Breaking up with eating out

It was worth it while it lasted, and I’ll definitely miss your beautiful lighting, your fancy table cloths, your heavy silverware, and your menus of abundance and flavor. But I think it’s best if we took a break. Just for a year. You’re such a charmer, and I’ve stayed in this relationship much longer than I should have.

I don’t even know how in the fuck this white Midwestern girl will learn to make passable tamales, rich with cumin and onion and something called lard, created by some mysterious steaming process of deliciousness and extra deliciousness. I may lean on the soft, gooey shoulder of a local specialty cheese shop for awhile, which will definitely have to count as a grocery store and not a restaurant.

And I’ll have to make an exception, to come crawling back to restaurants while I’m traveling, or the rare times my very most favorite vegan macaroni and cheese makes the menu at a local vegan restaurant run by a vague acquaintance. We can still be friends, you know. I have clients that love restaurants, and I wouldn’t dare deprive them. But eating at restaurants 10-15 times a week has to stop.

I know my kitchen is pretty ugly, and that my cooking skills are only marginally better since I used my coffee pot to make ramen and jello shots and heat up Spaghettios in 2006. It’s going to be tough: I’m always on my way out the door, I can’t eat some grain products, and there’s a restaurant on every corner calling my name. I might even have to buy some new contraptions to do new things with new foods. I can afford to slip back into the fast and loving embrace of restaurants, any time, and I’ll have to keep my eye on the long-term goals:

  • Re-allocating the money from my big, bad restaurant habit into the continued remodel of my sweet new urban-ish house, including the ugly kitchen with the loud fridge.
  • Spending more quality time with friends in a wider range of activities rather than sticking our heads in menus. I want to know my friends better through the things they love to do and learn, not through their tipping percentages and usual soda order.
  • Learning some of the family recipes (if there are any) from my mother, who can surely cook something other than mashed potatoes, deviled eggs, and pickle roll-ups.
  • Having a better relationship with the origins of my food, the cooking process, and caring for my body by filling it with happy nutrients instead of a pile of sad chemicals.

No dishwasher and ugly as hell. I’m going to need better fridge magnets.


A sad fridge lacking in vegetables and drowning in chemicals.


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