Okay, so, I'm a college student, right? And, I live alone (very alone) in an apartment on the third floor of a complex you'd swear was a retirement community.
So, I get bored. And, I get hungry. Plus, I'm fat. I've been a fat girl since nary my mind can recollect. I grew up in a family that didn't scrimp on dinner. I mean, sure, my mom would call every now and again and say "I'm going shopping tonight. Fend for yourselves."
Well, that was never much of a problem. Our kitchen was fully stocked. Fully stocked. We had everything from bread and eggs and butter to frozen delicacies that would tantalize the unsophisticated American pallet, to desserts that would fatten the twiggiest of twigpeople.
This kind of thing might happen during the week, of course. And my sisters and I would dig through the two large freezers (one dedicated almost entirely to meat products), two refrigerators, three large bookcases used as pantry shelves, and the cupboards of cooking facilitators, like chocolate sprinkles and baking powder. And, we'd turn on the stove, or push the microwave buttons... or heat up the deep fryer, or grease the wok, or plug in the blender, the rice maker, the quesadilla toaster, the regular toaster, the chocomotion, the smoothie machine, the shaved ice crank-ma-bob, the ice tea machine, the popcorn maker, the meat slicer or any of the other dozens of appliances purchased at fairs and from the internet. Actually, we weren't allowed to use the meat slicer. It was large and shiny and commercial and sported a huge, sharp blade that would most certainly cause us injury.
That was my dad's job.
Now, as I mentioned, this fend-for-yourself situation was a mid-week sort of a charade. And, usually it just consisted of heating up some frozen pizza or cracking open a can of spaghettios. As with anything, the newness of most of these appliances wore off quickly and we dwindled to the basics. Oven, microwave, toaster. Bam.
Weekends, though, were something entirely different. Particularly Sunday afternoons.
Now, we're not a religious family. We each have our own thoughts on religion and we're all very loving and good (most of the time) despite our differences in opinion, but we're not a church-going family. We're Chrieasters, as a friend of mine from high school coined. We go to church on Christmas Eve and Easter. That's about it. And, if someone gets married or dies.
But Sundays were a day of bounty regardless. Without fail, dying or sprite, my mother would concoct the biggest meals every Sunday afternoon. Generally, if available, my grandparents would attend, and we'd have London Broil, or steak, or chicken cordon bleu. Nothing too fancy, but the sheer gandor of the meal was never lost on anyone. There would always be a promise of leftovers the next day, particularly when we had Thanksgiving in July. About once a summer, my mom would make Thanksgiving. Without the football and the parade, it's just dinner, right?
Turkey, stuffing, baked corn, mashed potatoes and gravy, cranberry sauce...
and Pumpkin Pie.
So, you see, I've had quite a relationship with food in my days of existence. Literally, I have one friend who refuses to come to dinner at my house simply because every time he does my family badgers him into eating twice what he normally would and he spends the rest of the evenings guilting and sporting sore tummies. Now, when I say 'refuses' I mean, "No I absolutely will not do that to myself again. No, stop asking. I won't. Tell your mom I love her and I'm sorry. No. No. I said NO." --time passes-- "Pass the strawberry cool whip tapioca dream of a deliciousness I cannot form into words? *salivates*"
So, now I live by myself. I can't stand to cook huge meals for one person and I don't really have anyone to entertain. And, I know what you're thinking. You're thinking the same things everybody thinks when I share with them my predicament. I'm a poor college student with a tummy to feed. The solution is obvious, isn't it? Well, news flash--
FAT GIRLS CANNOT SURVIVE ON RAMEN.
We just can't. Plus, do you know how BAD that shit is for you? I mean, just because I'm fat doesn't mean I ENJOY putting horrible things into my body. I love ramen as much as the next sorority sister (oriental is my favorite); it's like 3c a box, it's fast and it's food, I get it.
But there are other things you can eat, people!
I'm going to chronicle my adventures in my tiny kitchen
here for you in this blog. I can't promise to be the massiah of solitary apartment dining, but, I can share with you what I've found to be true and what I've found to taste relatively good on a small budget. The first few might be a bit more extravagant, because I'm living off of my mom's groceries. Traditionally (in an effort to transition us to not having an entire Walgreens in our pantries, I suppose) my mom buys us a bunch of food when we move out. This is what I've become accustomed to eating.
Please enjoy. Leave feedback. If you have ideas, I'd be glad to hear them.