I’m coming out of a long funk with roots in a few different areas of my life and I’m finally feeling sunnier and ready to chat again. (Don’t let that sunset fool you; I’m bidding farewell to the clog and kerfuffle of my internal landscape.)
Physically speaking, after a fine five years of being completely gluten-free (and losing the majority of my horrible symptoms) I’ve noticed a few straggler issues that have yet to disappear. A doctor recently discovered that I’m likely casein free, too.
This news does not support my dairy-hoarding tendencies, no, not at all.
Having a completely new experience with my body, upon which I won’t elaborate, is making the longing for cheese and heavy cream dissipate, or at least fade into a fond memory. In place of the highlight of my morning coffee (half & half) or the weekly French-style ice creams, buttermilk and greek yogurt I relish making, I’ve developed an intense and lovely relationship with coconut. It turns out full-fat coconut milk is the answer to the majority of my dilemma.
Professionally speaking, I’ve been chewing on a diplomatic response to a recent book about what the author perceives as the perils of women embracing domesticity. Read my response to the main problem I found with this book; I still have more to say about the section pertaining to food.
Emotionally speaking, I had some sort of identity crisis after turning in my kitchen book draft to my editor a couple months ago. For a long while I fumbled around feeling half-convinced of my position and role in talking about the kitchen (a mostly-convinced, sort-of-qualified kitchen operator myself). I wondered if I really had anything informative and useful to say (interestingly, the exact same feeling I had the month before HGGH came out).
And then I remembered, you. My overwhelmingly supportive and positive and non-judgey base of readers. There’s nothing new under the sun to write about the kitchen, but coaxing the unconvinced into the kitchen is a challenge I’ve taken on because at least knowing how to make (delicious) food for yourself is a fundamentally empowering thing.
Confidence comes and goes, so being kind to myself (and attempting to quiet what Anne Lamott calls the “itty bitty shitty committee” aka self doubt) during the absent times is how I stay afloat. How about you?