I have spent the last 3 weeks trying to update the blog and failing. I was tempted to screencap all of the drafts that are in the queue as evidence, but instead I’d rather focus on the present. With each of these posts I tried to answer the question of why I wasn’t writing – which was easily answered since I wasn’t cooking. I tried to blame it on winter doldrums or a lack of ambition – both of which were lies. The reality is that it’s really hard to be excited about food when you’re struck with morning sickness.
My emotions ran high at the though of ginger ale and unsalted saltines. Unsalted saltines might be the worst invention ever, but at the time they kept me moving along. I faithfully munched on them before getting out of bed in the morning, as I sat on the subway, when I got off the subway, and even when I got up too quickly from my desk at work. I still managed to get sick.
The details of my morning sickness aren’t that important. What I went through (and in some sense still am experiencing) isn’t that unusual. What baffled me more was how removed I felt from the thing that I felt so much passion for: cooking. I begrudgingly handed over the dinner duties to Justin since I was always either too tired or too sick to bother. My appetite led me towards “white” foods – pastas, casseroles, eggs. While most of my meals were vegan, at times I found myself eating (CSA) eggs for breakfast. I was only able to muster up enough energy to cook for a bi-weekly brunch date with our friends in Sunset Park. But even then, I found myself begging off for the easier tasks of bringing the salad or vegetables.
I didn’t know how to ignore all of this while trying to write about food. I didn’t want to lie or try to brush it off, but I also knew that I literally had no food to write about. How could I talk about my lack of cooking without addressing the big elephant in the room? I was trapped. And so I started draft after draft after draft. And cooking fell by the wayside to something bigger that my body was ‘cooking up’ for us. And now a few weeks later I finally feel that I am emerging from a fog. I’m able to stay up later, which means that I can actually try to make dinner on some nights (hello salad for dinner!), and my appetite is back.
It only took five bottles of ginger ale and I finally feel ready to feel excited about food again.