525, 600 minutes

Living alone--or, specifically, being the only person consuming a supply of groceries--affords one a unique opportunity to learn about oneself. Allow me to elaborate.

Consider a staple item common to all pantries: let's say...maybe...well, for argument's sake, something like peanut butter. When one lives in a house with other people with whom one shares a jar of peanut butter, one fails to notice when/ if there is one person in particular who is responsible for it's rapidly lowering levels; one fails to realize that not all the members of the household leave the sides of the jar as clean or the surface of the substance as smooth as others. Similarly, one also fails to realize that not all members of the household--in fact, none of the other members of the household--eat jam. At all. So one often finds oneself saying things like, "oh--it looks like we need peanut butter and jam" at the week's end when both need replenishing.

One jar of peanut butter and one jar of jam last me....drumroll please....3 days. Ok, 2 days. Granted, the jars here are about half the size of the jars at home (think of the tiniest nutella jar that they make, and take a good 50ml away from it...and no, don't get me started on nutella :l). It terrifies me. Sometimes, on that second day when I stare into the jar and see how much I've actually eaten, I enter into a state of sugar-induced shock and, in my shame, throw it out before I have the chance to finish it (psychologically, not finishing the entire jar makes me feel better...though, by that point, I don't think it makes that much of a differnce, physically). Then I think about it, sitting there in the garbage: perfectly good, delicious, smooth, rich peanut butter going to total waste... And it makes me a little sad, because it is such a terrible waste. But I know in my heart that I have to be strong; I have to resist the temptation; I have to be hard where the peanut butter is soft and sour where it is sweet. I have to show it who's boss.I have to show me who's boss.

Inevitably, there are obstacles and this feeling of empowerment rarely lasts long.

Peanut butter's friend, Camembert, usually sees all of this happening--and he is not hapy about it. So, knowing that a nibbler like me won't be gone for long, he sits there in the fridge quietly beside his friend, Bread, and waits for my return. Having satisfied my seemingly-un-satisfiable craving for sweet, I will always move onto savoury. Camembert knows this. It's a sure thing, as certain as death and taxes. A few bites in, a few smears on a few rips of bread later, and kablamoo!!! 1/2 a wheel of camembert has completely vanished. And I'm left standing there, holding the knife, guilty of the most sickening of crimes: the inability to exercise self-control. But there's one thought, one thing, that stops me from completely hating myself.

Sure, I eat more peanut butter and jam in one week than the average person does in 3 months. And yeah, I can go through wheels of camembert with my eyes closed. But those are the only things I eat. No chocolate, no ice cream, no candy, no pastries, no chips, no fast food....just peanut butter, jam and camembert. They're my things. They form the basis of meals; of desserts; of snacks and of little treats. And in that way--bizarre as it may seem-- are reprsentative of the way I live my life; of the things I do and the choices I make.

I've said this before and I'll say it again: I'm simple. I don't like or need gourmet meals and I don't particularly care for flaming desserts. I already know what I like best; I already have my favourites. I don't say that in a closed-minded way, either: I say it from experience. Its those things, those favourites, that I enjoy most; that bring me the most pleasure and, for that very reason, that I find myself returning to day in and day out. Not the foreign; not the exotic or the rare; not the fancy--nope, not for this girl. This girl may get excited about trying new dishes and using new ingredients; this girl may seek opportunities to broaden her horizons, to see, taste, smell and touch new and unfamiliar things. But this girl also finds that in doing so, she is always brought back to the same place; that in venturing out, she is always--at some point--called back in. And, each time, comes to appreciate the beauty and simplicity of it all even more than she thought she could.

I don't need a lot. I don't like a lot. But I need what I need, and like what I like. Actually no: I love what I love.

They're completely different but complement each other pefectly for it. PB & J and bread and cheese. That's where its at.