I’m not going to re-name it, but I’m making a mockery of the word domestication. I’m not sure I even know what domestication means anymore, and I certainly wouldn’t be able to figure it out from the entries of this blog.
I haven’t cooked an actual meal in what feels like months. Somehow I’ve been living off cereal, toast, peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, frozen pizza, buffalo chicken salads, asparagus and omelettes. All of which are delicious, but there was a time when I made actual meals. I bought ingredients and chopped said ingredients and mixed those chopped ingredients in different bowls and cooked them in different pots and made actual meals. I was always so proud of myself.
Now I’m proud if I buy some peppers and end up eating them before they rot. Technically I’m still getting my three to five servings of fruits and vegetables each day, but very rarely in a new, fun way.
I’m making something with sweet potatoes tomorrow. Let’s hope that sparks my interest in cooking. Or in writing. I could use the nudge in both areas!