I have an unusual kind of temper. Little things will send me into a cursing, maniacal rage, while things that should make me blood-boilingly angry make me quiet and patient and determined.
Last night, the meal I was cooking dripped oil onto the bottom of the oven and filled the house up with smoke, and I wasn’t mildly annoyed about having to open the windows and fan it out, I was livid. How dare the pan drip oil? How dare that oil burn and smoke? How dare such things impede my dinner?
(I had to stop and clean the oven midway through cooking and, somehow, the meal came out better than if I had simply cooked it normally. Still angry about it, though.)
People who don’t know me well tend to think that I’m quiet and nice and never swear. In fact, I’m chatty, I enjoy swearing enough to blister your ears, and I’m at least ninety percent powered by rage. I’m a volatile mixture in a misleading package, and my god do I have emotions to spare.
So, here’s a drabble.
!["[Food] is how we care for and nourish ourselves, each other, and our communities."
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There are many terrible things about this pandemic. One of the ones I'm struggling with the most is that it's not safe for me to see friends, and therefore it's not safe for me to cook for them or eat with them. Going out for coffee or dinner is one of my favorite things to do with friends, along with cooking and playing games in person. We're staying connected as best we can, but eating chips and salsa over Discord just isn't the same as eating them together.
The Corners of Their Mouth is a queer food zine, exploring some of the relationships queer folks have with food. It begins with a question: what is the queerest food? Many answers are provided by a variety of people, including nachos, cocoa, figs, pancakes and honey, and rainbow goldfish. I think mango is my answer, but "queer food," to me, is anything cooked by or for my friends. Queer food is us gathered in the kitchen, me cussing as I screw up our Friendsgiving turkey for the sixth year in a row. Queer food is us dropping spinach dip all over my Gloom cards. Queer food is the ramen we made the last time we hung out together before the pandemic, when I was sick and we all hoped it wouldn't be the last time this year we'd get to interact in person.
But right, the zine. It's very good. The Corners of Their Mouth Press do a wonderful job of putting together thought-provoking content on queerness and living with great sensitivity. It's not just about showcasing queer life; it's about caring for it, nurturing it, letting it blossom in its own unique way. If you come upon one of their zines, pick them up, read them. They're lovely and strong things.
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