I have a new box. It is a fashionable type of box – possibly the most fashionable kind you can get without surgery. It arrives once a week, and contains fruit, vegetables, and approximately 18 metric tons of middle-classness, as far as I can work out.
Yes, I’ve got an organic box (0898…). I was always assuring my Little Mother that yes, I was eating all the fruit and vegetables I could possibly stomach and oh, yes, if I had the choice I would be getting an organic box, but oh, no, all the commuting meant I couldn’t.
And then I stopped commuting. So on Friday morning, a nice man knocks on the door and he hands me a box, and I hand him a flattened box, and we smile and we nod, and then he buggers off again, and I take my box and bring it inside and look at it for a while and decide not to open it for now, because I made that mistake last week, and was suddenly confronted with a bit of an anticlimax. Or ‘some vegetables’.
Some vegetables AND a bit of an anticlimax.
So, all the rumours I’ve heard turn out to be true. Getting a “Locally-sourced blah blah blah something something box” (TM) basically involves getting some of the vegetables you might normally buy, if given the choice, and some other boxes, that you never buy (or, in my case, have never heard of) and they’re not bad looking, but filthy – all covered in dirt, oh the inconvenience, damn them, what do they think we’re going to do, wash them etc.
This week, my box was particularly exciting – unlike last week, when my box was quite fruity – as it contained several things I quite literally could not identify. By Saturday night I was desperate, and was sending my first-ever picture texts to friends, begging for them to explain what this THING was. “It’s the size of a baby’s head. But solid. And nubbly. I think I may have discovered a vegetable. Or the decapitated head of a tiny mutant child. Pls help me.”
Sadly, I hadn’t. I held in my hand, we eventually discovered, some celeriac, which I had eaten, mashed, but never seen (not an adventurous eater, traditionally. I’m working on that). I had to send a follow up text asking ‘what the stuff that looks like celery might be, then?’ – only to be told that it was probably celery.
And discover one despicable Bloody Mary later that it was fennel.
Still, I’m quite proud of myself, because this I’m finding a new kind of productive to work through sad-holes, because my god, but I’m utilising my box (0898…)
Today, heh-hem, I made Soup, which was lovely and winterish, if eye-wateringly peppery due to a miscalculation and gruel-foolingly lumpy due to a lack of one of those electric blendy things. And also, also – my friends – I made muffins.
I made Courgette Muffins (some may call’em Zucchini, whatevs: as long as you can make muffins out of them, who cares).
And so it begins. I’m quite pleased with my new plan of ‘Finding Some Random Recipe On The Internet’ (which clearly plays second fiddle to the ‘Naming the Vegetables Filling My Box’ plan (0898) which, I’m guessing, is often going to come first by necessity) so I may document some of my variable triumphs here.
Don’t worry, I’m not going to become a bakey-blogger. Because mainly, I still can’t really cook.
But for as long as this weekly-box stubborness pervades, I’ll try and note down some of the nicer things I’ve managed to badly make.
Now. What the fuck am i meant to do with pears. Are there pears? Well whatever. If they are, what the fuck am I supposed to do with them?