As of this week, this blog is one year old — only I don’t really feel much like celebrating.
Recently, my husband and I were on the Upper West Side and he saw an ad for some upcoming food festival. He asked me if I knew what it was. “Ugh, I don’t know,” I said.
And then, before I knew it, it came out:
“I’m so sick of food.”
And really, I am.
I’ve stopped reading other people’s food blogs. Let me preface what I’m about to say by adding I do still like some of you, but goddamn, I am sick to death of my fellow food bloggers. Good god, what a bunch of pompous jackasses some of them are. Shut the fuck up already and just eat; I’m begging you.
But more than that, I’m tired of having a food blog.
I’m tired of doing the rounds of other stupid food blogs, thinking up funny, witty, thoughtful comments to post as a way to shunt some traffic to my own site.
I’m tired of trying to get decent photos of what I cook, of thinking maybe I should cook this recipe earlier in the day while there’s still good light in the kitchen.
And more importantly, I’m just tired of writing about food. Trying to come up with new, non-clichéd ways to describe the tastes, textures, smells of food is exhausting. Lately, I can’t even even write a grocery list without feeling a little irritated.
And so, I find myself at a crossroads.
Keep writing about food — what you’ve all come to expect — or, if not, what then?