30 September, 2018

After two months of having guests sleeping in my living room and a week or two of recovering from the experience, I'm ready to get back onto this. The experience of having guests wasn't bad, they were perfectly wonderful. It's just that I was the only one of the four of us who actually cleaned up in the kitchen and after a while the mere sight of the kitchen depressed me. So I fled to my dad's place for nearly a week.

Anyway, I'm back and besides the timeline, I'm starting over. It's a little easier to calculate that way.

And I'm actually looking forward to this, funny enough. It'll be nice to have a reason to get in the kitchen again now that I've cleaned it up.

Now time to go finish off the bacon already in the fridge. Gotta start out clean after all, right?

2 September, 2018

I finally ate the steak I got last week! Don't worry, I froze it in the time between buying and cooking it. And it tasted fucking fantastic. A little oil to keep it from sticking to the pan, far too much worcestershire sauce, seasoned salt, pepper, some tin foil on top... Omnomnom.

Still I haven't been eating much at home. Funny enough I've been doing it more since David has been in Oregon. Maybe I've just got a lot of self-esteem issues with my cooking when he's around, or maybe the kitchen is a lot cleaner then.

If I haven't been cooking, what have I been eating then? Cutting up fruit, making salads, the good old British ration quesadilla, and eating out. Yep, it's a bad habit to eat out and I have no reason to be so self-conscious about my cooking, but it's hard to help. Also I wake up a few hours before my guests so I don't want to wake them up.

Either way The closest I've come to using up part of my rations was the gratuitous amount of chocolate milk I've drunk. It still left me with a pint to roll over to next week. Or two, if you don't count the carton of milk I bought but haven't opened yet.

Oh wait, I used up all the bacon on a full bacon sandwich. Totally worth it.

Still looking forward to this upcoming week.

Day 48: 26 August, 2018

Another week of barely eating at home has gone by. What I have eaten here is almost exclusively fruit and vegetables, sometimes a bubble tea, so I've stayed well within the guidelines set by the experiment.

Out of all the rations, the only bit I've used are half a stick of butter and three pints of milk. Two of those pints were in the form of chocolate milk and one was in yogurt; there's not much use for plain milk if I'm not cooking. If I'm going to use my milk ration, I'll make the suffering worth it. (I'm lactose intolerant.)

Hopefully there will be more to report next week. Not counting the Mango Incident, which will never be told of.

Day 42: 20 August, 2018

Just for day 42, I had to update. I love that number.

It's surprisingly easier to eat healthy when I'm at my dad's place than when I'm at home. Partially because even if Dad's watching, he has no excuse to even try judging me. I eat whatever I bring in here since I don't trust anything that's been in Dad's fridge and without the kind of cooking equipment I'm used to, fruit and vegetables are easiest to wrangle. 

That means it's been half a frozen alfredo dish, a carrots and ranch cup, and half a container of Aussie style raspberry yogurt today. I slept until about 17:00 today so not much time to get hungry in. Thank the gods.

The yogurt is being counted towards my milk ration and it's a relief to be able to use some of that instead of letting it pile up and up and up. Calcium! Woo!

Between a restful (ridiculously long) night of sleep and eating well, I feel like jumping up to do things. Time to take a walk before Safeway closes, eh? 

Day 41: 19 August, 2018

This week has been less ridiculous in terms of eating out. At least this week it's all happened either because I needed to be out of the house and nothing else is open at 3 in the morning, or on a date. 

In the industrial part of town is a Denny's I've gone a couple of times while David was asleep in the bedroom and our friends in the living room. I'll admit I was a baby for a long while about going back there; not because the walk is long but because the neighborhood isn't so good. Last time I went, it was the night before somebody got shanked in the parking lot and I avoided it for a while. Then my wallet started getting a little too light for comfort and I tramped over for a chicken bourbon skillet.

What made it light was the 24 hour fancy pants restaurant across the bridge from me. The food is excellent, from bananas foster french toast to ice cream on a freshly baked cookie, but that quality is reflected in the price. Also in the fact that the servers wear bow ties. (I usually wander over in my Frosty the Snowman pajamas.)

This week I got a pound of meat in the form of stew meat and another half in a lean steak, which I had to share with the boys or else see it go bad. It brought me to the welcome conclusion that I just don't eat much meat. Thank the gods bacon and chicken don't fall under that umbrella while I'm doing this experiment. Not that I've gorged on my ration of bacon either; I still have a few rashers.

In an effort to keep better track of things, I've got a spreadsheet. What I don't eat from my rations this week gets rolled over to the next and so on until it reaches a month's supply or I have to start over. So far I haven't gone over my ration limits on anything but it would be nice to be able to make something big eventually.

Plenty of people would save up sugar or meat tickets or whatever was needed to make what they planned. A Christmas roast or birthday cake or something. It'll be interesting to see what I splurge on in the future.

This week tea goes on ration, but considering that it's still summer I don't see that being an issue. It's 2 oz of tea per week; when I used the kitchen scale to divide it out, we're talking more teabags than I've used in the past four months combined. It shouldn't be a problem.

Out of pure curiosity, I loaded up on different kinds of plums and combination stone fruits. I don't quite remember what everything is but I do know that I've become a fan of green plums; they taste kind of like honey. I think there were some plucots? Somehow the names are ridiculous and descriptive at once.

