Weeks 6/7/8 - Three Straight Weeks of Monday

The camp I went to growing up was about 8 weeks long. While some camps have complete turnover between sessions, about a third of our campers stay for the full summer, leading to a yearly phenomena known as the 6-week slump. At around the 6th week, full-summer campers go into a kind of trance. By this point, no one has had any personal space or sleep for a long time, and are socially and physically exhausted. Also, they’ve eaten every camp meal at least 10 times and have subsequently given up on trying to find unique ways to eat a salad, deciding to just gorge themselves on sub-par bagels and industrially made pasta. During this week, almost simultaneously, there are tears, meltdowns, arguments, screaming, and drama galore - and that’s just the counselors. Jokes. But even a simple game of basketball with the campers is tough, with half of them yelling that they don’t want to play and the other half playing just to beat that bunkmate that has been bothering them. Returning from my day off during the slump was like the scene in Daddy Day Care when Eddy Murphy walks into the bathroom after the kid used it, bewildered at how much drama could happen when you stop looking for a few seconds.

Weeks 6, 7, and 8 of quarantine were my 6-week slump. They all kind of blended together as a band of blah-ness. It’s like winter break in college - during the first week you see your friends 5 times, barbecue twice, watch every single harry potter movie, exercise every day, and have somehow also been able to log 12 hours in the pool. By week 3, you wake up at noon, get out of bed at 2, and barely see your friends - not because you have other plans but because by the time you get your act together it’s already dark. By week 6, you’re ready to go back to homework you don’t really do, and exams you don’t study enough for - anything to get out of your house. To be fair, I have actually never just spent winter break at home, but my brother has, and this is how it went.

For me, 6 weeks at a house that isn’t mine, with roommates that aren’t mine, a shower that isn’t mine, and a knife set that isn’t mine was a lot. And I'm sure for them, it also wasn't easy having someone around that totally eats all of the food in the fridge, freezer, and pantry with absolutely no regard for anyone else. Except I actually cooked a bunch of food, did a bunch of cleaning, and we all got along well, but that’s beside the point. The point is that I was paying my rent in San Francisco while taking up space in Berkeley. My parents may have signed up to house me when they chose to have kids, but Savyon’s roommates surely did not, and I wanted my own bed.

So, I decided that it was time for me to return to my own apartment in San Francisco. Yes, I am still in a relationship. So she won’t return my phone calls, blocked my email address, and threw away all my stuff, we’re totally fine. Just kidding. About the blocked email address. She didn’t block me, she just didn't respond. Jokes again. We survived making sourdough remember? Quarantine got nothing on us. If anything, us being apart was going to be very difficult… for her. I, of course, have no emotions or attachment so was completely ambivalent.

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Day 34: Monday, April 13th - Lemon Preserve

On one of my last days in Berkeley, I felt I should utilize the lemon tree - and by utilize, I mean take as many as possible because I was bitter about having to move (get what I did there? Bitter? I wasn’t actually bitter, but the pun is too good to ignore. Although now that I think about it, lemons are sour, not bitter. The pun still works though. Just pretend I said sour).

Savyon recommended that I make lemon preserve, which I pictured to be the gooey middle part of a lemon square. My previous sentence implies that it did not end up being the middle part of a lemon square, but since lemon preserve takes an entire month, I actually have no idea what lemon preserve is. I also imagine a fossilized lemon, that, many generations down the road, someone finds and believes is a dragon egg. Then convinces thousands of other people that she’s the queen of dragons and the breaker of chains only to become a borderline dictator and ruthlessly kill her enemies unnecessarily all because she may have fallen in love with her nephew who was more beloved by the people. (For those that don’t get it, this is a convoluted, and unnecessary Game of Thrones reference that is a complete stretch.)

The instructions were fairly simple: cut a lemon from the top about 3/4 to the bottom. Make sure that you don’t get cut too far, and fill it with a tablespoon of salt. Now maybe it’s just me, but these supposedly simple instructions raised more questions than they answered.

Which side is the top? Is it the part of the lemon that touches the tree because of the way gravity works or is it the bottom because in my mind it just feels like it is? I know the way this question is framed makes it seem obvious, but think about it, which part of the lemon is actually the top?

Also, if I am not supposed to cut super close to the bottom of the lemon, how am I supposed to open it up enough to pour salt in it? And how am I even supposed to fit a tablespoon of salt in the middle of the lemon without carving out some of the inside? There were some major logistical questions here that, to be frank, still have not been answered.

I decided to just say screw it and alternate which side to cut from. Compromise. Also, I poured a tablespoon of salt into the slight slit in the lemon. So what that most of the salt just spilled out, the logistics didn’t really make sense anyway. It’s like at camp when you use an entire container of glitter just to cover the thin layer of Elmer’s glue that says “Happy Birthday, Rebecca.” It seems like a waste but kind of has a purpose.

