Crudites Crude-Bites

It is now April. And I am still here. Here here here . . . And I am hungry.

I do not write very much about my search for food. My scavenger lifestyle. Some of it is out of boredom with foodie-food-savvy-food-obesessed-foodaholic foodyness but most of it is out of embarrassment.

Like a North American First Nation native (who were almost systematically wiped out from this earth) (much like the original indigenous Soybean Islanders), I eat only what I need:





Or, perhaps more aptly, what I can find:




Or, what I can conjure, say, out of some rutabaga scraps, onion peelings, cumin-spiced mud and a softball:





Yum.

Yes.


The need for food--for fuel--is a constant one, though I have learned to do with less:





Or without.

Learned to do with emptiness.

(Soybean Island teaches you a lot about emptiness.)

And lowered expectations.

Or, no expectations at all.

(Except punishment.)

And plates so clean that they shine--simply because they never had the opportunity to be dirtied with foodstuffs in the first place:





Wow.

(That is a depressing Wow for those of you who need qualifiers, Dear Non-Reader.)


Well. I suppose this will suffice for an April post. For now. For then. Forever. Unforgiven.



Goodbye from Soybean Island