notamachine97

[notamachine97]

"What if I cured meat in matcha tomorrow?"

There is no math in my world and nothing is based off of logic. Sterile precision is down the second I walk into the kitchen(it's not much of a walk, more like 2 long steps from the couch. I live in a tiny apartment). It's colors, textures and themes floating in front of my eyes at the mere sight of a fruit or a piece of meat. Nothing gives me more joy than the alchemy of flavors. It doesn't have to be complicated either. Rub some raw garlic and sprinkle some salt on your toast and you have magic. Skinny? Nahi! Never again. Have I tasted too much?

There are no measurements except a cup is both my palms joined together, a tablespoon is (enough with the hand jokes!) my palm folded in a very specific way, a teaspoon is one fold of the finger, and so on. There is no greater joy than being complimented on a cake made with the energy of a panic attack at 3 AM, fueled by not knowing which country I'll have to move my pet children to when the visa expires. Baked in a way that would scare every pastry chef dead or alive. My sweet insomnia cakes. I may have to stick to the savory.

Food heals all. What better than a meal with your friends? Are you feeling low? Have a chit chat. Leave work a little early. Split the unreasonably overpriced  happy hour truffle fries and sliders at a shitty brutalist bar that will put your credit card over the 13% utilization. Check the crushed up bill in your purse tomorrow. 

Now that I can and do travel, my favorite travel activity is to visit a local grocery store. A co-op, a farmers market, a mom and pop shop, a small tappri in Pune, giant Woolie's in Australia ( where the accessibility to affordable healthy ingredients made me sob and question if I made the right decision by rejecting that one grad school acceptance 4 years ago). I'm there. 

You get to know a lot about the people by the grocery stores they go to. Do they trust preservatives? Where do they get their bread? Would they buy off season mangos? 

I visited Europe for the first time. If you told teenage me that she would have a birthday cake made by the chefs at Noma on their last season ever she would not believe you. But she would not believe a lot of things she's doing now. There is a calmness about Copenhagen that I really enjoyed. If you like chairs (Hans Wegner) and Mads Mikkelsen as much as I do - you'll have a good time. Next year - the Alchemist. If the gluttonous Gods I worship let me. I got a tattoo in a shady basement.

My other birthday cake was caramelized pear, spice and tea. Not too sweet. 

My family and I parted ways.

I went to Bologna. I smelled the tomatoes, ate Ragu,  Panino from a really narrow mom & kid's shop, bought herbs and chilies and lemoncello, went to so many farmers markets and drank 5 decaffeinatos from five different cafes at 6 in the morning.

Florence for the Florentine steak. I dreamt of meeting Dario Cecchini, the king of the Bistecca. That didn't happen. Maybe another time.  The sun was making a comeback. I walked and I walked and I walked. I consumed. Food, stories, sights, feelings. I made so many new friends. I was not afraid to be alone. 

I went to Stuttgart and Berlin. I worked with the people I only saw on a monitor for the longest time. Germany has incredible food. Gastronomically speaking, I never thought Chicago would ever be defeated in anything, but a mean doner kebab changed that. Curry wurst in a forest themed restaurant at the zoo because I got off the wrong train stop. Why not? I don't really like zoos. After more meat and potatoes, making sure I went to the oldest restaurant in every city, so many beautiful art galleries, seeing too many lucky pet parents with their well mannered leash free dogs, a bread a beer a sausage, tipping everywhere ( I am a true American despite what my passport says), multiple delayed flights  - I was home. 

Privileged. Exhausted. Guilty. Full. I've lived well.