Freshly - the Echos from the Microwave

A few months ago, I saw an ad for Freshly. Basically, you chose the meals, they send the meals, you eat the meals. I'm not much of a foodie, and wouldn't do food the succulent justice it deserves if I tried to write about it often. But I figured Freshly was simple enough, and a way to try new food and have a couple nights where I didn't need to cook (or blend) my dinner. One minute, forty-five seconds in the microwave and bam. Something unexpectedly delicious. I thought it would taste good, but no, it tasted great. 

Mac and cheese has always been a nostalgic favorite. Adding hot dogs was my luxury of choice, though the meat:noodle ratio was never right. It's probably because I would pick out the hot dog bits too early and find myself with only noodles. Too eager to self indulge and take advantage of the splendors of my youth, I never put it together that the dish was meant to be enjoyed as a whole. The uncompromising fork couldn't do without at least some meat and as someone who would take what was the best as quickly as possible, I'd be dissatisfied with what remained, only to finish in malcontent. Whether you eat mac and cheese with a fork or a spoon, it's important to take the mouthfuls as they are, without only seeking the rapturous hot dog bits.

From, "here goes nothing," to, "holy shit."

Eating steak was a childhood tribulation in and of itself. The preparations were fine - my parents were excellent cooks - but I always found myself stuck. Eyes always selfishly bigger than my stomach, I was commonly unable to chew my bite and was left with what felt like 10 pieces of gum that I had chomped at for hours. The bite was never quite small enough to swallow. So like any bright-minded child, I would store the meat in my cheeks like a chipmunk and ask to be excused to the bathroom where I'd spit it out into the toilet, sinfully. It shamed me, but not because I was worried about displeasing my parents. I wanted to avoid being seen in failure, no matter how minor. Enjoy the small things - they add up and can leave you plenty full.

Even parts you don't think will taste good do.

Getting Italian food during family outings was an exotic favorite. But as a young lad at home, I hated spaghetti. Pasta was a rare enough occurrence, but I never realized it was because of the marinara sauce. This was the only dish we had where marinara was the obvious addition and not cleverly disguised like in pizza. I was disinterested in the whole because I didn't understand one of the parts. I judgmentally saw that part as a singular entity with no variation. Even though I ate it all the time from Domino's without a second thought, I mentally segregated the concept in blind naïveté. Everything has fluctuation in its delivery and must be approached with an open mind.

It left me wanting for nothing.

In late adolescence, my sister and I would try to outdo the other when it came to eating. Hard as I tried, she was always able to out-eat me and could even compete with our dad at restaurants. I had the delusion that I had to do [or eat] the most in order to be perceived as vying, to be perceived as mature, to be perceived as a man. This false perception of roles and insensibility led to jealousy when she sat at the "grown-up" table at Thanksgiving years before I did. But this was something earned, and I simply had not. Of course, nowadays, large meals like that have evolved into more of a utilitarian usage of space above all else. But having pride in others' accomplishments, despite whatever some arbitrary role may suggest, helps build realistic humility. 

And I don't even like French onion. I took a risk, and it paid off.

In my boyhood, eggs just made me feel like I needed to throw up unless they were masked with lots of other ingredients. I felt guilty when deviled eggs were presented as a delicacy. Everyone else perceived them as delicious, but my inability to eat them in my juniority had caused a deeply rooted hesitation towards them. Learning to cook eggs once I finally moved out was very emancipating for me. They are now a staple for most breakfasts and I've found multiple ways to prepare them. Okay, so it's probably like four or five max, but evaluating the numerous fallacies with which my past laments me and conquering them is something I'll always try to do. Methodologies that are seemingly hardwired and woven into the psyche can be overcome through persistence, and personal improvement should be everyone's goal.

Breakfast for dinner will never not be a good option.

Quinoa is gross. (pronounced Kwin-Oah)

This wasn't for me...