Saturday night was a double date, classic dinner and a movie. Half of a plate of doom nachos (6 cheese sauce, beans, jalapenos, pork, guacamole, and pickled onions on tortilla chips) with a pineapple margarita and a glass of horchata went down my throat while we all talked over Texan food. At the theater I met my end: mixed buttery and chocolate popcorn. I always wonder at how the chocolate didn't make the popcorn soggy, that it isn't too salty or sweet. I've never been able to figure out how they do that.

The movie made me forget about popcorn for a while though. Nothing quite like Mad Max: Fury Road in black and chrome, with surround sound. Only thing better I've found is the version where the dialogue is taken out but music and soundtrack are left in. Go ahead and call me a cinema snob, it might even be true.

Then I think about how much I loved The Spy Who Dumped Me (hilarious) and want to see The Nun (can't wait or dread it, depending on the day), and I have to reassess that idea. My taste in movies is kind of like Robert Downey Jr's wardrobe: either fabulous or awful, nothing in the middle. Yes I adore the Marvel Cinematic Universe and nearly worship Casablanca, but I also really enjoy Dracula Dead and Loving It and rewatch The Mermaid whenever I get an excuse.

Back on topic, I haven't been cooking as much as this experiment really asks for. Although people ate out often in those circumstances, I still feel kind of guilty about it. Maybe I can limit myself to things that would have been available back then... I'll figure out what to do about the dining out thing soon.

Hopefully I'll be able to cook at home more often soon. I've got performance anxiety about cooking and cleaning, and with guests in our living room who are homebodies, I don't do either as often as I otherwise would. Even though I know nobody will try bullying me about doing it wrong. David, Andre, and Lupe are too nice for that but fear is irrational.

Today is much easier because I'm at Dad's place. Part is that he doesn't lounge around anywhere in sight of the kitchen; the other part is that his cooking is best described as slop. It makes me wonder how he's survived living alone since he was widowed. I feel a lot better about my own cooking comparatively.

That probably has a lot to do with my anxiety about cooking in front of people. David's cooking is ambrosia, so I feel stupid and inexperienced under his eye. Andre and Lupe are also decent cooks and I don't know them so well. Comparing myself to what the three of them come up with, I fall short.

It's not fair to me, to measure myself by them. Andre and Lupe are a few years older than I am. David was taught by the kitchen goddess that is his mom. All the cookery I learned was from my mom before I was 13, and she was a damn picky eater with a super limited scope into the world of food.

I should make myself get over that fear. It's ridiculous, it's stupid, and it's holding me back even more than the summer heat did. What is fear but something to conquer?

That's code for, "I'm gonna stay a chicken." But maybe that'll change soon. Maybe later on I'll tell my performance anxiety to go fuck itself.

Let's hope, or else this period of people sleeping in my living room will be absolute hell.

Day 34: 12 August, 2018

It's been 2 weeks since I updated anyone, for numerous reasons. 

One is the presence of guests up from Texas; they're lovely guys but I've got... performance issues. It feels stupid. They've got no room to judge me for what I eat, of all things, or how I make it or anything like that. I don't think they would. But that doesn't make the fear any less.

The other big issue is the heat. In the past couple of days things have settled down in that respect so I've been more willing to cook. I haven't done much of it between the performance issues and the kitchen being dirty. But a little is better than nothing.

My made up tomato-bean soup was compared to what Andre and Lupe referred to as heaven, so that's good. French toast with jam was declared just as good. Maybe I'll have the guts to keep cooking and experimenting.

I've been keeping within the limitations of rationing easily. Admittedly a lot of that is David and I taking the guests out to eat, and a shameful amount of takeaway. But wasn't that part of what happened back in the War when it could be afforded? Or at least I definitely would.

Generally I've been eating things that would have been available in Britain or America back then, or at least the ingredients would have been available. Except for the Oreo stack I weakened and had this Tuesday past. There's no way in hell that delicious confection could have been known to mankind back then.

And okay, guacamole and corn chips didn't really exist in that particular place and time. I'm not even sure if anything worth calling by those names exists in that place even now. But I shared that and all the other toppings with a friend and it was a night out so I refuse to let myself feel bad.

Basically I kind of fell off the bicycle. Twice. I'll admit I'm disappointed with myself, but tomorrow I'll pull myself up by my boot straps and start anew, unencumbered by today's nonsense. No sense in punishing myself.

There are some apples, peaches, and weird combo fruits in the fridge. That'll help in the morning when I wake up hungry. It's not like I have any bread to eat with it because I ate the whole baguette with butter tonight, on a little over 40mg THC running through my veins. I don't regret it at all.

I haven't been using much milk like has become usual but then I remembered the existence of chocolate milk. My whole allowance disappeared in 2 days. Oops? Better than regular chocolate, which I just haven't been feeling.

No seriously. I went to the grocery before the edibles hit and the only things that sounded appealing were fruit, cucumber, baked chicken breast, and buttered french bread. I walked down the ice cream and beverages aisles. Looked at the bakery selection. Took a gander at the candy. And none of it sounded good, no matter how I looked at it and considered it.

When I think about it, that's a good change. It's healthier to crave fruit and vegetables and such, though not so much the bread and butter. Logically I'm grateful to myself.

At the same time it's mystifying. Before this experiment I did crave candy, cake, chips when I was stoned. And it was all fucking delicious. The change from the expected to... craving fruit and healthy stuff is deeply unsettling, even in this ridiculous situation. Or maybe because it's ridiculous.

This needs more testing. Maybe just not under quite so much THC; this is way too much.

Signing off for the night. Or the week. But I will be back!

