PbyCj

So I think it’s been open at least two weeks now—or maybe 13 days—since my last blog post and I really haven’t had a lot to say. Which is wild, because I think my last blog was “Good Job for Doing the Good Thing That You Did Today.” And since then? I’ve made two T-shirts with that saying on them.

Why? I don’t know. I just felt like it needed to be on a T-shirt. Still playing around with the design, though. It’s not quite where I want it to be. That’s where a crafty graphic designer would come in clutch—somebody who can really get the vision. The first shirt just has the text slightly slanted (I’ll put a picture), and the second one is almost it, but not quite. Still working on it.

However.

There is a bigger question looming. A deep, personal, existential inquiry that has surprisingly not come up in a long time.

The question is: What’s for dinner?

Now, I know you might ask that all the time. All the time. But me? I haven’t asked myself that question. Haven’t asked anybody that question. Haven’t even let that question drift across my mind casually. Because the truth is, I haven’t really thought much about what I’ve been eating.

I’ve basically been taking the path of least resistance. I eat the same things I always eat. And that’s fine with me. If it’s good, I’m gonna eat it again. In fact, there’s a high probability that I will eat it again. I am a repeat eater. Especially if it’s good. So food for me? It’s mechanical. Survival. Not really something I’ve been giving thought to.

But then this past Sunday hit, and for some unknown reason, I was in the mood for steak and ice cream. And no—they were not together. Somebody asked me that. No. Not together. But yes, I wanted both. So I ordered steak and lobster with all the sides, and then had ice cream later. And let me tell you—the ice cream was hittin’.

Which brings me to another thing—I’ve been trying to tell Baskin Robbins how much I appreciate their pineapple coconut and nutty coconut flavors. And they keep responding like I’m complaining. I’m not complaining! I’m saying thank you! You did your big one with those flavors. No need for me to send a receipt or log a complaint—I’m trying to give y’all your flowers. Do you know how hard it is to find actual coconut-flavored ice cream in these streets? These local shops ain’t got it like that.

Anyway, that was a sidetrack. Let’s get back to the steak.

I tore that food up. It was honestly unfair how I ate that food. Like, the food didn’t deserve that.

Fast forward to today, and I had this thought:

I don’t remember the last time I cooked a real meal.

And I mean that. Not a volunteer situation where I flipped some pancakes. Not a meal kit. I mean a full-on, I-got-ingredients-and-made-a-meal kind of cooking. I really don’t remember. I know it wasn’t last year. It might’ve been sometime in 2023… but honestly, I don’t know. That’s wild to say out loud.

What I realized today, though, is that cooking—for me—was tied to the idea of family.

Growing up, or even in recent years, that daily question of “What’s for dinner?” was tied to a family structure. Food was about care, community, planning, providing. And that question? It just hasn’t been asked around me in a long time. I haven’t asked it. Nobody’s asked me. And I think part of me has been silently grieving that without really acknowledging it.

It’s like another quiet layer of change I’ve been living through, but not really facing. This is me facing it. Processing it. In real time.

So today?

Today I think I’m going to cook dinner.

For the first time in I don’t know how long.

And that, my friends, is a big thing. A good thing. A today thing.

Let’s see how it goes.

Other things: