I miss the comfort of my own food. After two weeks on the road, I have eaten it all. Overcooked pasta in bland sauce, and five-star hotel meaks with several courses and artistically scattered herbs. Fresh fruit juices with extra sugar, and dinners consisting of cookies and a bottle of water. Countless sandwiches on the go and more little boxes of airplane food than I care to admit. So much sugar, so much fat, so many carbs. My body is riding a roller coaster of highs and lows and slumps.
I miss my simple food from home. Porridge in the morning, just milk and oats and warmth. Stir-fries in the evening, with big piles of fresh vegetables, aldente rice and some soy sauce on top. Crunchy salads with fesh lemon juice. I miss the process of chopping and stirring and waiting. I miss the structure food gives to my life.