post a series of recipes and my ideas about cooking.
First up: breakfast!
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