the mock-up.

As the past 20 or so entries here show, I've recently changed the way I eat and cook and generally think about food. Call it succumbing to trends; call it procrastination; call it being seduced into local eating by Kristi and Darry's blog, which consistently makes me hungry for free-range things. Whatever you call it, it's been enjoyable.

As revolutionary as my new diet is, though, there are some days when it just doesn't cut it.

This morning I had a moderate-sized meltdown in my thesis advisor's office. It's a long story that's not worth rehashing. Suffice it to say that it involved blowing my sodden nose on many Dunkin' Donuts napkins and generally feeling like an academic fraud who would better be suited sweeping the library floors. It's hard to bounce back from something like that.

I walked the long way to the T station, and didn't feel better. I listened to my iPod, and didn't feel better. What I did feel, besides miserable, was... hungry. It was 1pm, after all. So I contemplated eating something. The last-of-the-season local strawberries in my fridge? A sandwich from the Copley farmer's market? Something mysterious and carb-filled from Dave's Fresh Pasta? Nothing sounded appealing, until I realized what I wanted.

When I got off the T, I detoured down Highland and made a beeline for the Italian grocery store in Davis. I ordered a prosciutto and provolone with tomatoes, oregano, and olive oil on a chewy, flour-dusted bulkie roll. I grabbed a bag of Utz chips. And before I even started eating the sandwich, things seemed okay again. There was something about the language of ordering, and the accent of the girl behind the counter, and the sights and smells of the shop (imported pasta and vinegar and artichoke hearts and freshly baked bread all crammed into every available corner), and knowing exactly what I was going to get because it's the same sandwich I've been getting from Italian groceries since I was five years old. J&M's, Pace's, De Palma's -- the place changes, but the ritual, and the end result, are blissfully the same.

I sat at my desk and ate my lunch while I chatted with Laura (a world away, getting ready for bed as I steeled myself for the rest of the day), and tried to put things in perspective. I don't think I succeeded. But I felt a lot better.

Homemade hummus and free-range eggs can be wonderful. But sometimes, the best comfort food is what you've been eating all along.