So by now you are aware that I had an intensely wonderful weekend bookended by intensely shitty travel experiences. But I didn't write about food!
Food and travel are never easy. The summer after I was diagnosed, I went to Florida with my family. I was horror-struck that I would be sitting immobile for eighteen hours (we drive to Florida), eating gas-station food and Wendy's the whole way down. I hid food, I threw food away, I fought to have as little on my plate as possible. My routine, my preciously guarded routine, was disassembled.
You can probably guess that this weekend was immeasurably better. Jim has been a big help to me as I've dealt with my recent stomach issues, and I promised him that I wouldn't restrict or freak out about food while I was in D.C. And I didn't. Vanilla-creme Pirouette cookies? Ate 'em. Rose champagne that tasted like jelly? Drank it. Crab quesadillas, cocktails, wine, cheese? Done, done, and done (I had my first appletini, guv'na!). On Saturday we went to Skewers for lunch, where we had an appetizer sampler, entrees, and desserts. I walked out of there like a pregnant bear, but I didn't berate myself for hours afterward. That night we were going to cook something - the suite had a kitchenette - but Whole Foods was full of Dupont-Circle hipsters doing the same thing, so we wandered to this little hole-in-the-wall Ethiopian place. The lamb dish was okay, but the bread you use to scoop it up - think a big, softy, pleasantly spongy crepe. And then on Sunday we went to breakfast. I ordered a bigass omelet and ate the whole thing, plus the toast on the side.
What's gotten into me? My guts are a little grumbly today - I'm making some baked tofu at the moment, but I'll probably save most of it for dinner and have some yogurt for lunch. I'm not hideously hungry... but maybe some broccoli will do me good. But I'm magnificently proud of the adventurous eating I did.