Thursday’s playlist:
Thursday
Cooking a meal for me is often so much more than just feeding myself what is necessary to function, though of course it is that too. It’s an act of self care, an activity, catharsis. I woke up feeling worse for wear, hungover and lacking any desire to move out of the comfort of my bed and embrace the already waning day. A creeping hunger slowly rose up and for a while I suppressed it, but the opportunity to kickstart my day presented itself in a craving for fried eggs and avocado toast. I dressed, brushed my teeth, and stepped squinting into the daylight outside, homing toward the nearest shop on borderline autopilot. Ten minutes later, eggs drop into hot oil, bubbling and sizzling, avocado is mashed with cumin and olive oil, and the smell of fresh toasted bread fills the kitchen. This process was automatic, driven less by hunger than by the need to do something. I sat and ate by my bedroom window, replaying memories from the previous nights’ festivities, feeling more human by the minute.
Later in the evening, before a gig, I make pasta with a handful of fresh tomatoes, blistered in a pan. I toss it all with pesto and a few spoonfuls of the starchy liquid from the pasta, and eat it at my desk in front of an episode of The Sopranos. For those in the know, it’s the episode where Artie cooks rabbit with one hand wrapped in bandages. I’ll say no more, but as I watch the kitchen scene play out, I can’t help but relate to the figure on the screen, fallen on (self-inflicted) hard times, humbled and grounded by a deep-rooted connection to food. It’s a touching moment.