New & Meaty Beginnings
Dear Legions of Moody Kitchen Fans,
For months I have been trembling with confusion and guilt over the dormant state of the Moody Kitchen. (I've also been a wee bit cranked out on iron and animal protein, which has left me with a different brand of trembling altogether, but this is a topic I wish to discuss near the end of this letter--after I have earned back your love, that is.) Allow me to explain.
First of all, I never meant to ignore the Moody Kitchen. I know what you’re thinking: Not another blogger apologizing to his/her (imaginary) readers for being too lazy to blog. I mean, are you really sorry, or are you just lazy? Is it THAT hard to peel your lazy hands away from your lazy bag of plantain chips for, like, two minutes, for Christ’s sake!
Wow, I didn’t know my imaginary readers were so judgmental. And just how did they know about my current relationship with plantain chips?
Anyhow, I’ve really been looking forward to resurrecting this space like a great, pixelated Christ, but the more I planned to re-enter the scene all witty and sophisticated, the more I kept telling myself, “ Jada, for real…you are neither of those things. Just keep eating your lazy plantain chips. Look at it this way: at least you can tell all of your offspring/cats that once, for a brief (plantain) chip of time, you had a blog, and that blog was read by others. Two others, to be exact.”
So, yes…self-doubt kept me away. As did guilt. I mean, it’s not like anyone’s life depended on my clumsy recipes, but I still hate to be all “Baby,-I’ve-returned-from-my-summer-in-Europe,-and,-yeah,-I practiced- my-fair-share-of-physical-anthropology,-but-I’m-back-now-,ready-to-become-remade-in-your-arms.-Oh,-by-the-way,-I’m-pregnant,-and-it’s-not-yours.-I-love-you."
Really, that ain't cool. I am not that type of girl. In fact, I hated being away. And, just for the record, I am not pregnant with a child that is not yours. Nor am I pregnant with a child that is yours.
I am NOT pregnant. (Just for the record.)
What I HAVE become, though, may upset some of you, especially given the fact that my blog was once so vegan (kinda, if you ignore my brief crème brulee and mascarpone whipped cream addictions). No, my new diet is so much worse (and, somehow, so much mo’ better) than guilty spoonfuls of cream and cheese.
Anyhow, I guess I should just come out with it: I now eat meat. Lots of it. And all of it—pork, beef, lamb, buffalo, etc. I guess the image of the infant corned beef brisket at the top of this entry might have been a not-so-subtle signal.
Maybe at a later date I’ll try to explain why I made the choice to shift from veganism/vegetarianism to carnivorous-ism (hehe), but, chances are, I’ll probably just keep that little (plantain) chip of information to myself. I feel like this entry has already been personal enough, and I’d rather play games with weak metaphors than get all Larry-King-interviewee on your ass.
So, there—I said it. I eat meat. Expect some meaty recipes in future entries. That is, if my two readers haven’t fled to Europe to become impregnated by men who are not their official significant others. If they have, I’ll pray they’ll return to me soon!
And, for what it’s worth, and since I feel that this entry has somehow morphed into an emo apology letter, let me say it again: I’m sorry for being gone. (Or maybe I should flip the (plaintain) chip to the other side and apologize, too, for my return!)
At any rate, here is a fake flower to make up for all that absence.And now, as my blunt and impatient brother would say, get over it.