I’ve been at it again. Eating fries, that is.
In fact, all I seem to do lately is eat. Not that that’s a bad thing; it happens to be my favourite pastime. But now that I suddenly have a big kitchen at my disposal in Amsterdam, I’ve been cooking like Nigella Lawson on crack.
I can’t help myself. I’ve always loved to bake, but a couple of years ago, after I found myself living alone on a tight budget, I discovered a new-found love for cooking as well. Actual, proper, hearty meals. I spent hours pouring over cookbooks and food websites, drooling over recipes with a ridiculous number of ingredients. And don’t even get me started on my obsession with watching cooking shows.
Eating healthily this year has been hard. When you’re in a new place every few days (or weeks, as the case has been more recently), and you don’t have proper cooking facilities, you become lazy. You opt for the cheapest, most convenient option. Which is still damn tasty, but let’s not even try and kid ourselves that a diet of burgers and pizza is going to keep anyone trim. It also makes you feel like rubbish and your skin and immune system tend to take a hit.
So even though I’ve been baking a lot of desserts while I’ve been in this apartment, I’ve also cooked a lot of healthy meals with a lot of vegetables. And drunk a lot of smoothies. And my skin is thanking me for it already. Another reason I prefer making my own meals and desserts is because you know exactly what is going into them; there is no processed crap or E numbers or flavourings to assault your taste buds.
Housesitting seems to do this to me. It makes me “nest”. I set up camp and become comfortable, cooking up a storm and regaining my sanity, only for it to all change again when it comes time to leave. But my little glimpses of a home life give me the energy and strength to pick up again and carry on discovering the big, wide world. Without them, I would probably go a little (more) insane. Although I’d probably be a few pounds lighter.
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