Dinner in my house was the time of day that my brother, mom and I would gather after school and work to be together. No matter what we were doing, dinner time was family time. We’d turn off the TV and sit at the table. I remember the laughs, the fights and the family meetings that we would have. I remember just how bland my mom’s cooking used to be too. Oh. My. God. Bland is really an understatement; to her benefit, I’d say that it’s improved over the years. Maybe she cooked that way because we were young children, figuring anything seasoned would be rejected very audibly with much exaggeration. As a parent, I am yet to be in the realm of fussy eating but can imagine cooking for two young children must be faced with great trepidation on the best of days.

I am a lover of food. I wouldn’t say that I was a very picky eater growing up, though boiled potatoes and a slab of grey pork; lacking any imagination or even colour to conceal the consistency of the shriveled animal flesh really leaves much to be desired.
I’d say for many years I carried on the cooking habits of my mothers, which I was accustomed to. No seasonings, no imagination.
When I moved to college my diet consisted of Kraft Dinner, spaghetti, Zoodles, chocolate pudding, junk food and alcohol. The only ethnic foods I had ever really enjoyed to this point in my life was Chinese food. That was until I met some people. People that ate. People that had imagination, pizazz - and tasty food!

One thing that made a significant improvement in my limited food selections was moving to the city. This city has more then enough culture to make your head spin. I’ve tried almost everything whether it was a favourite or not is negotiable.

I love to eat. I love everything about food. I love that it’s always there, to comfort, to console, never to pass judgment and will never leave.

I admit it.

I am an emotional eater.

I eat when I am happy, sad, angry, anxious, and depressed.

I have been eating like it’s going out of style for the past 2 weeks. I can’t stop. I think about it a lot, I want everything and anything.

It’s like I’m pregnant, even though I am not.

I contribute it to the overwhelming anxiety over Britney Spears and her manic behaviour as of late. What? You don’t believe me? You don’t think that a celebrity could have that much ply over moi?

You’re right.

It’s work.

I notice a considerable change in my eating habits when I am over worked and stressed.

I’ve had a very busy and extremely overextending couple of weeks with 2 out of 3 members of my department on vacation at the same time. Seems fair right?

Anyone for a snack?