Day 20: 29 July, 2018

Damn this heat. God fucking damn it. At least I don't live in Texas? I'm grateful but at the same time I wouldn't mind a nice trip to the Arctic Circle. Oh wait, that's on fire. Never mind.

When it wasn't so hot, french toast with jam and an apple was on the menu. Once I make up a batch of french toast batter I refrigerate what's left over to use another time and it's served me well. Who wants to deal with more prep right after waking up than they have to?

Tomorrow David and I are getting friends of his from Texas for a couple of weeks and I'll admit I'm nervous about it. He's known them for years but I've never met them. The few times I've talked to Andre were fun, and the online posts he's made have been thoughtful, intelligent, and witty. At the same time people are always different in real life. And I've never even talked to his fiance Lupe before. All I know is that they're both writers and looking forward to escaping the heat.

Which is hilarious, because it's been in the low 90's here for most of the week. I've been fleeing for AC almost every day and today was no exception. This time instead of Starbucks it was Barnes and Noble. It would have been the library but I couldn't stand the uphill walk in the heat and sun, and it closes at six on Sundays anyways. At least this way I got iced tea?

So far the rationing bits haven't been an issue. At the end of this week I've still got a pint of milk, 3/4 of the butter, most of the sugar, and the whole meat ration left. Vegetables, fruit, and bread have been making up the difference.

And I've noticed a difference in myself since I started this. Weight loss has gone up to five pounds now and I actually have collarbones again! I was so jazzed to see those indents in my skin. David laughed at me but I don't care.

In other news I have a new nephew (name undecided as of yet), so I decided an Oreo stack was in order while I was out. While I ate I started cruising online to gather gift ideas and squealed obnoxiously over all the cute things I saw. Why weren't those available when I was a kid?! Oh, this nephew of mine is going to be so spoiled...

Not five minutes after I got the text about my nephew, I got a call from my dad. He told me one of my cousins killed himself this past weekend so that Oreo stack was definitely needed. I didn't know that cousin very well but it's always a sad thing when someone feels they have no other option, or nothing worth living for. I wonder which one it was for him?

This heat has been killing me. Swear to god. There are reasons I don't visit my step-dad in India as often as he would like, and that's one of the main ones. Well that and my back injury, but let's not go there just yet.

Either way between the heat, the news, and my cramps, I haven't really felt like eating since the Oreo stack. Because I knew I needed something for dinner I forced down half a cheese quesadilla but that's it. It'll get better when things cool off.

Or at least I hope so.

I think I'll start keeping a running tally of how much of the week's rations I do/don't use. People would often enough save a portion of some rations like sugar in order to make something bigger later on and I'd like to give myself that option. With birthdays and more holidays coming up, celebrations will be rife. And of course I'll want to participate and eat.

Time to hide in the bedroom under the fan.

Day 18: 27 July, 2018: Oops

Right, so strange things have happened and the heat has hit. I still have my Starbucks habit and I still eat out more often than I should.

On the plus side, I haven't strayed from rationing (apart from struggling with portions when I go out) and I've still somehow lost 3 lbs. I've even got collarbones again! I nearly woke David up squealing about that.

This week meat rationing started and I'm going with the historical definition of meat: beef, pork (besides bacon/ham), lamb/mutton, and pretty much everything not a bird. Admittedly it's me being sneaky so I can have chicken and other meat in the same week. The calculations I did point to about 2.5 lbs of meat, which is still more than I usually eat in a week. It doesn't sound like that much of a hardship and so far this week it hasn't been but I'll wait to take judgment.

A few days ago, David almost made me regret this. He made pinch buns with pork belly and some sliced zucchini. Gods it smelled good... Except that pork belly is basically bacon and like hell will I give up three days of actual bacon for one night of pinch buns. The man had the gall to laugh at me for it.

Lately I've been getting cravings for chicken, bacon, and tuna. So, protein? It makes sense since beans temporarily sate that want. What feels weird about it is that I never really ate much meat in the first place. Might also be something about the lack of processed foods but I won't pretend to know for sure.

Speaking of processed food, I've been taking advantage of the timeline I adopted. Yep, that means a tin of tuna or two of veg/soup/beans/whatever as long as it doesn't have meat, per week for me. This week it was a tin of beans and one of tomato soup, which I combined with potatoes, carrots, and some rice beans for more of the soup I made up in week one.

I also decided that I don't want to live without some kind of dressing. To that end I sacrificed some milk and gladly put in about a cup of the milk to make some ranch. Whether ranch existed back then, I'm not exactly sure, and I'm not sure if I care. It keeps to the rations and that's the part that matters here. Some of the dressing got put on a salad I had with half a bacon sandwich around three this morning.

At eight a bowl of the bean soup went into my stomach.

Now I'm looking at another bowl of salad, maybe with a plum or apple for lunch. I'll update again later about dinner since it's only noon right now. I just wanted to put in that I'm not dead or giving up on this.

Day 9: 18 July, 2018

By the time I got up this afternoon, it was warm enough to want shorts but not hot enough to melt my eyeballs. A pleasant sort of day. (Don't look at me like that, I'm not just a lazy bum, I have sleep trouble too.)

The first order of the day was feeding my empty stomach and at first I intended to do that with french toast. I pulled down the hunk of french bread left, took a bread knife to it, and... it shattered.

Yes, the bread managed to get so stale it shattered.

In disgust I put it back and made a note to myself to grind it into bread crumbs for tonight's dinner. Oatmeal it was, then. To keep myself satisfied I ate an apple while I cooked.

