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Lows and highs on a Sunday

Today is Sunday, and that means a lot of stockpiling for the week. The Southside Farmers’ Markets are on and I shop with an air of wholesomeness that completely compensates for my raging vodka/cocaine/kitten-huffing hangover resulting from standard Saturday night debauchery. (Also: Creationary.)

M made breads:

Slicable noms

I made muesli:

Breakfast noms

I also made a huge pot of roast vegetables and couscous: my lunches are set for the week. Sadly, the photographs of these were incredibly unattractive, so I’d rather not discuss them further. But man, I am on a hot streak with lunches at the moment. Couscous, cooked in stock, tossed with roast, chopped eggplant, zucchini, capsicum and purple onion. Throw in some chopped herbs — basil, coriander, mint, flat-leafed parsley — and some cubes of fried haloumi and you’re set. It’s delicious, especially cold. Anyway: the fridge is full of lunches, the muesli pot in the cupboard is stuffed, there’s bread galore and even a pot of pesto in the fridge: we’re stocked for weeks ahead.

I’ve been thinking a lot about time, trade-offs, and the way I spend the very limited time I have. Sometimes all this stockpiling feels like a huge pain in the arse: I only get two days’ worth of weekend, like everyone else, and it’s hard not to feel like I’m spending heaps of it stocking up on stuff for the other five days. I get back from the farmers’ markets, frustrated because they’re only on once a week and if I miss it, I have to suck it up and go to a shop-shop and pay shitloads more for crappier food. Then I grumble to myself about why can’t I just be a Normal Person and eat muesli from a box and bread from a bag and who the fuck refuses to buy yoghurt on principle anyway? By 2pm today, my feet were sore and I was tired and very crankypants indeed. Huff huff huff I went, grouching and crashing plates about and getting angry with the world. Eventually, the toasted muesli was cooling on the bench; the bread was ready for eating; the workday lunches in the fridge — and I decided to have some lunch: pesto toast, blue cheese, roast tomatoes…

Then I went outside and I picked these:

Harvested noms

My feet were comfy again, my tummy was full and I was delighted with our five-fruit crop and their little green crowns. It doesn’t take much to fix my perspective. Food, not-sore-feet, and the excitement of picking fresh stuff from the garden — especially since I forgot to get tomatoes at the markets — was all it took to shift my point of view (I am apparently four). Okay, so I spent a portion of my Sunday making muesli and lunches for the week: so I couldn’t spend as much time on the things I’d rather be doing. Like what (I asked myself)? Like clarinet and yoga. But the muesli and lunches are ready to go: I don’t have to do any prep at breakfast, and I don’t have to pack my lunch every day. Nearly every morning, I find time for an hour of yoga and half an hour of clarinet, and part of the reason I can do that is because I don’t have to dick around at all getting my breakfast together. Halve the grapefruit, scoop the muesli, pour the soy milk. BAM! Lunch at work — I get back from my lunchtime run, grab a lunchbox from the fridge and off I go. Since I don’t have to dick around prepping a decent, veggie-grain-and-protein-loaded lunch (and that roast vegetable couscous? beyond decent) on a daily basis, I have time to go for a run at lunchtime; I have time to do the yoga/clarinet thing in the morning; and I’m getting an awesome, filling lunch every day. So I lost, oh, two hours of my weekend? I reclaim those lost hours every morning, because I don’t have to put in the extra work. not too shabby.

The other thing I realised, as I ate my pesto toast at lunchtime — homemade pesto from organic basil from the markets, M-made rye bread, roast organic tomatoes from the backyard — is that the food I eat kicks arse. Muesli from a box? Nosir: tailored, home-toasted muesli with dates and cinnamon. Awwwyeah. Chicka-chow. Store-bought yoghurt? I guess it’s okay, unless you want unsweetened, full-fat, live-cultured stuff…and I do. (Frankly I’m kinda surprised at some of the stuff that can get away with calling itself yoghurt, especially if it has chocolate chips in it.) Bread from a bag? Fuck off. There’s a reason I like the homemade stuff more and there’s a reason I spend my time on it. It freaking rocks. If I were really pissed off with how much of my weekend got put into making food, I’d have to seriously limit how much awesome is in my life. I’m not going to do that.

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