This is going to sound strange. I don't care. I'm musing, writing my thoughts as I read, as I would in a journal, or just let them float through my head. This is how I will continue to approach this book. So. Here you go.
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Oh good God, weight vs. measurements! YES. Weight-if I've learned ANYTHING from my husband. That'll get you perfect cookies.
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The idea of eating what you like and liking what you eat sticks with me. It's not always about the cassoulet, the confit, imported french wines and elegant pastries. Sometimes it's about a Twix when all you really, really want is a Twix.
For me, food, growing up, is a painful memory. Overweight until my early teens, my mother fed me on Hostess Cupcakes, bags of potato chips in bed at night, the fattiest kind of ground beef, 'pork' and beans- meaning hot dogs cut up in a can of baked beans, and canned everything- veg, meat, you name it. I don't think I ate a fresh vegetable until I was 15.
I indulge my children, sure, but my husband is a chef, for fucks' sake. Mac and Cheese are the standbys, but they'll eat duck and snails and parsnips and beets and anything else you offer them.
My childhood memories of food were painful. Food was painful. Anorexia and drugs were comforting. The not eating made me feel better. It wasn't until I married my husband and learned what family could be and what food should be that I began to see all the delights and pleasantness that could come with a finely crafted plate.
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I love the love/hate. I love the lack of attraction, and suddenly it's there. What happens? What changes? Must you change, to realize you truly are in tune with something, that you enjoy their company?
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Bullshit running commentary. Beautiful. I'm glad my husband and I are not the only ones.
Other thoughts:
Skipping the recipes. I'm not a cook-but I do love to eat. Sometimes I'm inspired. Sometimes I'll make a cake. Not today.
This book bounces. Past to the present, food throughout. It's ingrained, it's the core of the book. It may be true, it may be there and all encompassing, all important. But-it feels a bit heavy-handed and forced. Not always, but a bit.
The writing is vivid. The descriptions are there, I feel what she shares. I feel the blood pooling in my own brain and I touch my temple where I dropped my cell phone on it, directly, last night. It's still tender.
I wonder how I would face something like this..what would be my saving grace? What would bring me back, sustain me? Ultimately, isn't it always family? But what is it about my family that tethers me to this world?
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