Beans, Beans, the Magical Fruit

The sort of secret blog of Beans, a.k.a. Jules, a.k.a. "Legs for Miles" a.k.a. "Rackie the Boob Queen." Fine, ok, not the last two. Starting July 2006, sometimes "Mike," aka "fagadoccio," is a co-poster on the blog. The co-poster child, really.

Tuesday, October 03, 2006

Starvin' Marvin

People have been asking, "Now that you're in grad school, Jules, are you eating like an anorexic Cistercian monk?" (I paraphrase.) Away from my boyfriend/cook, away from the New York restaurants I loved, and most palpably, away from the professional life that afforded my indulgences, am I sitting on a rock by Lake Michigan, gnawing on my arm like a crazy cur?

The answer to that question brings me to about eighth grade, when my kitchen dabbling became a regular after-school workshop. Nevermind that I was obsessed with processed foods. (I loved the critical quest of adding water to Lipton packs and seeing what became of the various powders: Alfreddo? Garlic and Herb? They basically all tasted the same.)

Obviously, years of this shit has formed a chemical Lego palace somewhere in my colon. I shudder to think about it.

Anyway, why did I come home from school, drop my bag, and hit the pantry, selecting a robotic pre-pack of pasta powder and setting to work in my lab? Was it because I was a pig? Because I was so hungry from lacrosse practice? Taking over for my absentee parents? None of the above (except maybe the pig, obvie.)

No, the reason I cooked so furiously was because I WOULD ALWAYS RATHER COOK THAN DO MY HOMEWORK.

Which should explain why my fridge right now contains: spinach and turnip green soup, spaetzle, an apple tart, lentil stew, tzatziki sauce (WHY? I had dill, I had yogurt, and I'd rather roll in poison ivy naked than read more Foucault), and a chicken thigh with roasted apples. I've got a lot of reading to do tonight, which means a couple of squashes might get roasted, and I think we're in for an elaborate coffee drink or two. I can't help it. It's a compulsion. I think better when I know somethings bubbling or roasting or braising somewhere in the kitchen. I think it helps my brain braise.

Better than that BrainBraiser9000 I bought off QVC!


At 1:33 PM, Blogger tiny banquet committee said...

Sigh. You've reminded me of studying for the bar exam, a time when I sometimes had 3 or 4 different kinds of soup in the refrigerator for the same reason.

At 4:50 PM, Blogger Beans said...

I think it's a real phenomenon. A particular type of anxiety that forces people to the kitchen as soon as they have other work to do. When I write my dissertation I'm going to have to start a soup kitchen.


Post a Comment

<< Home