Personal Time Please

R&R at home. Alone.

Today is New Years Day, and I'm burnt out. I'd like to spend today in bed, surfing the web, watching Bravo and eating a smorgasbord of delicious food, starting with a glazed donut, moving on to nachos, and then a milk shake. The inevitable food coma would settle in, and I'd take a nap. It should be a Garfield day, but were making the most of it. Noshing while watching cartoons. I can't actually drift off to sleep because George is in his big boy underwear, and he would roam off and poo poo in the corner of his bedroom.

What I've learned from this holiday season: foodie culture is for fucking boring people. I listened to someone drone on about how a cold pressed juice is the ticket to their daily happiness, and I felt sorry for them and then angry for making me listen to their dumb story about cold-pressed juice. I felt like shouting, "Really, this is the story you're telling right now? This is the type of shit you find interesting!? You make me want to fucking kill you right now after wasting five minutes of my life with juice praise!"

I finished the book Kitchens of the Great Midwest a while ago. I didn't review it yet because I needed time to think it over. I could tell the book was written by a man from reading the female narratives, which aside from Eva, are all neurotics consumed with female competition. This could have been why his pen name was not gender specific, just the first initial in place of the first name. If you judge this book by it's cover, it looks like chick-lit, perhaps it was best to have the author possibly be female because, not surprisingly, chicks write chick-lit better.
Also, I was unable to fully link all the characters together through their seven degrees of separation, and by the time the lady who makes peanut butter bars' full blood son, with a Swedish name, was introduced I didn't care enough to go back and find the link between him and Eva. 

In the end, Eva turns out to be a mastermind, who has been plotting her entire career and successes in hopes of making her mother regret abandoning her as a baby. There were a lot of unanswered questions, or perhaps I didn't notice the answers. Firstly, what the hell was the point of going to New Mexico? Did she want her first boyfriend to regret being shitty to his step-mom, and how did she know he was a shitty stepson? The unbridged gaps were huge, making the stories incomplete. 

Aside from the story, the book is informative about food. Anyone looking to sound like an annoying food snob should read this book because it could expand their knowledge to unbearable depths. 

This book, and rambling douchebags in 2015, left me burnt out on food culture. I like good food, but I don't like people who talk about it like they're professional and progressive chefs, and in the case they actually are producers rather than consumers, then I'm all ears. Foodie culture has gone mad and, like me, needs to take some personal time.
Here's to 2016 being successful, happy and to food snobs taking a much needed chill-pill. Cheers! *two mason jars of small-batch home brew cider clank*
*eye roll, pops a Coors*