The Approach of Phase Three

September 1 is right around the corner, which means the year is almost two-thirds over, which means my project is set to switch gears. Switch gears? you might be thinking. Were you in gear in the first place? Touche, you. I have been sitting around idling lately, it's true, not blogging about food at all. I've been attempting to lose weight while battling a difficult bout of post-graduate depression (the economy is bad enough, but living in an armpit college town while not attending college means that most jobs are hogged by college kids and professors' spouses, or the spouses of the engineers at the town's one major business--all of whom have more specific qualifications than I do while not having the overqualification of a master's degree... plus I'm a depressive sort, anyway, and I've had some difficult rejections for my fiction lately... who cares, right?).

SIDENOTE: Let me ask you a question. If you had the opportunity to be a full-time writer, no pressure to contribute financially, would you do it? Or would setting your own deadlines/working alone/risking total failure without even a pittance of a salary to make you feel like time wasn't totally wasted be too daunting? Or would you rather get a job assembling electronics? (That really was one question... with sub-questions.)

Here's where my life stands right now. I've applied for just about every non-customer-service job opportunity in town, and I'm currently waiting for a phone call about an interview for a job I actually want (most of the other applications were for jobs I didn't care much about, which I'm sure showed in my cover letters and led to my not being hired). I'm volunteering at the animal shelter once a week, and have a scratch down my arm from one particularly feisty kitten that could make someone think I tried to commit suicide. I'm getting a little bit of writing done, but not enough. I have no local friends. I've dropped cooking/eating for this project because it seems pointless to me right now, and because for me, weight loss often means eschewing food as pleasure. I do have a ton of time right now, but I'm crossing my fingers that I won't soon, because I'm always happier when I'm busy. And if I do get busy, here's how I want to handle phase three: Instead of one recipe a day, I will cook seven new recipes a week.

Thoughts on the Lentil Festival

Every year, Pullman hosts the National Lentil Festival, which is a pretty big deal. I mean, for Pullman. This event, which the town spends a good amount of time and energy on (usually the poster designs are better than this year's), lasts a whole weekend--the weekend before school starts. This means that as WSU students pour into town with their modular furniture in tow, they stop at the giant pot of lentil chili and browse the booths before (or after) redecorating their dorms. Which means the Lentil Festival is the most crowded you will ever see downtown Pullman. Ever.

Somehow, every year, the Lentil Festival incites in me a sort of amnesia. It goes like this: I hate the Lentil Festival, but in the weeks leading up to it, I remember only a few highlights from my first Lentil Festival: a used book stand, a craft stand, and the novelty of lentil chili. Unfortunately, those booths were only there the first year. The rest of the booths feature fried foods, which I just can't find joy in with the crowd and the heat, or are advertising radio stations, WSU organizations, and various other town junk I couldn't care less about. There's also a beer garden, which I've never gone to, but which each year I think will be the highlight until I actually get there. After fighting my way through the shoulder-to-shoulder foot traffic, I find myself faced with a parking lot--no shade at all--and a line of people waiting (in the sun) to get a table (in the sun) to listen to mediocre music (which you can hear from the shade by the train tracks, anyway) and drink beer that is available all year round if you just poke your head into the local breweries (both of which are less than a mile from my apartment). And suddenly, seeing this, the lovely picture I had of the Lentil Festival is gone, replaced by stinking crowds and sunburns. What is the opposite of festive?

What's Happening

So, you might have noticed that I haven't been posting lately. This doesn't mean I haven't been trying new foods and recipes. I've attempted to make cheese out of buttermilk (not wonderful results). I've had some new salad greens that I forgot to ask about. I turned leftover duck into burritos and put it on a pizza. Just today, I tried yellow tomatoes. I haven't been inactive.

The thing is, I get a little lazy. And if a particular food doesn't have a great story behind it, I start to think, what's the point in blogging about it? It's just going to be disappointing. You know what I mean?

Of course you do. You read all the little disappointing posts. Or maybe you don't. I don't really know.

On Falling Behind

I don't remember exactly which day it was that I fell off this track, because I was already behind when it happened, scrambling to fill in past days' posts to little avail. It's strange, because I haven't been supremely busy or anything. I do know that this segment of the project doesn't feel very urgent, especially since I don't live in an area full of specialty stores and restaurants that can offer me anything I haven't tried before. I want to try sweetbreads, but good luck finding it on a menu around here. Ditto for kidney and tongue. I would have to drive seventy-plus miles to find these things, and even then I might not be able to. Which is frustrating, you know?

