chunks of flommus
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a food story

I’d like to talk about food, and eating.

Right now I eat mostly vegan, with the occasional exception of eggs. This was not always the case, and I still remember the way that bulgogi taste and the texture of well cooked chicken. However, no I wouldn’t consider eating it because I think the thing is dead and wouldn’t want to eat things I had not killed myself.

I’ll back up.

These things start in a rather ironic place. I was living in a hippie commune in northern California for awhile. It was called the Domes and we lived in houses that were geodesic domes built in the 1970s. During this period of my life I learned a lot about what it was like to be a part of a group since there were 13 of us. One aspect of living was that we had evening meals, and could always have the option of eating together. Each of us had a cook night – which we shared with one or two other Domies.

I had no idea how to cook at the time. Growing up, my mom was really uninterested in cooking and I ate a lot of ramen and easy mac. I realized later I had lactose intolerance which could’ve explained why I was moody a lot during high school.

Anyway, at these dinners I pulled together whatever I could on a very limited budget and skill set – sometimes making tiny sandwiches, chicken nuggets, what ever I could manage. The problem was, a lot of the people there were vegan or vegetarian. This meant that the food I ate couldn’t nurture them, and I didn’t really get what it was to not eat meat or dairy back then. I had no idea what they would eat … I started making different types of pasta with tomato sauce.

One person in the domes had parents who were from India and every week he made amazing curries. I asked him for help with cooking and he gave me some advice about how to season things. He also played the banjo, the flute and I developed some type of admiration for this person. Around this time, the dome mate I was living with was seriously depressed and smoking weed constantly. She had not ever unpacked the boxes from when we first moved in and some were packed with dirty dishes.

I dealt with this poorly, and became really anxious. I did not properly support my house mate because I was having really bad mental health in a reaction to the mess … and her cats peeing in my bed.

Since my dome mate was African American, the community interpreted my anger and anxiety as racism and decided I did not belong in the Domes. They kicked me out and for a few days I was homeless. Just prior to this time, a former Domie came back and helped out on one of our work days.

He was living in a city nearby but loved the community so he came to visit. We became close friends quickly, and when I mentioned that I had no place to stay – he told me I could stay with him for a few weeks. That semester I had to take a leave of absence from college, to get myself back in order.

When staying with my friend, he taught me how to properly cook. We went over how long to cook each vegetable, I learned how to make beans, rice and all of these basic things my mother never showed me.

He even took me along to the gym and showed me how to work out, so I would be less anxious.

It’s one of the times in my life where the universe has completely saved me.

When I went back to UCDavis the following semester, it was really difficult to find a place to live. By complete coincidence – I was drinking at an Irish pub on valentine’s day – and I struck up a conversation with a well off couple who lived in a nearby city. They said I could rent their guest room. This eventually became me living in their trailer outside, but they were kind to offer it.

About food.

During that semester I developed a bit of a fascination with the aforementioned Indian boy from the Domes. Before this I had not really exercised, but he taught me how to run. When it became summer he traveled off to Canada to lead boy scouts on extensive treks through the wilderness, I sent an octopus along with him.

That summer, three years ago, I was really focused on personal empowerment and trying to become a better version of myself. I sort of wanted to be more like my friend, who appreciated nature, knew how to cook, and played music.

As part of his religion, he’d never eaten meat in his life and I decided to try going vegetarian for a month to see if I could do it. I started thinking about what it meant to eat meat.

I survived that month, and the next year on Taco Bell’s 7 layer burritos. They had no meat, or cheese and were enough nutrients so that I did not faint.

This was a bit of a challenge because I decided that in order to stop thinking about him I would run 100 miles, and then be fine.

So I did. I got a job at a wilderness survival camp, and lived in a hammock on the side of a mountain for three weeks. While there I also met someone who changed my life, but that’s another story.

After I moved to Germany, things were a bit more difficult. Instead of having a kitchen I was living in a Buddhist Dojo and had only a hot plate with two eyes on it. This was a bit rough, and I made a lot of simple meals with rice and vegetables. Nowadays, one of my closest friends is vegan and loves to cook.

He’s been showing me how to treat tofu. Technically there are a lot of vegan options in Berlin, especially in the neighborhood I am in now that I’ve left the Dojo. I now live in a Tower above a kindergarten.

Here I have a stove and an oven. I sometimes still struggle with eating enough because it is not always easy to decide what to cook when one is super hungry, it’s difficult to think straight. Sometimes I get to this point, but I’m trying to be better about giving myself snacks, especially ones that don’t contain sugar.

I kept at the whole vegetarian thing because I began thinking about what it would be like for me to really kill something. Would I be able to cut off the head of a chicken, have my hands covered in its warm blood as it spasms its last movements? While I feel myself theoretically capable of this, I still think taking the life of something alive is something quite similar to murder. I do not want to murder my fellow humans, or atleast I do not want to allow myself to murder people – I should not be complacent in the murder of animals.

Here in Germany the word for meat is “Fleisch” – which seems a more accurate representation.