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Finishing my exams and everything has left me pooped.  I must have invested far more energy into last week than I realised.  One of the more surprising manifestations of this is how little I want anything other than simple comfort foods.  I’ve had porridge for breakfast three mornings in a row.  I can’t seem to get enough of it, and, weirdly, I look forward to it as soon as I wake up.  I’ve never been one for cereal in the mornings, since I find it leaves me unsatisfied and restless.  I prefer hot food, especially eggs or toasted sammiches.  So I’m not sure why I’m on a porridge jag.  If I didn’t think it would be a bit weird, I’d be bringing all the fixings to work and having porridge at lunchtime as well.

I haven’t had porridge for years and years, but when I read this post on Confessions of a Food Nazi, it set me a-craving.  So I procured a carton of soy milk and a box of quick-cook oats (cheat!) and set at it.

 One of the things everybody mentions about porridge is their childhood memories: you never seem to hear people say “Oh, I haven’t had porridge since I was backpacking in Belize!” They say “My nan (or mum) used to make porridge!” My nan (and mum) used to make porridge, but as children we used to go off it pretty quickly.  I’m sure we only saw it as a medium for having brown sugar for breakfast. In my recent spate of porridges, I’ve been avoiding the brown sugar, which marks me as something of a deviant.  I just don’t think I like the flavour of it in my porridge.  Instead, I’ve had half a grated apple and some chopped dates most mornings, which is really nice and textually enjoyable.  Plus, it made me feel so wholesome and healthy!  This morning I had a spoonful of Nutella instead.  That was awesome: chocolate porridge.   

I’ve been paring back a bit in the kitchen lately, which I expect is a response to fatigue. I’m not really keen on cooking anything new, and I’m craving simple foods like sammiches, pasta and garden salads.  M baked some plain bread over the weekend, and the house smells wonderful.  There are two slices sitting next to me, waiting to be made into a sammich for my lunch today, and the smell is driving me wild. I’ve done a lot of deep breathing this morning to really huff up the goodness of the bread smell.

When I started this post, I was sure I would have some poignant point to make about simplicity in food, the importance of eating simply sometimes, and listening to the body, and blah blah blah.  I’m not sure what my point is, now.  I wouldn’t mind another bowl of porridge, though. 

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