Impulse eating is nothing to scoff at or denigrate -- please don't misunderstand. Eating disorders are serious stuff.
But even those without eating disorders will binge, (or impulse) eat, at times of stress. Eating to the point of satiation gives us a warm, comfortable, loved feeling. A food buzz. Eating disorders are not standard blog fodder for me. But is there such a thing as a cooking disorder?
Binge cooking?
I woke up this morning needing to cook. I didn't want to cook, I needed to. It was primal. I needed to manipulate food, I had to feed my soul. It was almost as strong as the desire for a cigarette -- 15 years ago when I quit smoking.
But what does it mean? Is the turmoil of my personal life finally kicking the figurative ass of my psyche?
Roommate, former manfriend, has had bumpy ride with his new love. I understand that. We still share an apartment. Not good for either of us... I/we/he need to move on... Blah blah blah. But I'm binge cooking? Why now? Why today?
Hell. I don't know. All I know is that I needed to make tasty things.
So I did. I turned all the misc veggies that the roommate brought from the market into cheese and veg pies. Spinach, garlic, cheddar cheese, leeks, asparagus, and shallots in a pastry shell. As lovely as it is delicious.
But it wasn't enough. I needed to cook more. So I researched a steamed bun recipe that will be perfect with the pork belly I have in the freezer. I'll top it with some kimchi (ignore the dating nonsense and skip right to the recipe -- it's from Mark Bittman so you know it's righteous!).
I didn't make steamed buns. Even though the recipe is from Kitchen God David Chang, which means it will rock, I made beef stew. Rich, thick, meaty, beef stew with fennel, tomatoes, carrots, celery, mushrooms and leeks. I'll serve it over rice. Or pasta.
But my day was far from over. Heck, I did all of the above before 11.
Life wasn't exciting enough so I decided to wear my favorite Chaco sandals, even though they're slick as Hell.
I slipped on the wet kitchen floor. I landed on my left hand, dislocating the little finger. To my credit, I saw it, gasped, and pulled it back into place before it even had the chance to hurt.
Unfortunately, that crunchy sound I heard when I 'fixed' it was a bit of bone dislodging. It's an avulsion fracture of the middle phalanx of the finger.
I know this because I wrapped it in ice and went to the emergency room. Modern medicine can't do anything but tape one finger to the next and say, "Hey, be careful," but I got an unexpected day off.
I think I'll cook something.....