Just like a couple of days ago I cut up a peach, combined oatmeal and milk, and mixed it all together with some sugar and honey. For some damn reason though, this time it wouldn't taste sweet. It took several more chunks of sugar and melting down the peach to do the trick. 

Maybe that Oreo stack yesterday messed with my taste buds? I wouldn't doubt it. Those are too tasty to be as innocent as they look.

For a bit I sat around at home waiting for the pot and bowl to soak. I got wrapped up in designing floor plans, watched some videos on the internet, and then realized I was going to be late to meet my friends to write. Shit. Grabbing whatever was nearest, I threw some clothes on and ran out the door with the computer.

When you go to a cafe, it's only polite to buy something. Walking over got me too hot to bother with actual coffee so I found myself sitting with a raspberry Italian soda, no cream because my body is stupid AKA I'm mildly lactose intolerant.

For a while there was writing in peace and quiet in an air conditioned room. The last of us got there and of course that turned to us three chattering about anything and everything that came to mind. How could it not?

We all got hungry and for once, I managed to do the healthy thing. Instead of fries I got a salad on the side of my burger. (Fun fact: I found a recipe for hamburgers in Marguerite Patten OBE's The Victory Cookbook and it looks much the same as we know it.) 

Yes, I got a bottle of black currant cider and it was amazing. It's been forever since I've had alcohol and I don't regret it. 

Thankfully that burger, salad, and drink have me still full hours later. It's been quite a good day.

Day 8: 17 July, 2018

So, I didn't eat a single meal at home today. At least that helps stretch my rations? It was all sandwiches too, easily obtainable from British restaurants during the war.

That's right, three solid meals made of sandwiches. Fuck yeah.

Day 7: 16 July, 2018

At 2am I got way too hungry and used up the last of my first quart of milk on a very large bowl of oatmeal with another peach diced into it. Then I realized that I needed more milk, and went for the new quart.

I opened the second quart... I punctured the cream at the top... And found ice. Half the fucking milk froze.

David tumbled out the bedroom door to figure out why I was shrieking in rage, only to nearly roll around laughing at what he found. I was standing at the sink, shaking a huge chunk of ice within a glass bottle. Eventually he had the good sense to retire to the bedroom. I tossed the bottle in the sink to melt down the drain.

The kind of milk this was didn't freeze well and was going a little sour anyways, or else I would have used it. Lesson learned: get a quart at a time.

Eventually I did go to bed, when it wasn't too fucking hot to sleep.

By the way, what was that I said about not going out as much? I didn't hear. Because it got up to 92F today and I fled to the mall, with all its food. And got fries. They were delicious and completely worth it.

So was the iced chai at the bookstore downstairs, when I didn't want to go back out into the heat until I absolutely had to.

By then most of the stores were closed so I ended up picking up my milk and some notebooks at Target. I'm still full from the fries or else I'd wait to post this. 

Goddamn this heat making me so lethargic and lazy.

Day 6: 15 July, 2018

It's the end of week 1, and there have been a few trials already.

The rogue fire alarm, ridiculous levels of heat, and a rebellious uterus have all tried to fuck me up. I think I've kicked their asses.

Even in the morning it felt too hot to want to eat. Thankfully David eased me into it with his offer of a cup of tea, green chai. The mild flavor when combined with some sugar and milk helped ready my stomach for something a little more substantial.

Finally I got annoyed with the rumbling of my stomach and shoved a couple handfuls of dried banana and apple pieces into my mouth. Bananas were rare to the point of not existing in WWII Britain, so that wasn't really right, but dried fruit in general aren't rationed yet. And I was damn hungry and grumpy.

When I realized that even though it was nearly 90 degrees F, I was barely sweating, I realized that I needed to get out of that hot apartment. Really it was more than 90 in that flat; the outside temperature was nearly 90 and it felt heavenly in comparison. With even further determination I hurried across the street to Starbucks.

Getting into the AC was amazing. More than amazing, it felt like my life was saved. The medium iced chai did the rest for the next few hours I glued my ass to one of the stools with my laptop. Half of that time was spent hoping I wouldn't have to leave early to wash out my cup and the other half with history documentaries on the screen. Thank the gods I didn't have to go until near closing time.

Leaving Starbucks wasn't as bad as I feared. It had cooled off a little in the time I spent basking in the AC, so I didn't feel like melting on the way home. Or since I got home.

Immediately upon opening the front door I was hit by the smell of fresh baked bread. David had made a sort of flat bread with Italian herbs on it, fresh out of the oven not long before I walked in. Holy hell, I'm so blessed that I somehow managed to marry a man who can cook and bake. Two large squares of that bread with some butter on it was bliss. The apple I sliced up for dessert was almost as nice.

Of my rationed foods, I've eaten surprisingly little. Besides the bacon; of the 6 oz allowed, 4 are gone.

Of the 8 oz butter allowance, I've only had about 2 oz. That's about half a stick of butter. The other stick is still in the fridge, helpfully labeled with an otter.

It turns out that half a gallon of milk is more than I thought. Only most of a quart has gone down my throat, the other one still unopened. In the upcoming week I'm going to get milk a quart at a time and if I finish one off before the end of the week, I'll get another. 

Half of the cooking fat, about a liquid ounce of olive oil, is still in the container. The weather being so hot has kept me from cooking enough to use it all. When it cools down, I'll see what happens there.

The twenty points went to the cans of tomato soup and beans that helped make the soup I was eating earlier this week. I haven't had anything else in a can this week, after all.

