sunday roundup

lunchtime, baby

I’ve had one of those weeks where it feels like the universe is screaming at me to sit up and pay attention. This time, it’s screaming about food, about what and how I eat and how much control I actually have over that. And it’s screaming about my time and how, in the twenty-first century, my downtime represents profit opportunities for megacorps who would prefer I didn’t have any control over my time or food and devoted myself to making their shareholders richer than they already are (strap in, this is going to be one of those posts).

Two things: firstly, if food is a triggering topic for you, don’t read this. It will be triggering for you. Secondly, this post is written from the point of view of someone extremely lucky and privileged, in multiple ways, to have the autonomy to shop, cook and eat the way I do. The fact I have ways to actively rebel against what megacorps would prefer means I’m absolutely hyper-privileged, and I know that. But if you think that reading about someone else’s privileged take on food and eating and rebellion might be triggering for you in any way, don’t read this. It will be triggering for you.

Everyone else, let’s do this.