At this point, I’m just sitting on my hands waiting to see what you get when you leave salty lemons in a bottle for over a month. My gut is telling me mold but I’m still holding out for freshly baked lemon squares to magically appear.

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After a few days off to finish celebrating Passover, it was time to go back to cooking. Now, if you remember about a month ago, I told you about a random assortment of items I brought to Berkeley: tuna, frozen salmon, eggs, almonds, etc. Because I brought all my food to Berkeley, I had absolutely no food except for one loose egg that was sitting by itself in the bottom drawer of the fridge, making me hope that I didn’t actively think it was a good idea to leave that there. As I write this, though, I’m not actually sure if I moved the egg or if it's still sitting on its own at the bottom of the fridge. Hmmm. What did I do with that egg…..

Regardless, having absolutely no food meant going shopping. And, although I am still paying for an instacart subscription, that’s because I forgot to cancel it before the free trial ended and I continuously forget every month until I get a notification saying my credit card has been charged again. I felt like using it might subconsciously justify its use even though my money can totally be better spent elsewhere, like a Disney+ account that I don’t use. Also, I felt weird having someone else go shopping on my behalf - to be honest, I never really liked someone going shopping for me even before COVID. One time I asked someone to get 8-10 tomatoes to slice and put on bagels and ended up paying more than $50 for 9 beefsteak tomatoes no one ate.

Shopping in person was quite stressful. I had to simultaneously calculate my desire for a certain food and compare that to the space and weight Even I, who had worked out a whole one time over the entire previous month, could only carry so much back. But, as I worked my way through the one-way aisles, piling up a list of things that I wished I had put in my carriage but didn’t because I panicked, my desire to avoid grocery shopping forever increased dramatically. It got to the point that I decided I would rather drag 10 bags of groceries the half of a mile to my home than need to come back. So what if I have absolutely no need for 3 big cans of chickpeas or a jar of almond butter, I might need them eventually. (Side note: I have just learned that apparently they are actually called grocery carts not grocery carriages. Who knew? Though, it kind of makes sense why the people at Whole Foods give me weird looks when I ask them where the carriages are.)

Shopping was only the first battle. Let me tell you, trying to cook new and creative foods every day when you’re the only one eating is quite hard. In Berkeley, two loaves of sourdough lasted approximately 19 minutes, but in SF, one batch of bagels would last me 6 days at least. And although I’m sure people would love to see me post 6 different ways to eat a bagel, I only really have two ways I like to eat it and I’m pretty set on them: cream cheese and lox, and cream cheese with cap’n crunch on top. So, instead of bagels and a box of cap’n crunch, I just bought a massive bag of potatoes and decided I would find many different ways to eat potatoes (I know, you’re probably like “Hold up, cap’n crunch on a bagel?” Let me tell you, I have taste tested all the mainstream cereals and though apple jacks comes at a close second, kix as a distant third, and cookie crisp is dead last. Cap’n crunch just stands superior. It adds a nice sugary flavor with a light crunch. So delicious).

Anyway, since this is technically a blog that is supposed to reference food and provide absolutely no assistance or guidance, allow me to gloss over all the various foods I prepared in the couple weeks I laid at home and stared at the ceiling wondering what my life would be like if I could never again go to a bar and pay $20 for a tiny glass of Woodford Reserve when the whole bottle at home cost me $25 at TJs.

(To be honest, I had to look up the order and day I made these foods because who even knows what day it is right now.)

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Day 41: Monday, April 20th - Comfrey Salve

Ok, this isn’t a food, but it’s supposed to help heal my cuts, and if you’ve ever seen me with a big dull knife, you know that I could use that. Random fun fact though, it is my constant use of big dull knives and my constant close calls with chopping off a finger that makes me realize just how crazy the human body is. No joke, if I didn’t have fingernails, I would have cut off the tip of my finger at least 10 times at this point. Thank god for evolution.

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Day 42: Tuesday, April 21st - Tornado Potato

I used chopsticks instead of a skewer. They did burn a bit, but didn’t fully light on fire, so I count it as a win.

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Day 43: Wednesday, April 22nd - Cornmeal Pancakes

Apparently, I just made bad Arepas.

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Day 44: Thursday, April 23rd - Mushroom Cap Frittata

Make this. It’s like bagel bites, but healthier, less likely to burn the top of your mouth, and much less popular with kids and drunk college students.

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Day 45: Friday, April 24th - Honey Mustard Wings.

I’m very glad that I hoarded frozen wings in February.

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Day 48: Monday, April 27th - Stuffed Onion 

My first week in San Francisco had been great, or so I thought. I had finally watched a bunch of tv, I went on long (social distanced) walks with friends, and I didn’t have to share a blanket. So why was I so cranky? This was the most blob-like I had felt since my year in Israel when I got sick for a week and watched the entire first two seasons of Game of Thrones, three seasons of Modern Family, and two seasons of Scandal while pretending that I didn’t feel better after the first two days just because I really wanted to watch more television.

