cibo non bombe!

I cant eat a lot things. I mean a lot. Basically processed foods and anything remotely resembling bread and almost no sauces. I have recently developed a sensitivity to dairy. It plagued my early adult hood. Really, the only time its easy for me to eat something is when i make it at home. And then among those things, many times, I get sick anyways because my body is what it is.

So really, I get a handful of reactions that are usual when explaining it to people.

"oh my god that is so terrible/sad/hard" is one of and the most common of them.

Im not sad. Im thankful. In a really strange way im really grateful for all the limitations. One, because it makes me very conscious of what I eat, and very appreciative of good food. And it taught me to cook.

At the risk of sounding pompous, I learned to cook in Italy( I know) a week after learning of my food allergies, from a pregnant Italian woman. Perhaps this has shaped the way i feel about food. I think one of the reasons (among the many) that i love italy more than any place ive ever been or lived is because of the reverence that Italian people have for food and expression and an almost god-like treatment of what the greater part of western society considers "decadent". ha!

Sex? Good?! Chocolate?! allowed!??CARBS!? for christ's sake, its no wander so many Americans fit so snugly and permanently into the framework of Italian culture, its a veritable AMERICAN PLAYGROUND!

But enough of that. Its more than that. Its not just decadence, Its not just pleasure. Its serious stuff. I mean it. (cracks smile)

I talk about it a lot but really i just cant get over how much food means to me. There are so many ways that it sustains me. I love the idea of food as expression, its beyond survival, its survival plus! I feel this way about so many things that i like to lump together into that category of what i can only call under an umbrella "expression". Art and language and food and dance and theater and sex and music and everything wonderful and luscious in life. I think these things not only enhance life, but give us reason for survival. They are sacred to me. They are my joy and my comfort and my constant.

To create is sacred. And everything that includes. The whole enchilada ( pardon my pun)

Anyways i was packing up my things tonight from my parents house preparing to move out soon and I suddenly got hungry. It was past midnight and while everyone tells you not to eat after midnight, im a bit of an exception seeing as I hadnt eaten anything all day for a couple of reasons. One, because my body is strange and is hungry very seldom, and two, because i dont really eat frivolously very often. I really only eat when i can make it good, by good i mean either healthy or fantastic. I dont like food, i LOVE it, and there is a difference. I love it so much that i almost respect it. Well, not almost, i do respect it.

I suddenly realized we had some gluten free angel hair pasta made from flax and rice along with some fresh pesto and a couple tomatoes. I also suddenly realized how long it has been since i have really made anything that I'm proud of, or since ive been able to cook anything for that matter! ( one of the only draw backs of travel is scarce access to kitchens) So of course, I creeped downstairs witha single light turned on, boiled a pot and began to make some angel hair pesto, with a bit of feta, fresh tomatoes, and some spicy seasoning. In my favorite bowl. With an ice cold water in the mason jar. It looked so beautiful, good enough to eat! And it was, and I did.

My love for food is so faceted its crazy. Its visually appealing, its a work in itself. It enhances something we have to do for survival. Its like, we have to eat anyways why not make it AMAZING! And some people realllly have a gift for it, and a style. Its also very interesting to survey tastes of different parts of the world and wonder why people taste what they do. No tongue is alike, and no body similar. It's a social function as well. Everyone does everything around food it seems. It makes your body work and grow and function, and i cant help but revel in that. Many people beg for it. some starve. Some take more than they need. Some exploit it, and some nurture and create their entire lives around it, humbly and thanklessly. Food is always certain, and food will always come in some way or another. So i dont feel the need to chase after it all the time really. To cook takes my mind away from all that i worry about and focuses it for the next thirty minutes to an hour on the specific task in front of me. "make lovely!" its says "make good!". I love to feed other people as well, it sort of equates with love for me, as much as it can. I feel very strongly about the way feta melds with red onion.

While grating a bit of Parmesan out of habit over my perfect bowl of capelletti, and thinking "i wish i had some pine nuts" my thought was nearly interrupted by my dads footsteps and then and then his sleepy inquiry... "jess? what are you doing?"

And to this i could only reply "praying."