Scrambled Eggs

When did I move into a bachelor pad?

I’m hungry, standing in my kitchen staring into a frat house fridge. There’s beer, a random piece of fruit, half a head of mushy cabbage, an unidentifiable science project trapped in a covered dish and an odd and unhelpful assortment of condiments from experimental dinners past. No ketchup. I spend so much energy on keeping everything organized and clean at work, I guess somewhere along the way I just pushed home to the back burner. But I am home, and I am hungry.

Now my house is by no means dirty. I’m a germ freak. I almost didn’t move into this house because there is carpet in the living room. A perfect house nearly ruined by 200 sq feet of brand new carpet. I’m sitting here now staring at it, all those little fibers clinging to dirt, skin, bugs… I wear slippers just so I don’t have to touch it. I vacuum a lot, but it doesn’t make a difference. I know what’s hiding in there. I can feel it.  Shudder.

I keep a tidy house but mostly operate now with the out of sight, out of mind system. Open a drawer, and what was once organized, everything in its proper place and a proper place for everything, is now a jumbled, dig around, if it’s not there check the other three drawers, kind of mess. I spend a lot of time beating myself up for this. About twice a year I give in to the guilt and devote a whole precious weekend to reorganize everything, top to bottom, bleach inside and out, but the disorganization always returns. I am starting to cut myself a break. I’m trying. That Suzy Homemaker brat voice is still in here though singing her warning… a drawer today, a room tomorrow, next year your own episode of Hoarders.

Man, I hate her.

But My Plate Is Full, so I’ve let the dream of a Martha Stewart home go. Luckily for me, my husband doesn’t seem to mind. Now would be a good time to mention that I haven’t bought tampons in 3 months. Oh, I’ve needed them of course, but the last time I can remember doing a for real grocery/supplies list in hand shopping trip was sometime in spring of 2012. There is a small grocery store conveniently located  between my house and work, so when we need something… let me clarify, after we’ve completely run out of something for at least a day or two,  we just stop and buy that thing. In the case of tampons, Tom has picked them up for me on his way home from work the last three times I needed them. Score 3 points husband.

On a side note, I don’t know how tampon companies know so much about my girly parts, but I swear they put the exact number of tampons in the box that I need. One box lasts one month, hence, the need for two new boxes two months later.

…shut up clutter head, I’m trying to write here…

So while my professional life runs smoothly thanks to a devoted staff, in addition to my poorly attended home, my eating habits remain equally neglected. People assume that since I’m a chef, I eat delicious creations all of the time. Truth is, at home I rarely have the ingredients or at work the time to eat a hot meal. When I do roll the dice to cook myself something, I almost always get interrupted with an unexpected visitor or ticket. So I choose the easiest and quickest meals possible. I eat like a child. Grilled cheese sandwiches, eggs, and fryer mistakes are my quick staples. Most of my meals, though, resemble cardboard by the time I’m able to finish them, so I cover up the assault on my taste buds with dessert. Welcome sugar into my life, and ergo a daily battle with my waist line. I live on chocolate. No matter how busy I am, no matter how long it takes, from start to finish a peanut butter cup is Always Delicious!

But I am home. I am hungry, and I have no chocolate.

I’m staring at these condiments and considering just how culinarily creative I can get. Every meal at home is like an episode of Chopped. Poorly prepared people, you may open your fridge. Stale dinner rolls, a can of whipped topping, a gifted jar of funnel cake mix and bottle of bourbon once made delicious French Toast.

I was mostly sober so there’s a pretty good chance that it really did taste as good as I remember.

Just in case I better drink one of these beers.

That’s better. Okay, ya, I got this. Stand back Rachel Ray, Mo is about to make 30 minute magic.

Thank you for allowing me to share my story with you. It is my true belief that we make the world a better place and our experience in it richer if we share our experience together. I do that through food at my restaurant, Smoking Mo’s in Shelton, Washington, and through my story telling here. I deeply thank you for joining me on this adventure, and for giving me the love and encouragement to keep moving forward.