Having loads of fruit and vegetables available has been an enormous help this week and I'm sure that will continue in the upcoming week. I still have a couple of apples, peaches, corn cobs, and about half the lettuce and broccoli I bought last week. Those will likely get cooked up this upcoming week. Well, if it cools down enough to not want to lock myself in a walk-in freezer.

Eating out has been my historically accurate bane. Sometimes it couldn't be helped, like when the fire alarm went off. The weather helped with the others, sending me fleeing to AC and the food and drink served in those places. For the most part I've stuck to food items that would have been available then and there. The drinks not so much, maybe a second cousin to what would have been familiar.

In the week ahead I hope to not eat out quite as much. It's a bit hard on the wallet and it feels kind of like a cheat. If I'm going to do this experiment, I'm going to do it right.

On to week 2!

Day 5: 14 July, 2018

Holy fuck it's hot. Also, I'm stoned. (Don't worry,I live in Washington where it's legal.)

That probably has something to do with how and why that small packet of mini stroopwafels disappeared into my mouth. Then the cheese quesadilla. Half of a mango bar. And last but certainly not least, a handful of dried apple pieces.

A sandwich using most of my bacon ration tasted far too good even before I took that 15 mg portion of tonic. The oil and protein of the bacon, and fat of the mayo were immensely satisfying to the point of near orgasm. Crisp lettuce, pickled onions, and some spices on the nine grain bread made it even better.

I'm supposed to meet my friend Danielle tomorrow to work on our Camp NaNo novels but I'm really not feeling it. Hopefully that's just the marijuana talking.

Way too lazy to keep typing. Kept to the rations and that's what really matters for the purpose of this blog.

No, quesadillas weren't a thing really eaten by average Brits or most Americans in the time period I'm talking. But they aren't a new thing, so that's good enough for my purposes.

Day 4: 13 July, 2018

I'm posting this on the 14th, so please bear with this late update.

I woke up to the building fire alarm shrieking, and immediately flipped right the fuck out. The first thing I did was put pants on. Second was to stuff my computer in the bag where I keep my wallet, and then follow it up with my bus pass and the bra that was lying on the floor by my chair. Last but certainly not least, I stuffed my phone in my pocket before I put shoes on and walked out the door.

For a while, nobody had any idea what was going on and I was pissed. This had woken me up, my period started on the way down the stairs, and I was fucking hungry. To put it one way, I made the sensible decision to find food and a bathroom. To put it another, I stormed off in search of comfort food and someplace to put in the one emergency tampon I always keep in my bag.

Miraculously, there's a 24 hour diner within a couple blocks. Diner is the wrong word- let's try restaurant, because it's way too fancy to be grouped in with Denny's. There are actual leather chairs, high booths, and the servers wear bow ties. But they don't mind my grumpy face and Frosty the Snowman pajama bottoms as I run to their fancy-ass bathroom.; they know me there.

For a couple hours I sat at their counter, watching the cooks, and eating some of the most delicious banana fosters french toast I've come across in my life. Except that something wasn't right; usually the glaze was wonderfully sweet but today the oily sweetness just tasted... fake. 

This may sound dramatic, but that was when I started to have some doubts about this experiment. What was it doing to my taste buds? Would I no longer enjoy the foods I like eating now?

For a while I stared at my plate, watching the french toast and bacon soften up with the syrup and glaze soaking into it. Then, I picked up my fork and finished the plate. If eating real food was ruining my taste buds, then what kind of fakery was I putting in my mouth before? 

I had the urge to ask the server to take the other half of my meal away, but I automatically finished. Another thing I have to think more about later: portion size.

The minute I got home, I changed clothes and climbed back into bed until David got home. After how I woke up that morning, I deserved it. Even in the rising heat it was a decent sleep.

Waking up had me grumpy. The combination of cramping, hunger, and heat would do that to anybody. For some godforsaken reason, David found it amusing and giggled at me as I trudged into the kitchen.

Oatmeal with a whole peach diced into it was dinner. For some reason it didn't feel sweet enough until I put about 3 teaspoons of sugar into it, plus some honey and strawberry compote. When I finally got into eating the whole bowl, it was sweet enough. Maybe a little too sweet, even. Note to self: eat the oatmeal with the fruit before I put much sugar in.

David put a can on the table next to me, part of a little game of ours. We live right above a grocery store with an aisle of wacky looking beverages and every time either of us goes down there, we get a new kind of drink. Last time I got him a bottle of corn tea I couldn't stand the taste of but he was fine with. This time he got me mangosteen juice from somewhere in the Middle East. It was nice and light, refreshing, kind of tasted like peach perfume smells.

That's probably a habit we should figure out but it's too damn fun to stop. Maybe I could drink half of it at a time? Or just have a sip off of David's drink when he gets something.

I kind of regret eating that oatmeal. It's too damn hot.

Day 3: 12 July, 2018

I've been a very, very naughty girl.

The day started out decent. Besides the whole waking up at noon part, that felt nice but was bothersome. I've been trying to be awake during the day instead of just half of it. That's proving to be more difficult than I thought, even though every time I have to do this, I know it's going to be awful.

Anyway, it was already pretty warm by the time I got up. (Which is why I want to be awake during the morning, goddammit.)  I was absolutely loathe to cook anything. So what do I do?

I tell my sanity to fuck off and cook. That's what.

