Category Archives: Nourishment

My Name is Meghan, and I’m Hungry

Posted on by ifsunflowersdanced
2

I’ll just cut to the chase with this one. I’m a 22-year-old girl and I can eat more than you. I can, I do and I will.

Honestly, I can eat a Chipotle burrito in under 5 minutes and within an hour I’m out buying french fries or ice cream. Or maybe a Snickers bar. If you’re not familiar with Chipotle, let’s just say that they don’t wrap their burritos, they swaddle them. They’re the size of a healthy infant.

I know what you’re thinking. “Yeah sure, she’s just another girl who thinks it’s cute to tell everyone she eats SOOO much”. Giggle, giggle, hair flip, wink.

Yeah well, I’m not.  Just the facts, people.

I’m the girl who eats all the pizza at the pizza party and then breaks out the chips and dip. The girl who gets a large salad at work and then has to buy a second lunch to get through the day.

Some people deal well with hunger. Some people even forget to eat. (freaks) Must be nice, because I’m a scary person when I’m hungry. Horrifying really. If I haven’t eaten in a few hours you do not want to know me. Feed me or get out of my way.

Maybe it’s low blood sugar, or maybe it’s the obese demon in my belly. I’m not sure. But my friends and ex boyfriend can all tell you: Make sure she eats. My roommate even packs snacks when we go out. I’M NOT JOKING.

The jury is still out on whether this is an endearing or disgusting quality in a 125 lb., 5’8″ girl. Some guys are impressed, others horrified. But that’s why I adhere to a strict policy of getting the fattest thing on the menu on dates. This is a no salad zone. Not only would getting anything lettuce-based be a huge joke, but I would be hungry in 30 minutes. The poor guy deserves to know that the sweet girl across from him is really a human garbage disposal.  And if you’re not man enough to watch me eat a Philly cheesesteak and fries and then seriously consider dessert, then keep moving buddy.

That’s really all I have to say about that.

Coup de cupcake

Posted on by ifsunflowersdanced
Reply

I’m concerned with the increasing popularity of cupcakes.

Cupcakes have made us weak.

hellonaomi_cupcakes_2

New York City is obsessed with cupcakes. Mini cupcakes, gourmet cupcakes, wedding cupcakes, and I’m sure intravenous cupcakes when the technology is developed.

But when, I ask you, did cake die? Why are we willing all of a sudden to not only settle for less but to actually make it trendy? I see the appeal of cupcakes, I really do. They are cute, easy to make and transport, and just so gosh darn fun to eat.

But bring back cake!

I like cupcakes just as much as the next person (red velvet, f.y.i.) but I think it’s time that someone stood up for good old slices of cake. Why should someone else determine the portion size of my cake? Screw your frilly cupcake wrappers, this is America! Our love for cake cannot be contained by tins! Think of how small the United States would have been if not for the blind gluttony of our fore-fathers. They would not settle for cupcakes.

We’ve gone soft. We’ve settled for less, America. Cake needs a comeback.

Beyond the yellow brick road

Posted on by ifsunflowersdanced
Reply

While at a bar last night with some of my long-lost high school friends, the conversation turned to the inevitable “so what have you been up to?” We all went around telling similar stories involving life with our parents and what we hope to be doing one day. A few drinks in, however, a good friend looked at me and asked me again: “so really, what have you been up to?”

This is what I told her.

Today, before my mom left to run some errands she hinted that it would be really nice if I could make dinner tonight. Also I should have it ready by 5:30 when she and my father would be back. Alright, fun, I thought.

Timing my dicing, stirring, and simmering perfectly, I made sure that everything was ready and the table was set at exactly 5:28.

By 5:32 I was sitting at the table alone.

At 5:35 I was once again stirring my masterpiece; now convinced that the asparagus and red peppers were irreparably mushy. Oh, and now the pasta was clumping!

At 5:37 my mom calls. She will be home in 20 minutes she tells me. I hang up on her.

At 5:41 my dad comes home. No sooner does he walk in the door and I am in his face hurling questions at him. “Where have you been? Why are you late? I’ve been cooking for hours and now it’s cold!”

He laughs and kisses me on the forehead. This looks great honey, he tells me as he digs into the gorgeous salad I’ve prepared. Meanwhile all I can think about is the chicken, pasta, asparagus masterpiece on the stove that is surely congealed by now.

He takes his time with the salad and when he finally makes it to the meal he tells me it needs more pepper. But at least, I think to myself, he went up for a second helping.

Yeah…. I know…