Luckily, my amazing, thoughtful, car-owning girlfriend saved me from my blob-ness / showed up at my house because she was bored and needed attention. Savyon came over for a socially distanced backyard date. I have to say, it was weird after 6 weeks of living together to be apart for a week. While I was kind of excited for her to come, when she arrived I just could not get out of my funk - it was as if being together for the two hours of the date actually was more difficult than not seeing each other at all. It somewhat felt like those times at camp when, in the middle of the summer when you’re in the camp play, and your parents are allowed to come watch but because camp is still in session, you only get about 3 minutes to talk to them after the show so you’re actually just more sad than you would have been if they just didn’t come at all. To be honest, my dad worked at camp and I saw my parents like 10 times a day, so I have absolutely no idea what this is like, but I feel like it makes sense.

Now, going back to my blob-ness, this was also the time when the mayor of SF had started mentioning extending the shelter in place to June. So, after a bit of discussion, we made the decision to drive to Atlanta (in the best social distancing way) the following week and spend time with my family. Stay tuned for next week to hear about how that went.

Anyway, I decided to make stuffed onions and all the recipes I saw online had people cut off both ends of the onion and pull out the different inside layers. Maybe it’s just me, but I logistically could not figure out how to fit the wider part of an onion layer through the smaller hole at the end. I don’t get how something that big could come out of something that small. Like, it just doesn’t make sense. This has reaffirmed for me that I reeeeeally don’t want kidney stones. Also, childbirth is crazy.

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Day 49: Tuesday, April 28th - Zucchini Boats

No amount of seasoning was going to salvage this ground turkey that had been sitting in the freezer. I was just proud I scooped out the insides of the zucchini without cutting a hole through the bottom.

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Day 50: Wednesday, April 29th - Melt in your Mouth Potatoes

Something I know is that there are certain phrases I use nonstop. Last week, I was informed that I say “Is it just me…” a lot. (Through proofreading, I also realized that I use “to be fair” a lot, but that isn’t the point here.) I like asking if something is just me. It creates a space for someone to very easily say yes, but also for someone to respond, “No! It’s absolutely not just you. You’re so relatable for saying that. We love you.” All I want is to be accepted, ok?

Anyway, is it just me that has developed an unhealthy notion of butter in their head? I will never use butter but drowning veggies in oil is totally ok. Making grilled cheese? Can’t use butter, but a massive spread of mayo is fine. What is it about butter that seems so scary? But, this recipe called for butter, and I really needed to use more of this massive bag of potatoes I had dragged home as they were starting to sprout, so I decided to follow the recipe exactly….except I chickened out and substituted Earth Balance at the last second. I think the Earth Balance / Can’t Believe It’s Not Butter advertising campaigns have had incredible success in causing some deep seated aversion. Do you think I can get them to pay for my therapy?

This recipe was actually amazing. Usually, I just mix potatoes with a bunch of random stuff and throw it in

the oven hoping that I remember to check on them before they all burn, while recognizing that some of the potatoes are going to burn regardless because when I try to cut potatoes, some end up the size of blueberries and others the size of perfectly sliced lime wedges for a night out. This recipe, however, required attention. Like, middle child level of attention. Ok, it really just needed to be flipped a few times, but still, compared to completely disregarding them and hoping they cooked properly, this felt like a full effort. But totally worth it. To be honest, I still don’t fully understand what it means for a potato to melt in your mouth. When I think of melting in your mouth, I imagine chocolate or snow, not roasted potatoes. I guess mashed potato flakes are kind of like snow so maybe those could melt in your mouth, but these large potato wedges definitely didn’t just disappear on your tongue. Maybe I’ll just call them “Fewer chew potatoes.” Although, if you’ve ever seen me eat, I don’t chew much anyway, so maybe I’ll call them chew-less potatoes.

Also, HBD Aviva Maz. You do actually read my blog so I will wish you a happy birthday.

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Day 51: Thursday, April 30th - Chocolate Almond Biscotti

Nothing worse than when you follow the directions perfectly and then it says “now you should have 8 perfect pieces” and you look down and see 15. Am I supposed to actually bring a ruler into the kitchen to measure ½ inch slices? I am pretty bad at estimating size. Just a couple weeks ago I made a large soup and had a bit left over. I found a tupperware container and poured the remaining soup into it, only to realize it barely filled half of the container. I then took a smaller one and poured the soup into it, only to realize that half the soup was still in the first container. So, goldilocks style, I found a tupperware that was in the middle and poured the soup into it, excited that I had finally found a way to store my soup...except this one was also too large. I took it as a sign that I wasn’t meant to store the soup and just ate the rest of it instead. To be fair, even if I had found the proper size container, the likelihood I found a top that actually fit was extremely slim. I hate tupperware.

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Day 52: Friday, May 1st - Buffalo Roasted Potatoes

I still had potatoes from that initial bag, and I needed to pack, thus, I made these potatoes. I will now use this last sentence to say next week’s post is about a cross country drive in the time of COVID-19. Stay tuned.