Embracing comfort and convenience isn't a crime

An under the weather menu

Photo by Odiseo Castrejon on Unsplash

If ever there was a demonstration of the peaks and troughs of freelance life it’s the last several weeks. After months of travel that took in Sydney, Adelaide, the UK and Copenhagen I returned home to the expectation of hitting the ground running on everything from a bit of a health kick (to shift the inevitable kilos I’d gained on my travels) to large creative projects. It didn’t quite go to plan.

Weeks of persistent illness were finally stemmed by what I can only describe as a shitload of pharmaceuticals when I finally admitted (to myself) that it wouldn’t just right itself. I don’t shun medical science more a thought of not wanting to “be a bother.” COVID tests were taken and proved negative, the opinion (mainly mine) was that things had caught up with me and as the weather has grown colder and the rains have come, it’s my seasonal dose of reality.

There’s never a shortage of advice on what you should be eating when you’re ill. Large amounts of turmeric said more than one friend, fire cider said another (of the tonic that’s packed with apple cider vinegar, garlic, ginger, turmeric and whatever else you want to throw at it). Make a chicken soup said most. I did none of these things. Instead I retreated to comfort and convenience.

I did find a few portions of chicken soup I’d made a few months ago and frozen for future me. That was yesterday, just as I felt that I’d fully turned a corner. I hadn’t delved into the freezer because to be honest I’m not usually so domestically minded to think that far ahead. I returned them for a moment when I need them and remember that they’re there. Chicken was on the menu in some form. There were chicken Twisties (doubtless the cheese Twistie purists will now come for me) for pure comfort.

And then there’s the “bachelors handbag,” a hot roasted free range bird from the supermarket that a few years ago I’d have doubtless turned my nose up at. That’s probably a discussion for another day. When there is no will to cook, little energy, then sometimes you just need to feel the embrace of convenience. It’s not a failure I tell myself. I’d break the hot chicken down and obviously a wing has to be immediately sacrificed (and maybe a scrap of skin) before a breast is served with salad either very simply thrown together or from a bag. I’m not a fan of bagged salad but I do find myself picking up those reduced to clear with a logic of waste not want not. I’ll eventually pick the chicken down, mix the smaller shreds with leftover salad and add a little yoghurt (which I always seem to have in favour of mayo) for a go to sandwich mix, or a one-minute meal if you will.

Pots of the multipurpose sauce I think I’ve written about before make an appearance. Lots of vegetables, garlic, beans, maybe a bit of beef, and a jar of passata. A case of what I’ve got or what I can remember to buy. I stood in the aisle at the local IGA a few weeks ago scanning the shelves, sure I’d forgotten something but unable to put my finger on it. It was the beans. I was stood next to them, but walked out beanless. The beauty of the big pot of stuff as we’ll also call it, is that I don’t need to think; a case of chop, fry, simmer. It can be ladled over corn chips - quick and textural. It can be reheated the next day and with the addition of water and risoni take on a new form that feels virtuous as is and decadent with the addition of a cloud of Parmesan. It can, as it dwindles to its last small serve be packed between two slices of soft white bread with cheese and become a toastie best served with whatever the latest streaming binge is.

I live and write on Wadandi Boodja, home to the Wadandi people, Traditional Owners of this corner of south west Australia. Saltwater people, their connection to land and sea is deep, and continuous. I acknowledge their elders past, present and emerging.