It is 9:42 pm and the smell of breakfast bacon and maple meatballs is wafting through the air. Usually I do not cook this late at night because I have an avid Netflix habit that occupies most of my attention at this hour. The HEB parking lot in Odessa Texas was freaking packed at 1:30 pm when I originally wanted to get my shopping done. So after cussing like a sailor I went home and decided to be domestic because the laundry needed to get done. All the laundry. Since getting hitched I think my beloved has forgotten how the washing machine and dryer work.
Thankfully, HEB wasn't a total nightmare around 6:30 when I decided to be brave and venture out in search of food. Steven innocently suggested we do grocery shopping on Sunday and order pizza. Hell no my determination to eat paleo and feel better was not about to waver. Not even for extra cheese and pepperoni which can almost always make me weak in the knees.
I always forget how much I genuinely like cooking until my hands are deep in the muck of a meatball concoction. It's like yoga in that I experience several small changes within myself while cooking. My breathing slows, my posture becomes perfect, and any stress simply melts away as I delve into a list of ingredients. I feel a great sense of accomplishment when I can whip up a meal, any meal. My grandmother was constantly in the kitchen before her death and those memories of cooking with her have stayed with me till this day.
The recipe and pictures of the yummy meatballs currently in the oven will be in the next blog post.
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