Soup du jour 2: noodles
I'm tired. It's late. I'm eating 2 min noodles for dinner and Im talking to the dog about my day.
I feel guilty. Guilty that I'm eating something so low in nutrition, guilty that I'm getting chubby and this is not a meal to halt that. Guilty that I feel guilty. Guilty that I'm vain and want to be thin and beautiful.
But, I slurp each noodle and love it. It's home. It's hungover glory and comfort.
I'm tired because I went out cavorting with friends last night at the restaurant awards. Drank wine, whoop and cheered then danced dirty till 2am at El Camino. Its late because I've spent the last week juggling too many deadlines - freelance work and passion projects - so I'm working all hours.
This month I'm juggling eating well. If I had time I'd go to the supermarket and cook big batches of food. If I had more money I would buy healthy on-the-go food. I have money aside for the gym and exercise classes, but I've a friend who's struggling and run out of his NHS counselling sessions so I'd like to help him pay for some and no time for sport anyway. But I'm too tired to work out how to offer, so that he'll say yes.
The egg in the noodles is the key. Sometimes I drop it in so that the yolk is in tact and I can break it - yoke all through the 'soup'. Other times I break it up, egg all through the noodles, very little soup. This time it's all yokey, I stop feeling guilty and tired as slowly pierce the yoke and watch it leak out into the noodle water, I slurp it up. So noisey the dog cocks his head at me. There's a bottle of wine that needs finishing, something I got for working a wedding last summer, which I drunkenly opened with friends the other day thinking we needed more wine - I have a glass. It's goes down far too easily. A Macon-Uchizy 2016, Domaine Talmard, no idea if it's good, but I like it.
I'm tired because I've not eaten at regular intervals, good nourishing food. I think about watching a sad film, because crying into my sleeping dog feels good, and hope that my boyfriend isn't closing the restaurant tonight so that's he's not too late.
My metronome is off. But it's ok, because I get to go home soon. Soup, rice, chilli and Malaysian politics has a lot to discuss.
I'm tired. It's late. I'm eating 2 min noodles for dinner and Im talking to the dog about my day.
I feel guilty. Guilty that I'm eating something so low in nutrition, guilty that I'm getting chubby and this is not a meal to halt that. Guilty that I feel guilty. Guilty that I'm vain and want to be thin and beautiful.
But, I slurp each noodle and love it. It's home. It's hungover glory and comfort.
I'm tired because I went out cavorting with friends last night at the restaurant awards. Drank wine, whoop and cheered then danced dirty till 2am at El Camino. Its late because I've spent the last week juggling too many deadlines - freelance work and passion projects - so I'm working all hours.
This month I'm juggling eating well. If I had time I'd go to the supermarket and cook big batches of food. If I had more money I would buy healthy on-the-go food. I have money aside for the gym and exercise classes, but I've a friend who's struggling and run out of his NHS counselling sessions so I'd like to help him pay for some and no time for sport anyway. But I'm too tired to work out how to offer, so that he'll say yes.
The egg in the noodles is the key. Sometimes I drop it in so that the yolk is in tact and I can break it - yoke all through the 'soup'. Other times I break it up, egg all through the noodles, very little soup. This time it's all yokey, I stop feeling guilty and tired as slowly pierce the yoke and watch it leak out into the noodle water, I slurp it up. So noisey the dog cocks his head at me. There's a bottle of wine that needs finishing, something I got for working a wedding last summer, which I drunkenly opened with friends the other day thinking we needed more wine - I have a glass. It's goes down far too easily. A Macon-Uchizy 2016, Domaine Talmard, no idea if it's good, but I like it.
I'm tired because I've not eaten at regular intervals, good nourishing food. I think about watching a sad film, because crying into my sleeping dog feels good, and hope that my boyfriend isn't closing the restaurant tonight so that's he's not too late.
My metronome is off. But it's ok, because I get to go home soon. Soup, rice, chilli and Malaysian politics has a lot to discuss.
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