I'm not trying to excuse myself for falling behind, maybe just to let you know that I'm still here and that I plan on getting better with this whole blogging thing, but that I'm tired. Also, to let you know that I can't put off dieting any longer. All this food obsession is pushing me past my weight limit. So I will be doing my best to slim down for the next few months, which means I probably won't be able to eat a new thing every day. I have to admit, there's a part of me that's thinking about giving up. I don't feel good about myself when I let myself get chubby. Then again, I've never been as thin as I want to be. It's going to be tough to keep my calories in check and still try new things. In some ways, I try new things without attempting to. For lunch I wrapped pastrami, cheese, tomato, and dijon in a tortilla. I've never done that before. But I have those ingredients all the time, and it's not vastly different from any other sandwich. It's not growing my knowledge of cuisine.

I'm going to do my best. But right now, I'm exhausted. I don't know how this resolution is really moving my life forward at this point. Maybe I should just skip ahead to phase three, starting with low-cal recipes.

Day 189: Mochi

Last night, I tried green tea mochi. I've seen mochi in the freezer section before, and though this one was sold at room temperature, I at first tried to freeze it. But biting into it, that didn't seem right. This was a more gelatinous dessert, and frozen gelatin didn't seem right. So after eating half a frozen mochi, I let the other half thaw. (I know, I should have done my research.)

Generally, it was okay. Not terrible. In the past, I've had terrible reactions (eg spitting them out) to some of the gummier Asian desserts. They have a particular texture that makes me think of mattresses--you know, that memory foam stuff. That's probably not the best description but it's still what I think of. Anyway, it was a green tea mochi and it really tasted like green tea, which should have surprised me less than it did. I suppose I thought the taste would be more subtle. I do think I could handle the texture if the flavor was more pleasant. I will have to try other varieties.

Day 153: Home Brew

Yesterday, after my last MFA class ever, I came home to Pullman to see my husband and cat. I could have stayed in Spokane, gone to the bar, had a beer with everyone--but I didn't. I was in a funk, you see. It's the end of the school year--the end of my graduate program--and I'm having the wish-I-had-the-do-overs blues. Not that I regret everything about my grad school experience--far from it--I just wish I'd been able to connect more with the people, move past the getting-to-know-you phase with more of them. That's part of why I didn't want to go out--even at the end of the program, I still feel like I'm getting to know most of these people, it's still on small talk terms, and it's difficult to start saying goodbye when you never finished introductions.

Now, I realize that for many people, the small talk phase lasts forever. Not everyone will be your kindred spirit... blah blah blah. I get it. But isn't it lonely? Don't jokes and surface-level conversations get old?

Anyway. This is a food blog. Sorry. The point of all that was to get to the fact that I went home rather than out for a beer, but that when I got home, I got to taste my husband's first batch ever of home brewed beer. It was sweet. Not just that he had a beer waiting for me when I got home, but literally--the beer was sweet. The yeast had yet to eat some of the sugar that is supposed to help them carbonate it, I think. Not that sweet was bad. It was actually quite drinkable. But I like girly beers. Either way, not bad for a first batch.

Okay, back to that mushy stuff. I am so grateful to have my husband and cat. I am really lucky, really blessed. When I whine about not making deeper connections with my school chums, I have to admit that I have one bone-deep connection, and that is a miraculous thing. I mean, my husband and I love each other to our very marrow. On top of that, I have a cat who, if she had her way, would burrow under my skin. And I have wonderful parents, who I just got to see this weekend, the fresh lack of whom definitely contributed to yesterday's melancholia. Every time I see them I'm so happy, and when I come home I go through a sad phase, which is augmented when I've also gotten to see my oldest, dearest friend, which I did last weekend. I saw all these people who make my heart burst with happiness, and I came home to Spokane--not even to Pullman--and had to let my husband go home and back to work while I stayed in an empty apartment (my roommate, my one real connection from grad school, has gone back to Hawaii and I miss her). So I was sad. I still am, a little. But I was very happy, last night, to have a beer at home with my husband.