What I Ate, January 2, 2022 — Three Years Later: The Food That Sustains Me

It is the three year anniversary of my food diary. What is so strange is that I began the diary three days before my mom died. When I began it, I was certainly dealing with the fact that she was in the hospital, unwell, but we had NO IDEA she would be dead within 72 hours. Three days before I would become motherless, I felt an incredible pull to write, and to write often, with the idea of writing nearly daily. A true diary. A food diary. To fold the events of my days around the foods I was eating. I felt the urge to write and write and write. I was so excited to write it. I love reading diaries, and I love reading about food — this food diary was to be the most beautiful marriage of the two.

And it was. But grief is big — and food, while it took on more meaning much of the time — certainly in that space immediately surrounding her death — also took on less meaning. I took on less meaning, somehow, after losing her. I wasn’t sure who I was without a person I rightfully belonged to. I had been waiting my whole life to hear the words out of her mouth that would justify my existence and suddenly she would never be able to give them to me. I would have to figure out why I was allowed to be walking the face of the earth on my own.

**

I’m not writing, lately. Weeks go by without a word pinned down. I feel sad about it and somehow like I don’t know how to change it.

But of course I do. I wanted to be stepping into this year closer to having a book published; closer to feeling validated in the world of writing. But my mother cannot validate my presence in this world the same way that a publisher cannot validate the presence of my words in the world.

So, here — once again, I present to you: my food diary.

**

Today, I woke up with intentions of eating oatmeal with fresh blueberries. I have realized that if you add them to the oats on the stove near the end of the cooking time, that they will get super close to a burst without actually bursting. They will get plump and juicy and when your spoon accidentally bumps against them in your bowl, streaks of deep purple will suddenly appear; your dreary breakfast magically transformed into something like tie dye.

But when I woke up, I didn’t want my oatmeal. It’s not that I didn’t want it; more that I didn’t want to prepare it. I wake up hungry — if I don’t put the water to boil immediately, I can get sidetracked by some already-prepared food my eyes catch as I move about the kitchen.

And sure enough — I saw a package of cookies that I had partially eaten yesterday, and I could not deny them. So I had those with some coffee, and then followed them with a plate of blackberries and a diced orange, and then followed that with more coffee, and a giant apple. I toasted a cinnamon raisin bagel for Ollie, and wanted to ask him for half, but knew he would deny me. But he is constantly constantly in motion — like, doesn’t even sit to eat — so he accidentally dropped half on the floor anyway and threw it away.

When I made Ollie lunch, I thought I wasn’t very hungry, so I had a little bit of swiss cheese with some cracked wheat crackers and a baby Coke. I drink one baby Coke about every 2 weeks, and when I do, I savor every single sip. Is Coca Cola highly sugared? Yes. Hysterically carbonated? Indeed. Have I heard that it can clean battery acid and then actually witnessed that firsthand last year when our Jeep died and a guy came to jump it and actually took the Coke out of his car, poured it onto our INCREDIBLY CORRODED CAR BATTERY, and then continued to drink it? Mhh-hm. Do I care? No. No, I do not; I love Coke with such a deep deep intensity that it actually thrills me. But I understand that I should not drink a ton of something that can clean my car battery, so I enjoy it in small portions, sporadically.

About an hour later, I realized I was starving, so I heated up the remains from yesterday’s dinner for myself. We were all looking for food to kind of just drop down from the heavens last night when Nic and I accepted that we were in charge of feeding both ourselves and our kid. So he scoured the cabinets and called out the products at hand. I told him to grab the canned tomatoes, add some black beans, some soy ‘meat’ crumbles and some spices, and to throw that atop some pasta and it would be chili mac. He seemed to doubt me a bit at first, but after he committed to the idea, he shone like the home chef he has come to be.

Ollie raved. “The best meal this house has ever seen,” he claimed. “My favorite thing I have ever eaten.” “I want it for every dinner.” We topped it with shredded cheese and sour cream and ate like joyful paupers. I mean, outside of the dairy toppings, we were looking at a base rate of about $3 for the entire meal. One can of beans, one can of tomatoes, and 1/3 a bag of pasta. Not only was it insanely delicious, it was affordable — and easy to make. A winner on all levels.

Reheated, today, it was still amazing. I ate it as a late lunch and swore I’d never be able to eat dinner, but shockingly enough, when the scrambled eggs and potatoes were done, I was in line with my plate right behind Ollie. Chef Nicholas made another easy, affordable meal in and fed us, much to our delight.

**

In late November, Ollie made us each come up with a list for Christmas of six gifts that we hoped for this year.

My list went like this:

• A personal, portable iron
• A cheesecake
• A karaoke microphone
• Ice cream
• A cordless vacuum
• Deep dish pizza from Chicago

My Christmas list tells you all you need to know about me. I like to clean. I like to eat. I like to sing.

So there is a cheesecake in the fridge right now, and one in the freezer — and my two favorite pints of ice cream here right now, too. I might go upstairs and eat them all, when I close this computer. I might not have any, tonight. But my food diary is back. And while it is likely that I won’t come to some giant understanding of the reason behind my existence, I can still revel in the joy behind writing about the things that sustain me.

When you sit down at your table, I hope you ponder the enormous bounty we each have, and I hope you think of me.