In the pressure cooker I heated up the broth from the previous tomato-bean soup and added vegetables back into it, including some rice beans that I picked up from the bulk section and advertised as 'no soak'. Turns out I have no idea how long to cook beans not out of a can and they were a little crunchy, but they didn't break my teeth when I pulled the pot, so that's good enough for me. It provided a nice textural addition anyways.

But God, it was so hot out today that I put the soup in the fridge to cool down. The mere idea of eating anything hot made me want to die.

Of course, that didn't stop me from turning the oven and baking up a sheet of roasted peppers, broccoli, and potatoes. Or putting a couple of chicken breast fillets in beside the baking sheet. At that point I thought it would all be good and fine. I thought I was prepared, as I laid down on the floor with a book.

I was so, so wrong. It only got hotter.

In the end, I had to flee. I managed to get the remaining food in a tiffin for David to have later, but I was pretty sure I saw my life flash before my eyes at that point. Practically panting, sweating like a dog in a Chinese restaurant, I stumbled into Starbucks... and was revived.

Okay, so I'm exaggerating. But for somebody who was wearing sweatshirts last week, this was crazy.

Bad enough that when I finally returned home only for David to seize me in a five minute long hug, I immediately fled to the nearby mall for a few hours. I love my husband, but he's an asshole.

And that's the story of how I had fries, lemonade, and an Oreo stack for dinner. Whoops?

I blame my husband. Prat.

Day 2: 11 July, 2018

I meant to do three separate posts, one for each meal, but life caught up with me. And I'll be the first to admit that breakfast either consisted of an apple and a peach mochi (anachronistic but so delicious) on the way out the door, or was actually the hodgepodge of vegetables covered in mashed avocado. For blog purposes, let's go chronologically.

The apple and mochi were more a result of me panicking about getting the shopping done before the heat fully hit than anything. Getting groceries while hungry is the wallet's bane, after all. 

Yep, fully aware that Britain and most parts of America in the 1940's wouldn't have peach mochi, or at best would consider it a food of the enemy while the people who did eat it were stuffed into internment camps. Kind of like the Italian sheep milk ricotta I bought while I was out. Good thing I'm not going by the politics of the time, or else this would be one hell of a lot harder.

The first real meal of the day was during the hottest part, so of course I didn't feel like cooking. It's not like I have AC. Oh, the wishful thinking...

Anyway, I just threw a bunch of vegetables together in a bowl. Lettuce, green beans, broccoli, chopped carrots, bell pepper, pickled onions... Then I hit a snag in this plan: dressing. I have no idea how to make a palatable dressing and at the moment had no patience for looking it up. What I did have, was an avocado.

Fully aware that in Britain wouldn't've had access to avocados. And I've already established that up to a certain point (string cheese, I'm looking at you) I don't care. Plus it was either that or bacon, and I wasn't ready to cook up part of my precious bacon supply.

The thing about avocados is that I don't have much experience with them. Still, I managed to luck out. Some lemon juice, salt, and pepper combined with the flavors of the vegetables themselves to make this a more than palatable alternative to salad dressing. Creamy, fatty avocado goodness. I'm drooling again just thinking about it. Not to mention the buttered bread I put on the side.

By the time I finished, the heat was at full swing and I couldn't fucking deal with it. I folded and went to Starbucks for the worst of it. At least I stuck to chai, which did exist there and then, if not in that exact condition. Not as anachronistic as a hazelnut mocha, which I'm desperately curious about.

If there's one thing that I didn't expect out of this experiment, it's that I fill up faster. Or maybe I'm just so unfamiliar with eating an absolute shit ton of fruit and veg that the density is confusing. I'm not entirely sure. But I'm not complaining; it's grand to not be hungry all the fucking time.

Call me backwards, but dinner was oatmeal and some of that awesome ricotta. Not together, that's just on the edge of gross. Separately but at the same meal.

Oatmeal has been one of my favorites for longer than I can remember, though it's only in the past few years that I've started making it from scratch instead of from the packets. Sometimes I do miss the packets, though. Especially the ones that had the dinosaur eggs.

Made at home tastes good enough to kick the prepared stuff's ass the whole way across the country, so that's one argument solved before it even got started. This time it was rolled oats, some of the milk supply, a couple tablespoons of sugar, a spoon of honey, some chopped up strawberries, and the last of the raspberry compote with some cinnamon sprinkled on top. By the time it was done the day had begun cooling off, so I was able to enjoy it without sweating halfway to death.

Then while the stove ring was still hot I made more compote with the remainder of the strawberries, which weren't looking too fresh. Note to self: buy berries either to eat the same day or make into compote. End of story.

I've got a craving for red meat (which is fucking weird, I barely eat it) and considering how much of my thought process has gone into things that are more fat or sugar than substance, something is definitely going on in the body. I've eaten when I'm hungry and stopped when I'm full but even at the end of a meal my brain is still all about meat, chips, ice cream, etc.

Despite that craving for energy dense foods, I haven't felt droopy or tired at all aside of the heat doing it. Whenever I don't feel like crawling right out of my skin, I feel ready to bounce off the fucking walls. It's only when the mercury rises that I've been sloth-like. It takes more than two data points to draw a conclusion, so I'm reserving judgment, but I like the way this is going.

At the end of the day things are still looking up.

Timeline update

Due to my husband already going mad, the timeline has shifted and significantly shortened. For every month that the rationing actually happened, I'm doing it for a week. So for the two months between the beginning of rationing and meat going on, for me that will be two weeks. 

Otherwise the quantities and time periods are the same. My rations still get refreshed every Monday for the same amount. 

