The Relocation Diet — it’s simple, it’s sad, it’s full of revelation. A meal that makes me feel full at the end usually begins with a cast iron pan and lots of canola oil. I plunk it down, heat it up, and hunt for something to fry. Or I start with a brilliant idea–sweet potato croquettes! A garlic, white wine, and wilted mache pasta topping!–and find that this idea leads me back to the pan and oil.
Now I’m living on the lean, mean Passover edition of the kind of eating that must accompany a move. All my implements for heating and slicing and simmering are packed away, and there’s no room on the counter or the stove if some of them were recovered. I’m down to matzah with hummus and stuffed grape leaves, or leftover charoset and a hard boiled egg. It doesn’t sound too shabby, but I always finish unsatisfied. I’ll sometimes think of something I’d like to make with the ingredients in the fridge, and then realize some essential element is missing or would take too long to find and unwrap and rinse, and then decide where it should go in the empty cabinets. So I hold back.
This is probably the closest I’ve come to being on a Diet. (Vegetarianism doesn’t count, for a number of reasons). This diet thing sucks, as most readers probably know. It sucks and I’m sorry that people go through this.