Tonight marks the first expression of distaste about having to cook for myself.

Due to both Isobelle (my housemate) and I being away for the weekend, our pantry has welcomed it’s usual hosts with open arms but really rather empty arms.

If I get home and I’ve had a long day, good or bad, I want decent food relatively quickly. Sometimes baked beans or scrambled eggs doesn’t cut it for ‘good’ and pasta is truly uninspiring unless it has something real in it – carrots for example. Carrots require cutting. Cutting is not fast.

So the bare pantry yielded the option of nachos which meant opening a whole packet of corn chips for just me, a can of mushroom soup (not nice on it’s own), a few other odds and ends and a packet of tomato soup.

I gave it some thought and remembered that sometimes I really quite like tomato soup and cheese on toast.

Tomato soup is not the most interesting of foods, least of all from a packet. Yet it does do a very curious thing in the microwave. If you mix it up with water and milk (As inspired by the directions on the back) it goes this watery disgusting liquid white with pinkish flecks. As you continue to heat it it gets a red skin on the surface, which when you mix disappears into more of the initial. Eventually the soup turns the colour it should. It doesn’t taste as good as from a can and that to start with has never been the most substantial or inspiring of foods.

I got the distinct impression of feeding my stomach with salty red water and cheese that had melted somewhat strangely.

Needless to say, where tomato soup sometimes distinctly hits the spot, sometimes it really doesn’t.

I’m trying getting over it by recalling the glorious lunchtime Eggs Benedict that I ate and eying off chocolate about an arms length away.

I did have something to say, but I’ve forgotten it, as it tends to go.

Isobelle and I declared it ‘house night’ and crashed in front of some classic girlish Pride and Prejudice. Homework is somewhat all over the place and I’m never quite sure what needs to be done next except that it has to be done.

I pulled one of my small journals out on the train home and used it. Weird, but good fun. Feels and probably is a reality that I haven’t written anything much in a while.

To conclude whatever I rambled on about, I listed down some goals. One was to provide this sadly lacking space with a bit of meat (for all those non vegos out there) or a few greens. We shall see.

I got home and cracked into some Strongbow and found left over lentil burgers that Isobelle made the other night. Glorious. I cooked a few more things and had a highly, highly enjoyable dinner.

While I’m on food. Geoff and I had the pleasure of visiting Scott and Christina the other evening and boy can Scott cook. I really, really enjoyed myself.

It’s a bit of a rare age group for me. All the people I know are really old, really young or roughly my age. That sounds intelligent. Oh how I miss conversation within a small group that has some depth intellectually! It’s been far too long without it, I’m all out of practice. I don’t know how I can say how deeply appreciative I am of people who take a little interest in your life seemingly from no-where.

Okay. I’m going to bed.