April 22, 2008
The other problem I have is that some vegan foodstuffs go overboard on ingredients like seaweed, and though I like a bit of seaweed—say, in a Japanese pastry—there's a delicate line: I don't eat fish at my most omnivorous, so anything that has too fishy a taste is right out. The exceptions are miso soup with just a whisper of bonita shavings that I can pretend not to know about, or an omelet with a splash of non-vegetarian Worcestershire sauce that I can likewise ignore.
Gosh, I hope Megan is wrong about women in Manhattan. I would love it if her upbringing there were a minority experience. Personally, I'd hate to feel guilty about eating. I take a distinct delight in food, though when I'm reading or writing (which is always) there's a point beyond which I simply don't want to fuss with it. If I could take a pill that would keep me from being hungry, I might well starve, since I can go for days or even weeks without being in the mood to mess around with the eating idea. Not because I'm against it, but because I don't have much of an attention span for anything whatsoever. The best thing that ever happened to me is the book rack I got in college, which I can use to prop up a book or magazine in front of me while I eat soup, cold cereal, or anything else that requires two hands.
I'm perfectly willing to cook, but not if I'm in the middle of reading or writing a hot chapter. Or even a hot blogpost. Let's not be ridiculous.
Which is to say that food is lovely, but if I had to choose between interesting food and fine words, I'd take the words: they are more satisfying than food, and more intoxicating than any drug.
But I do live in a human body, and my stomach is growling. So off I go to eat, rather than composing a kick-ass villanelle. This is, of course, the world's grave loss.
Posted by: Attila Girl at
11:02 AM
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