I wouldn’t know, but perhaps one indication of a person’s deep-seated interest is what they stay up in bed thinking of, what they read when they stave off sleep, and what they—with a fresh surprise of a paycheck—imagine they will acquire. My Google Reader is filled with food blogs. Whole leeks charred with coal, Alec Baldwin’s favorite pizza, and yet another dish combining chorizo and clams. I’ve never had this last one. It sounds pretty heavy and hedonistic though, which may be why I’m coming up on twenty hours awake.
Coming home is a surreal stage. I insist to myself, for some desperate reason, that it doesn’t count. (Searching for employment is an exercise in vulnerability, but it’s not nearly as bad as having to report such a state of limbo.) I can’t keep track of the days very well. And my mind takes an amount of concentration to figure it out.
In the morning, I’ll bike a few blocks west toward I-75, sneak into a seat in the back of Covenant CRC, gape at how tall the kids are, shake hands, smile, and steal away back home to have lunch with my parents and a handful of friends—a smattering of previous years’ gatherings. The sun will likely be out, and pouring through the leaves as the fire hisses with the dripping marinade. My skin, hair, and clothes will smell of soy sauce for the rest of the day, and a feast of some of my favorite foods will be presented. Mother and I have been discussing the offerings for the last couple days. Again, we toyed at making something we would make for ourselves—notably, not the 만두 (dumplings), not the 불고기 (marinated beef… which we are having), but the 김치찌개, 됀장국, and 낙찌복음. The back alley shack of a restaurant where laborers hurriedly slurp their lunch instead of high-heeled wives with shopping bags from Coach eating cream spaghetti and soup at Outback Steakhouse.
I’m awake because of so many meals. Most of them at home—a few bad ones out—with the parents and the begging dog at our feet, and seemingly effortless dishes turned out. More often than not, we all had a hand in the preparation, plating, and clean up and I asked more questions about something I’d been eating my whole life, but hadn’t an idea of what it actually was, other than comforting and familiar—what I imagine a Dutch person smells upon entering our house unexpectedly.
It’s quite a first-world problem I have: the food has been so plentiful and alarming and better than anything I’ve had, that I’m exhausted. I’m wondering about how lunch in the afternoon will go. The friends will tuck in, dad will laugh, mom will grin, conversation will lull to the sound of guests hunched over and chewing, and I’ll wonder to what to do.
Posts
