My lunch and dinner. Lentil soup. A Giada de Laurentis recipe, easily found via foodnetwork.com. Highly recommended.
But no, you’re right, a little more self-loathing is in order. Do you know, despite the blogging, despite the desperate need to show some sort of industry on my part, it never feels quite right to take a photo of my food before eating it? I understand when someone writes about food, chronicles their passion, or just takes really good photos of inanimate objects. But for me, and for everyone inundating my newsfeed with pictures of their day’s Starbucks-extra-double-shot-latte-no-foam, their Mcdonald’s mcrib, or their weekly froyo runs — why? Why? What is that?
Of course, I might guess what it is. Usually picturing one’s lunch is supposed to solicit a tiny bit of envy, I think. There’s the, “Oh you don’t have this fine Culvers establishment in your suburb? Let me casually eat this chicken tender for you” photo, for example. Or, perhaps the pictured food is supposed to represent a reward for a hard day’s work, a finally, finally satiated craving, #cleverhashtag affixed? Then there’s the possibility that I’m world weary and mean-spirited for not seeing that a pictured Auntie Anne’s pretzel clearly represents family and friendship, and women’s rights. Right? Yes? No?
Okay, you’ve got me. I am delirious. It has been a very long week, with very little sleep for me. And with thirty minutes to spare before Friday, the one accomplishment I can recollect is the soup I made today. Strange that, despite the work efforts of the week, the toil, making this soup was the one endeavor that made me feel purposeful. I was able to eat it, and share it with friends and family. It made me feel like a magician, a conjurer of warm feelings, palpable in everyone’s bellies.
Weird? Is that weird? Fair enough. But soup! How magical! Magic: not pictured.