Rich Little Poor Girl

I've been trying to make especially nice food for myself since I've become so poor, and it's interesting that what is nice food for me might sound like deprivation to someone else. I've noticed a tendency among a lot of men to think of a "real dinner" as a big hunk of meat and some potatoes and a little bit of something green on the side, and maybe a pile of cornbread to go with it.

I used to want to make soup for dinner a lot, and Boywich always complained that that wasn't dinner, even though my soup has so many goodies in it it's nearly a solid.

I was at a friend's house one day while she was making soup for herself and her husband (I had dinner plans already), and I saw him look kinda bummed when he realized what was for dinner - until she threw a bunch of sausage in it. His eyes lit up with what can only be called relief.

If it had lots of sausage in it, then it was real dinner.

Apart from the obvious fact that I don't eat sausage (or meat of any kind), I don't get what the big deal is. I used to eat meat, and during that time, I still loved having soup for dinner. It didn't feel like deprivation; it felt lovely - warm and comforting, like home in a bowl. And yet even some of my vegan male friends look down on soup.

I've got only one male friend who feels the same way I do about soup, and he was born in a different country and grew up in a state of actual poverty - the kind where you don't own a pair of shoes until you are ten years old.

In the years that have elapsed since Boywich and I lived together, I've had soup for dinner about 80% of the time, every winter. I make different kinds, once or twice a week, and I eat it nightly until it's gone, and then I make the next batch.

What I've been doing lately that's special is to add some homemade bread to the equation. I'm not sure that's such a good idea - the bread is too damned good, and I eat too much of it, and then feel like I'm carrying around a whole extra Me in my stomach.

But it certainly feels luxurious. I put out the soup and the big uneven pieces of bread and feel like I'm living like a king.

I've been reading this blog intermittently, and being very interested - not just in how the various writers solve the problem of eating within a pretty strict budget, but also in the idea that one can eat well without spending so much.

The first rule is obvious - you need to cook most of your meals yourself, rather than eating out. But the rest becomes more complex, and more interesting. To some extent, it may depend on what you consider eating well. Anthony Bourdain, who's in a position to know, is fond of saying that the very best dishes come from peasant food. From people who get creative and take care with their food precisely because they can't afford the tenderest cuts of meat or "jet-fresh" out-of-season vegetables.

I think, too, that there's a certain appreciation of simplicity and craftsmanship required. I was thinking, as I kneaded the bread on Monday, that it's just like making pottery or spinning yarn. It's not just sustenance, it's art. And that's why it tastes better. I can taste my own spirit in there, and friends, I am yummy.