PicoBlog

NY Mag has a feature called The Grub Street Diet, where they ask writers and artists to journal what they eat in a week. Everyone picks an exciting week where they’re hosting dinner parties abroad and waiting in line at an underground dumpling spot, so I was like, “What if I wrote one for a really boring week where I was not especially social and also worried about money the entire time? And also I live in the greater Boston area?“ I started writing my own for fun last week and really liked how it turned out.

xoxo, Maddy

Tuesday, January 31st

I wake up around 8 and answer emails from bed while Liz--that’s my freakin’ girlfriend--walks the dogs and makes coffee, eggs, and toast. I usually pound a cold seltzer with breakfast, but we’re all out. I’m a reformed Diet Coke enthusiast and can easily drink drink 4-5 seltzers a day, so it’s good for me to take a tolerance break.

Liz leaves for a long day at school and I feel sad and cagey, so I decide to make a giant pot of soup. Last week, I made my mom’s chicken dumpling soup (it’s similar to this recipe, super simple) and it fixed me. I find this NYTimes recipe for Seared Broccoli and Potato Soup. I’m skeptical because the ingredients are just water and vegetables, but the reviews are good (“Wow! This soup is utterly delicious. I will be making it again and again.”) and I have all the ingredients except broccoli.

There’s a new grocery store in our neighborhood that only carries pantry basics and local produce. I walk all the way there and remember that it’s closed Sunday to Tuesday. While I respect the 4-day workweek, my self-employed brain does not consider the day of the week when making plans. Luckily, I live within walking distance of 4 grocery stores, 2 bakeries, and several specialty shops that sell fancy olive oil and tinned fish. One trade-off of my exorbitant rent is that I can be a little French with my shopping.

I stop at Dunkin for hot chocolate and feel 8 years old. Up until I was 26 or 27, I was a big afternoon coffee and Red Bull guy. Now I lose my mind if I have significant caffeine after noon. Also, is there anything better than walking around on a cold day with a hot drink? I almost always have the dogs with me when I’m walking, so I am denied this simple pleasure.

The soup calls for two pounds of broccoli. I get four in case I want to roast some or make a savory egg thing later in the week. I also get a small thing of whole milk and a roll of parchment paper. My favorite cashier is working and we chat about my dogs. For all my gripes about Somerville, I have the best casual interactions here. People are really friendly. The parchment paper comes up as $8 and I feel insane.

The soup involves searing one side of the broccoli in a hot pan. I struggle to get an even sear even though I halved the florets to be as flat as possible. I taste some of the broccoli and it’s so good—perfect char. Sadly, the finished product is bland and sloppy. I’m truly devastated by this soup. I eat one bowl and there’s still so much left. Liz comes home and thins it out with chicken stock, then adds more parmesan and salt. It’s better, but still baby food.

I’m trying to save money this month and am thus abstaining from takeout, but Liz offers to order pizza. I’m extremely loyal to this place in Davis Square called Dragon Pizza, even though they don’t carry Diet Coke. I’m a huge fan of the sausage ricotta pie and the mushrooms and corn. The pizza is worth every penny of Liz’s money, but the kale Caesar salad we order is rough and chewy. I’m going through a real Caesar salad phase right now and I’m always disappointed whenever I order an “elevated” version. This kale has me longing for cold iceberg lettuce (heavy on the ribs) and grocery store croutons.

We end the night with hers and hers cups of tea (the ladies will have the Traditional Medicinals Nighttime Blend). We watch the final few episodes of Fleishman Is In Trouble. Claire Danes’s sobbing in a survivor’s group leaves us both wrecked—actually this whole show is so sad, I request the novel from the library and go to bed fucked up.

Wednesday, February 1st

I wake up and finish Cursed Bunny, a book of creepy short stories I got from Bookends, a queer-owned bookstore in Western Mass. I go back and reread a few of the more confusing stories—was that character a ghost the entire time? Over eggs and toast, Liz and I joke about euthanizing Louis, our emotionally needy dog. We love Louis and are totally kidding, but he does this thing in the middle of the night where he steps all over us and tries to burrow under the comforter. It is heinous. Last night, we woke up uncovered and contorted at 3am.

I spend the day getting started on some long-term work projects. I fry some rice for lunch and make a frittata as meal prep.

I go to an exercise class and jump around for 45 minutes. On the way home, I pick up sandwich bread and Chobani oat milk (on sale 2 for $8). Chobani is the only non-gross oat milk, imho. It’s almost always sold out no matter what store I’m at, so securing 2 gallons feels like an accomplishment. My family will survive the winter.

I also stop and get 2 steak burritos from Los Amigos—a local “make your food in front of you” chain that I really depend on. I microwave mine for a few seconds and dose it in Crystal Hot Sauce. This is my first time having a microwave in many, many years. It came with our apartment and it’s so convenient, especially when you eat a lot of leftovers. For dessert, I take a weed pill and eat butter pecan Talenti while Liz does her homework. I become increasingly goofy and she kindly asks me to go into the other room. I crawl into bed and look at my phone. “I’m having fun in my enclosure,“ I say softly to myself.

