Bring back home economics | YourTango

I throw away too much food. You too. Basically, I’m a functioning person (low frequency, but still), so I know I can’t be the only one.

This makes me feel bad because what idiot with massive credit card debt wastes food? Worse, it feels like an insult to the abundance of the world, the abundance of America, the abundance of modernity.

My grandmother never used the phrase “but there are children starving in Africa” to get me to finish my plate, but she looked at me sadly when I didn’t finish my breakfast and said, “During the war, we could only dream French toast. This didn’t happen when I was five, but somehow it haunts me now.

Now I’m in a cycle of wasting food and then lying in bed beating myself up about it while trying to find a solution. I will never be able to, because no one taught me how to live.

I watched my mother prepare dinner every night, but I never joined her to learn how to do it, and she never invited me. I watched my grandmother dip slices of bread into the egg mixture—and somehow thought she had invented French toast—but aside from making cookies with me from time to time, she taught me nothing.

I’m not sure why I missed it, I’m not sure what they were thinking or if that’s how everyone raised their kids in the 1970s when feminism was at a turning point.

I’m not sure all Gen Xers spend food the way I do. This is not what we are talking about. This is how it happens for me.

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On Sunday I’m filled with dread for the week ahead, but also with a little bit of positivity: “Today I’m going to cook for the week!” I think. Then the fever dream continues and I tell myself, “I will eat what I cook all week and even bring lunch to work!” I trust myself when I decide these things.

Sunday evening always starts off well, and last Sunday was no exception. I made these magical chickpea beans sautéed in olive oil and these incredible zucchini. I prepared a box of couscous and devoured a bowl of this mixture while watching TV. True bliss.

I even tossed leftover broccoli into the garbanzo beans. I congratulated myself on this, because it was real housekeeping, stretching everything and losing nothing. Dinner will probably cost $3. Take that, Grandma French Toast.

I stayed pretty solid on Monday. I had a day off from work and was running around the city, so I paid for lunch somewhere (I don’t remember where, it’s alarming). But when I got home I ate the garbanzo beans/zucchini/couscous and loved it and congratulated myself again.

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But on Tuesday I started to crack. When I woke up, my French toast grandma side insisted that I take lunch to work. But I just didn’t want to.

So I ran around in the mornings in a feigned frenzy, acting like I was late for work and “forgot” to bring lunch. It felt strange to be so fired up—I wasn’t late for work, I didn’t need to rush—but I couldn’t bear the idea that I was so undisciplined that I’d rather pay $1 million for avocado toast downtown. Los Angeles than eating the same thing three times in a row.

But that evening I stopped my spree and ate garbanzo beans and zucchini for dinner again. It wasn’t as tasty now, but I reminded myself that I see Instagram influencers making food for every meal by putting sad little pieces of unseasoned chicken breast in one tiny part of a glass container, apple slices in another, and some almonds. to the third. and they eat it all week, no deviations.

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I reminded myself that my father had eaten the same breakfast all my life: an English muffin with Monterrey Jack cheese and butter, until his doctor advised him to give it up. Then for the next two decades it was English muffin with hummus, no deviations.

And then there was my friend’s boss who brought the same lunch to work every day: a sandwich of black bread and getost cheese. If they could do it, I would probably eat this a fourth time, especially if I was dining on Lindt chocolate truffles.

But on Wednesday everything collapsed. Effective. I had a lunch plan with one of my bosses and we went to the Water Grill where she had oysters from the seafood tower and also had lobster tail and buttered Dover flounder.

It was a mistake that I could have recovered from if I had gone home and eaten the leftovers again, but I just couldn’t do it. So I spent $40 on ramen delivery and ate it all in one sitting. No leftovers to make at least two meals.

After spending about $200 on food for one day, the rest of my garbanzo beans and squash were languishing in the refrigerator. And they remain there today, more than a week after I made them. I can’t bring myself to eat this mixture again, and at the same time I can’t bring myself to throw it away.

I don’t want to be this person. I want to be my father. I want to be that guy who eats the same cheese sandwich every day.