I'm reading Julie and Julia: 365 Days, 524 Recipes, 1 Tiny Apartment Kitchen, by a woman who found herself pushing thirty, in a dead-end job, and decided that the solution was to cook her way through Julia Child's Mastering the Art of French Cooking in a year. First of all, I stand in awe of someone who would make Oeufs en Gelée on a weeknight after work, so it's worthwhile just for that. It makes me realize I could be doing a lot more in the kitchen myself. Her writing style is engaging if not brilliant, and she actually tells interesting stories about her friends, a dreadful pack of promiscuous hipsters I know I'd never want to meet in person. Julia Child was a bit of a personal heroine to me, and I think the fact that my mom cooked her recipes for my father when they were students had a lot to do with how I came to be, so there's the sentimental angle there too.
My eating habits have been weird lately. During the first part of the day, I feel like I'm going to starve. I eat a pretty generous breakfast, and then I wonder if I'll make it to lunch. Even after lunch I might still feel hungry, and that has led to some crap consumption (I should know better). But after four o'clock or so, it all goes away. When I get home I have to remind myself to eat. Last night I forgot entirely, and that was after running, even. I baked a sweet potato pie, just because I was curious to find out if Nick Malgieri is as good for pastry as he is for yeast breads, and I didn't eat any of it, or any of anything else except water. I didn't even think to eat. Weird, huh?