So there are many reasons that I would not say that I am a foodie. For one, the word, for me, has a prissy, fussy, nails-on-chalkboard ring to it. And also, although I cook pretty much every day, and usually enjoy it, I’d be doing it even if I found it onerous. In my life, it's a bonus that a chore is a pleasure, but sometimes, one still must acknowledge that it remains a chore.But really, my secret food loves and my unwillingness to go the last mile for perfect quality are I think what really lead the list of Reasons I Would Be DQ’d As A Foodie. Pizza rolls share too many of the same ingredients as shampoo to truly qualify as a food item, and yet… oh, I do love to have them. Not often, but… oh, yeah. Absolutely. And unless a loved one is sick, I don’t make broth from scratch, and I most certainly do NOT give coveted freezer space to home-made broth. Our freezer is very small. It is for 1) ice packs (Curly and I are both a bit accident-prone), 2) ice creams and gelati, 3) pizza rolls and 4) frozen breads and/or pastries. I understand broth can be frozen into little ice cube things and emptied out (I remain skeptical of the "you just" which usually precedes the explanation of doing this) to take up a minimum of space and all, but the real estate in our freezer is distinctly finite.
However. Now and then it’s probably healthy to eat a little crow, and acknowledge that, yes indeedy, we are doing exactly what we said we wouldn’t.
A friend of mine is horribly, horribly sick. She can eat soup. I can make soup. She is struggling both to stay hydrated and to get adequate nutrition; soup has been something she can manage. So the pizza rolls have been unceremoniously chucked from the freezer, and my freezer now contains not one, but two kinds of frozen broth, made from scratch, skimmed and strained several times and carefully decanted into containers that can fit into my fridge and are just right to make a last minute one-person batch of soup. When I brought this week’s soups around (a pureed carrot soup and a thin garlic-chicken broth), I saw her, and I have to say, I was glad for every second I spent hovering over the stove. But… I wasn’t very glad. I would rather that I hadn’t made the broth and that she was well and that I was eating crow over something else, and that it was funny. In fact, when I saw how ill this lovely, kind woman is, I thought: karma, you suck. And then I went home and cried a bit.
A little over a week ago, the husband of a friend of mine was hit by a car while bicycling. In the bike lane. With a helmet. He’s still in the ICU, with more than one surgery ahead of him, and it’s still not totally clear if he’s suffered any brain damage, although some of the early signs since he started to speak (a little over a day ago) are promising. Which is... good? The whole thing is awful, and that's not going to change, so signs pointing to a full recovery is as good as it's going to get. It’s hard to know what to say, about anything, when things like that happen. None of these troubles are really my troubles. It's hugely encouraging to see the way communities of friends and neighbors have rallied around both of my friends, and helped their families. But... my usual frivolity and fondness for talking about Barney's is a little tough to sustain.
On a lighter note, another reason the pizza rolls have been chucked is to keep the Incredible Eating Nephew fed. And ohdeargod, I think that needs to be a full-time, paid position. July 4th, I woke up early and made two coffee cakes. Two days later, both were gone. My family of 4 had consumed perhaps 2/3 of one of the coffee cakes. The Incredible Eating Nephew? Responsible for the rest. Last night? Two blueberry pies. Both gone within 24 hours (although I will say, there were 11 people chipping in on the pie-removal effort). I make sure to have some variety of high-calorie frozen dessert in my freezer while he’s on the premises, just in case his 2nd dinner didn’t quite fill him up enough. And it evaporates.