I start reading All This Could Be Different, a novel by Sarah Thankam Mathews and I’m so taken with it. It’s the best fiction I’ve read in a really long time. I end my night with herbal tea and a magnesium supplement.

Thursday, February 2nd

This morning I fall back asleep after morning sex and wake up disoriented and groggy at 11:30. I down a cold cup of coffee and eat some reheated frittata. Then I work until it’s time to take the dogs on their afternoon walk. Louis is reactive towards men and Weezy is reactive towards dogs, so walking in the city is a whole thing. Liz and I are big adherents of “engage disengage,” which means rewarding your dog with treats when they pay attention to you and not an errant doodle or a freaky guy running down the street in a pith hat. I prefer the dehydrated turkey treats from Open Farm because I can just keep one in my hand and flake off pieces of it as needed. Other dog treats are too greasy, or leave my hands smelling like meat. 

I meet Liz at Diesel Cafe for a work date. We get cappuccinos, plus a sticky bun and a cardamon bun to split. Gay!! I see not one, but two people wearing top hats. There is a sizeable population of Gen X goths in Somerville, as well as adults who incorporate cosplay accessories into otherwise normy businesswear and I love that they feel safe here. Liz realizes she left her laptop at school, so she runs off to catch a bus back to campus. I get a lot of work done even though I’m sitting close to the bar and the barista keeps calling out drinks for people named “Maddy” and “Madeline.”

On my way home, I see a girl scout setting up shop with her mom in tow. I get Thin Mints, Trefoils, and whatever the lemon ones are called. It’s their first day selling cookies and I am only their second customer. Is there any omen more auspicious than that?

For dinner, Liz makes tamale pie with a side of roasted broccoli. I’m really into tamale pie. It’s a savory, tomato-based casserole you can eat with sour cream AND it comes with a sweet layer of cornbread. It has the range.

Liz has a mountain of reading tonight (and every night), so she asks me to procure some gummy candy from 7/11. Liz and I are both big believers in candy as a study aid and I’m grateful because shared values are the foundation of a good relationship. For a long time, we were big into Haribo Star Mix and Twin Snakes. There’s nothing like Haribo gummies when they’re fresh, but 80% of the time you get them home and they’re stale and rock hard. We’ve been experimenting with Lifesaver Gummies, Swedish Fish, and different brands of gummy worms.

Every 7/11 is other-dimensional at night, but the one by my house is especially Lynchian. The lights flicker. There is a sinister chemical smell. Every cashier is on their own phone, shouting in Arabic. In the candy aisle, I notice that Skittles and Twizzlers exist in chewy form now. Over the past few years, gas station candy has really diversified—there are easily 20 different varieties of Reeses, including XXL peanut butter cups with pretzel inlay, XXL peanut butter cups with potato chip inlay, and XXL peanut butter cups with straight-up Reese’s Pieces. I’m partial to the potato chip kind, but I’m not in the mood tonight. I select some basic Welch’s fruit snacks and Skittles chews. The Skittles are fine, but I miss the crunchy shell of original candy. I end the night with a stomach ache and a spot of peppermint tea.

Friday, February 3rd

I wake up with plans to eat a little frittata. I go to the kitchen, take it out of the fridge, and turn my back for one minute and Louis pulls himself onto the counter and eats it. I have leftover fried rice and schedule his euthanization. Just kidding!! I love Louis.

I don’t feel like writing, so I sign up for a yoga class. It turns out all my exercise pants are dirty, so I put on a pair of immodest shorts and hope for the best. The entire class is just bending over and I end in the front row, so I am really throwing ass at 10:30 AM. Afterwards I feel ill and end up napping for 2 hours.

For late lunch, I bake some Impossible “chicken” nuggets. The instructions say to bake at 370 for 16 minutes, but I do 30 minutes at 420 because I need them to be crispy. I mix together honey and hot sauce as a dip. I also roast some chick peas with tumeric, salt, and olive oil. I’ve been making this snack for years and only just learned that to let the chickpeas dry before applying olive oil. It’s crunchier that way.

I watch an episode of Sort Of on HBO and clean my apartment. Temperatures this weekend are supposed to drop into the -20s, so Liz and I head to Wegmans for groceries. I’m still on the fence about Wegmans as a grocery store and neo-religion, but I like their water crackers. We try to buy local meat and produce as much as possible, so when we’re at a big store like this, it’s to stock up on stuff like canned beans, crushed tomatoes, and rice. I also grab a tub of CeraVe (love those essential ceramides) and fill the bottom of my cart with Wegmans-brand seltzers in lemon, ginger, and mandarin orange.

Liz and I have reservations with friends at Frank’s, a steak house in Cambridge. I’m always chasing a Wisconsin supper club experience, and the next best thing is a steak house owned by a man who wears banded bottom shirts. The Caesar salad is all iceberg ribs. It even has the un-fancy kind of croutons for extra cranch. The french onion soup is french onion soup. Frank’s brings the martini and pinky ring vibes and it’s so nice to sit in a booth and laugh with friends, what else can I say? All four of us split a ribeye the size of my head. Heaven.

ncG1vNJzZmilkZmxuq%2FOrqmtZqOqr7TAwJyiZ5ufonyxe8arrJtlo6m%2FprHTZpuinaQ%3D