I hope this isn't too confusing of a change for anyone. And for the next two weeks I'm going to enjoy all the tasty, tasty red meat I can stomach. Damn.

Day 1, ctd: Dinner and Dessert

The soup was tastier than I thought. Ridiculously so, considering I threw together whatever I had available.

My mind wouldn't stay off steak, burgers, bacon, and other meats, so I assumed it was protein and some kind of fat my body wanted. My first thought, since I don't have any meat available except bacon (and I didn't want to sacrifice any of that in the name of a craving) I had a look through the cupboards to figure out what else was available. And there, in the little cabinet we use as a pantry, I struck gold: several cans of sorely neglected kidney beans.

After that it was just a matter of finding more things to throw in the pot. There was a can of (again, neglected) tomato soup and some of the carrots were going rubbery. Not to mention that if I left those potatoes alone much longer they'd start growing. Once the carrots and potatoes were cut up to appropriate sizes, I just dumped everything in the pressure cooker.

The spices were a little more difficult. If left to my own devices I won't absolutely starve, but David (the husband) is the true maestro of the kitchen. When I asked for help, he pointed out the Worcestershire sauce, a blend of winter seasoning, some salt, and told me that if I dig around a little in his stash of condiments I'll find concentrated chicken stock. A little bit of each went in the pot, along with some salt.

It was in that moment that I learned about the strange meaning behind the word "salt" in most recipes. If you listen to David anyway, and I definitely do. Apparently that usually means kosher salt because table salt is too dense. And if you do have to use table salt, halve the amount for that reason. Oops? It seems I've been doing cooking wrong most of my life.

All of those ingredients combined, I set the pressure cooker on high for fifteen minutes and let it do its thing. Pressure cookers weren't exactly common until late in 1940's Britain, and those were the pressure saucepan kind like Mom or even Grandma used to put on the stove. I bet that my fancy electric version would knock some WWII socks right off.

At first I could only smell tomato, a little sweet considering what all else I put in. Then the beans started mixing their scent in, turning a little cringe-worthy until the last five minutes. Then my mouth started watering.

Once the timer went off, I jumped up to turn the pressure cooker off. To my stomach's displeasure, I then let it sit for another ten minutes as was. This had a couple of good effects: it allowed the soup to keep cooking without using power, and I didn't have to listen to the shriek of the pressure releasing all at once. My hearing and nose are both a little too sensitive for my own good sometimes.

There was just enough for two bowls, one for David and one for me. At first he seemed a little apprehensive about my beginner's cooking and took his sweet time before trying it. I was no less nervous, honestly. Just knowing that I couldn't afford to throw it out if it was terrible was enough to do that. Reluctantly, I put a spoonful up to my mouth...

And it was surprisingly good. The weird texture of the beans took a little getting used to, and the whole result was sweeter than I thought, but it wasn't bad at all. If I'm being honest, it was actually fucking delicious. Of course David put enough seasoning on his to make me sneeze and my mouth burn but that's not abnormal for us. That he finished his bowl before I did mine was more than enough of a compliment.

Afterward plenty of the broth was leftover and I put it in the fridge to chill until tomorrow. Maybe some rice is is in order as well as replacing the solid bits... I do still have some carrots and potatoes, after all. But more about when I know what I'm doing.

For dessert, David tempted me with an anachronistic but so good mango bar. To my surprise though, it was way too sweet for me. I was only able to finish half of it before I had to wrap the rest up and put it back in the freezer for later. Now there's progress for me.

I've been more awake today than most days. Less tired, less ready to go back to bed at the drop of a hat, antsy with the need to move... The list goes on. It's both a delightful change and a weird one; I've never been very much of an active person and yet I was so desperate to move around today that I nearly did some push-ups. I fucking hate push-ups. Maybe time to figure out a more solid exercise program?

All in all, day 1 has been a remarkable success. Let's just hope this keeps up.

Day 1: 10 July, 2018 (Breakfast and Lunch)

You don’t realize how much milk you drink, butter you eat, and sugar you toss in until you’ve finally got a limit to keep to. And honestly, it’s not quite as bad as I thought. So far.

Breakfast was done in a hurry, an apple and a piece of nine grain toast with some jam on top. Screw the butter on said toast, if I want my toast sweet then I want it sweet. Usually I don’t do toast at all but goddammit I was hungry and in a hurry.

Then my plan got canceled at the last minute, so I did the food shopping for this project instead. Goddamn vegetables are expensive, by the way. Call me privileged for going to the farmer’s market and getting the good stuff (including milk with an inch of cream at the top of the glass!) and then complaining, but at least to me it feels like a valid complaint. Vegetables shouldn’t be more expensive fresh than canned or frozen, just saying.

Lunch was less hurried but still not much effort. I started by making up some french toast batter with my newly limited milk supply (and damn does the good milk make a difference), an egg, and some cinnamon. Nothing special. Slices of stale french bread were dipped in and put on a pan with a tiny little pat of butter, not even a teaspoon, spread around as an anti-stick guarantee. Once all the french toast was done I put the remainders of the batter in the fridge for another day, and brought out the compote.

For something that sounds so fancy, compote really isn’t. I had some yellow raspberries that had seen better days, and I couldn’t get the lid off the jam jar, so I rage-cooked the raspberries down with a few spoonfuls of water and a teaspoon of sugar until it was the consistency of jam. That’s literally it. Put it in a jar stuffed in the fridge, and you’re all set for a few days. Spread on the french toast, this stuff was delicious.

