I slip easily into another fantasy food daydream involving cheese, fresh vegetables and herbs. I miss my full fridge. A wave of guilt breaks my trance as I know that in just over a fortnight I will be back in my clean kitchen, with its smooth worktops and full, rat-free cupboards. I look into the shadow of a wobbly, leaning hut. A ragged mat covers the floor and smoke seeps through the walls. If I had to stay here forever and live like this, how would I feel? I'm having trouble facing the same bland food for just a few weeks and I'm living it up compared with the locals. I normally enjoy food and it's hard to imagine eating unpleasant, unappetising things just because you need the energy and then maybe still feeling hungry, or not getting all the nutrients you need.
I slightly alarm myself with my preoccupation with all things edible. I try to put it down to some kind of survival instinct but the reality is I'm obsessed with food. It's the one thing that would stop me staying here for a whole year. I shouldn't admit to it, it should be something far more noble, like how much I would miss friends and family. I'm ashamed to say that the thought of rice every meal from that shabby pot, that would be the real test.
I slightly alarm myself with my preoccupation with all things edible. I try to put it down to some kind of survival instinct but the reality is I'm obsessed with food. It's the one thing that would stop me staying here for a whole year. I shouldn't admit to it, it should be something far more noble, like how much I would miss friends and family. I'm ashamed to say that the thought of rice every meal from that shabby pot, that would be the real test.
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