A while back I created a rubric called "feral bachelor food", to link all essays detailing my misguided culinary experiments as a single man. But I have recently changed the clickable link. It is now just bachelor chow.
Yes, I am still a bachelor. But I am no longer feral.
At least I don't feel that way anymore.
Early posts described the nightmare that is linguiça, as well as the absence of rice. Rice, I felt at that time, was something that perfectly epitomized the state of being together with someone. It suggested home, family, a real meal. Bachelors didn't eat real meals. Instead, they ate linguiça. Horrid, vile, greasy, fifty percent cayenne linguiça.
It was delicious. But it was a choice that didn't work for me.
The linguiça life-style is not for everyone.
Linguiça, please understand, is a Mexican code-word for 'stupid gringo'.
As for being feral, that's a value judgement I no longer choose to make.
This year I started cooking rice again. Along with real food. Yeah, I still experiment with foul combinations, like the peanutbutter, marmalade, and chilipaste sandwich a few days ago. Which was surreally satisfying, don't ask.
But I'm rather enjoying life.
And food.
You will find the renamed clickable link appended to this post.
Please re-visit it if you are interested.
And bon appétit.
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