Thursday, March 20, 2008

Craving Filth

My Name is Nicole, and I'm an emotional eater. Have I mentioned this before? Well, admitting it wasn't enough to change my ways. When I get stressed out a chocolate strawberry square from the Nugget will do the trick. Why don't we just wash that down with some champagne. When I get nervous, no problem, lets whip up some salmon fettuccine with that creamy, garlicky, fragrant, flavorful sauce, and a nice green salad. When I get lonely, soul food, any kind, fried chicken, macaroni and cheese, greens, black eyed peas, etc. Depending upon how lonely I am (chic-a-bow-wow), we can follow all that with any kind of decadent dessert and wash it down with at least two mimosas. This describes my self soothing in a nutshell. I justify the behavior by telling myself that I have the right to be satisfied every once in a while and that since the world seems adamant on keeping me struggling I'm not going to hold MYSELF back from having what I want need and deserve. Visits with my 200 lb plus cousins don't even seem slow me down.

No, I'm not trying to catch up with them, and I know I need to slow down and exercise more. Knowing this doesn't change the fact that I am still an emotional eater. But what I don't understand is why I'm craving chilin's.

Chitlins or chitterlings are pig intestines, poop chutes people! Preparing them can be tricky, and it takes a lot of patience and work. My cousin and I used to have to stand in front of the sink for half the day separating the final membrane from the fleshy part that we would later be scooping onto our plates. African Americans first started eating chitterlings because as slaves we were given what was left over from the hog (i.e. cheeks (hog mog/maw?), feet (pickled pigs feet)). I'm a firm believer in African Americans shedding behaviors instilled by slavery, mentally and physically. So, why is it then that I am still craving chittlins which I am sure have no nutritional value. I haven't had them for years .

Could it be something emotional, or something still engraved in me from slavery. If it is emotion, which emotion am I trying to soothe? Why am I craving filth?!?!

I will buy 10 pounds this evening and bring them to our Easter feast.

6 comments:

Nik said...

When I saw this picture, I was like, "Is that a plate of chitlins I see before me?" *lol*

Girl, I used to love cleaning chitlins when I was a kid. My mother would let me clean them, then she'd clean them again after me. I haven't had them in a loooong time.

Two Cables and a Frapp said...

You've done it, you've made chitlins look beautiful !!! Very nice post !!!

Pajnstl said...

oh girl, all you did was make me hungry!

Crochet Goddess said...

Okay I have never cleaned chitlins. I used to watch my mother and my grandmother clean them and this is the one thing I only eat if someone in the family has prepared. I eat them my sister does not and I must admit I really enjoy. I also eat hog maws (stomach).

Lisa said...

I've heard of chitlins but never saw them before. Interesting... Here we have a delicacy called pudding and souse where the pig intestines are stuffed with a mixture of sweetpotatoes, seasonings and other things (some people put in pig blood too) and steamed. It is served with pickled pig ears, snouts, trotter, tongue - you name it. That's one dish from our slave ancestors that Barbadians are reluctant to give up! If it's done well it tastes sooo good (not the blood one tho').

Also, I wanted to thank you for stopping by the blog the other day - thanks for your encouragement - I'm alot better now... just psyching myself up for hubby's short trip.

Enjoy the chitlins!

NikkiJ said...

Well, the chitlins were a hit. They said they were better than my aunt's and she's the Queen Chef so this is really an honor, I guess. When I first cracked open that red bucket, I took in a big breath, ahhhhh. So many memories flooded back in. Maybe this is what I needed. And oh, there are 14 g of fat and 6% DRV iron per serving. I had to actually get 20 lbs so I think I'm cool for another few years.