Food Evolution

I grew up in a house where food was a necessity. Eating wasn’t something we particularly enjoyed doing. We simply did it because we needed it to survive. In fact, cooking (and the inevitable long clean up) is something my family members, myself included, didn’t enjoy doing. We ate out quite often and did our best to have simple and smaller meals.

Not to say that I didn’t enjoy the occasional Irish Stew Mom would make on ‘colder’ winter days (please note that colder is in quotations as it refers to Vegas cold and after living in Michigan I know that is NOT cold). I also looked forward to the Irish Breakfast Fry Dad would do on Sunday mornings. But I definitely didn’t think about the food I would be eating. Or long for it.

Things have since changed. I now dream about what I am going to eat, how I am going to eat it, where I am going to eat it, and what exactly it is going to taste like.

And no, I am not a fatty.

Scott opened my eyes to the world of food. When we started dating he pushed my food comfort zone and encouraged me to try food I had refused to even look at only months prior. He pushed me into eating sushi, Thai food, Mexican food (because I learned that Taco Bell was in fact not Mexican food), Vietnamese food, Spicy food, Health Nut food- you name it, he encouraged me to try it.

Now, I must be upfront here, my husband is a fantastic cook. And, truth be told, if he wasn’t so good at it I probably wouldn’t be open to eating all these different types of meals. But I struck gold with Scott (in more ways than one), and everything he touches in the kitchen tastes like heaven. I’m a lucky girl.

Over the course of our five year relationship, I have become more and more involved with his cooking and food choices. In the early stages I was simply a food victim, being bullied into trying the different, and sometimes odd looking, plates he put before me. I have since evolved and now like to help pick out the recipes in our cookbooks or on various internet cooking sites. I also, and this is a huge change from pre-foodie Davina, enjoy accompanying him to the grocery store to pick out the necessary ingredients.

Unfortunately though, his cooking abilities have yet to rub off on me. Meals I attempt to make never taste as flavorful and always seem to be missing something that he nails every time. As my mom said after sampling my fish tacos, “It’s good, Davi, but it’s obviously not Scotty’s.” Thanks, Mom.

In the meantime, I will continue to be Scott’s little sous-chef. But I won’t complain, it’s actually quite the gig.

Attempting to run

I have started running. Which, for anyone who knows me well enough, is odd.

I actually hate running. Well, I used to hate running, now I am starting to find it a little more tolerable.

It all started because I wanted to spend more time outside during the warmer months in Michigan. Why didn't I pick up biking you ask? Well, my poor baby, Mea, is stuck inside all day and she needs to spend some time outside too. It's really hard for her to keep up with the bike, so I usually end up pedaling at snail pace and get absolutely no exercise out of the routine.

So, Scott and I decided on running. He began first- taking Mea for a brief one mile run in the mornings while I worked out in the living room to various Exercise TV routines. When he came home he always looked refreshed and ready for the day. Eventually his comments about the gorgeous flowers blooming made me jealous and I decided to sign up for running too.

I have been running religiously for a week. We did about 4.5 miles last week (I know, I am almost a pro) and some days were better than others. Friday was a tough fun- I truly thought I was going to die at the end of it.

I am hoping I stick with this as I usually tend to abandon things after a week or two of zealous effort. It's actually quite nice to run in the mornings when the rest of the world is slowly waking up. I love the smell of the morning dew, the soft sunlight breaking over the trees and houses, and the lack of noisy distractions.

It's my time of reckless abandonment, as silly as that may sound. Although I feel like keeling over, or vomiting from exhaustion at the 3/4 mark, I am always really glad I decided to do it.

My relationship with running, thus far, is quite contradictory. My joy peaks twice during the jog- at the very beginning when I first hit the pavement and then again at the very end when I know it's all over.