Alongside it I sliced up a nectarine that had been sitting in the crisper for longer than I was strictly comfortable with, and poured a small glass of milk. Just to try what this stuff tasted like plain. The answer: too fucking rich for my blood. It’s like drinking slightly watery whipping cream and I had to choke it down.

My energy levels and moods have been decently stable today. Maybe it’s the sunshine, maybe it’s the food. My back didn’t spasm either, even when I was carrying all the groceries back on the tube. I’ll have to wait a while before I conclude what’s going on, but either way I’m grateful for it.

Currently cooking dinner, some kind of jury-rigged soup that I don’t fucking know anything about. A post will come later about the process of cooking that and how it tastes. Hopefully good, or I swear I’ll murder those kidney beans.

And so it begins

If I wait until January comes around again, I’ll chicken out. Hell, if I wait the 29 days until 8 August, I’ll chicken out. I’m starting today, 10 July, 2018 because waiting is the worst part.

The first items rationed were bacon/ham, butter, and sugar on 8 January, 1940. I was unable to find dates for margarine, cooking fats, milk, and the points system, so I’ll start on those today also.

Bacon/ham: 6 oz. In April, 1945 the ration was actually 4 oz but I’m trash and adore bacon too much to do that to myself. The highest recorded ration of bacon/ham for regular civilians was 8 oz but that would feel like cheating, so I split the difference.

Butter/margarine: 8 oz. I hate the idea of buying two different products for the same damn thing, so I’m lumping the two together into the butter ration. Like the bacon/ham ration it’s higher than the minimum (6 oz combined) but lower than the maximum (1 lb, 4 oz combined).

Sugar: 8 oz, as per the chart on Wikipedia.

Milk: 4 pints. The fresh ration was 3 for the average person, but a packet of powdered household milk was provided every eight weeks or so that equaled out to an extra pint each week. I don’t know where I would get milk powder and have no patience for it, so I’m playing pretend.

Cooking fat: 2 oz. For me that means liquid ounces, since I don’t really make sweets and any other cooking I use olive oil on. If that changes at any point, I’ll put a note in that for that certain ration I got oleo instead or whatever.

20 ration points/mo. Those could go for a good many things, and most of the specifics aren’t known, beyond a can of fish, 2 lbs dried fruit (when those go on ration later), or 8 lbs dried peas. I’ll take that to mean processed food in general, 10-20 points per item depending on what it is.

All the fresh fruit and veg I want. I’m not limiting myself to the kinds available then and there, but I’m not allowing any prepackaged stuff either. Sorry prepared Caesar salad, I’ll miss you too.

Looking at the small amounts of all the good stuff (bacon, I’m looking at you) makes me a little nervous. I know I won’t go hungry thanks to the unlimited allowance of fresh fruit and veg, but it makes me instinctively antsy to be limited. At the same time I’m laughing at myself because oh, this is barely the tip of the rationing iceberg…

People often spent their work breaks at places called British restaurants, basically cheap canteens serving nutritious food. Eating didn’t require ration coupons but the courses and prices were limited. I’m taking that to mean that when I go out with friends, I pick the smaller quantity and if possible a healthier option.

There will be a lot of cooking though, since I don’t work outside the home. The lack of prepackaged foods available back then compared to now are what makes the fats and sugar rationing so hard. If you’re making everything from scratch, you’ll want to use a lot of both. Too bad that’s not an option under rationing. 

Here’s to Day 1!

(This post was copied from my Tumblr on 10th July, 2018.)

A brief introduction

I’ve always been fascinated by WWII, but only recently found myself enamored with the British homefront. It’s a shame that I wasted so many years thinking of it as boring, when there were all kinds of things going on. Air raids, the uncertainty of if there would even be a future, and last but certainly not least, changes in cookery.

Every aspect of your life is connected to what you eat. It can make you sick or help your health, be an emotional crutch, or any number of other things. 

I’ve heard it said that the public hadn’t been so healthy before the rationing, or since. The history and being a writer of WWII era fiction is what brought the idea to mind, and questions of health made me really curious. What would happen if I followed the guidelines of those rations?

There are undoubtedly going to be a lot of changes due to modern appliances, availability of fruit and veg, and the internet being full of recipes from cuisines around the world. Ingredients have changed a great deal even down to the types and textures of flour available to the modern consumer. Not to mention my weakness for foods that weren’t available to the readers of Marguerite Patton, OBE, like taco shells and dragonfruit. 

Where there are similarities between foods (flour quesadillas and bread, for example) or those I can categorize (mochi as sweets) then I will. Some foods I’ve seen mentioned as being rationed at some point but not the amounts or any dates, like rice. I’ve done my best to guess and approximate in these cases.

I’m going to follow the timeline as closely as I can as to when things went on and off the ration. If I can’t find an exact date, then I’ll use the beginning of the indicated month. Or year, in the case of sausage. Yes, I’m expanding this over the course of the full fourteen years rationing lasted. (Or at least that’s the plan.)

Amounts would grow or shrink depending on variability so I’ve decided to use the amounts from April, 1945 as found on Wikipedia.

The first items on ration were bacon/ham, butter, and sugar. I wasn’t able to find reliable dates for the beginning of cooking fat, margarine, milk, or the points system, so I’ll assume that started right in the beginning. For me, that’ll be 10th July, 2018. Tomorrow.

I already know I’ll call myself crazy, others will call me crazy, and my husband will drive me up the fucking wall. But that’s alright. It’ll be worth it.

(This was copied from my Tumblr on 10th July, 2018.)