When it comes to writing articles, I always wait for the moment where I am incredibly genuine about my words—and sometimes that takes a while, a long while, as I dislike the idea of overthinking—again, my philosophy of innate writers is a clear indication of my writing struggle (or motto). But when the idea does in fact arrive, I instantly think of Gru from Despicable Me— “Lightbulb!” indisputably, it becomes clear.
Today, that happened. I woke up and brewed my fresh cup of coffee and I clicked to watch a new episode of MasterChef Australia, as my natural morning routine requires. If North Americans follow the show, we then could collectively agree that the show endeavors incredible heart and soul. It is unlike any other Canadian or American cooking contest, it alludes on and on and sinks right through your very core of love for food. And after sixty-four 90-minute-long episodes, tearing up during the finale is an obviously expected emotion. But 30 minutes into the 120-minute finale, it daunts on me, the question of authenticity.
How much do we care about the origin of our food?—that means, where it is grown, by whom, and how it is processed and brought to us. I previously blogged my thoughts on the organic bandwagon, and how hopping on wasn’t my way of conforming to pop cultures’ conventional ideology of food—you know, the Instagram philosophy of what is hot or not in food, like this generation (mine, yours, younger, and future) is in need of yet another hurdle of contaminated thoughts of what, where, and how to consume yours and my food (with the added pressure of paying attention to your figure, of course). No, my curiosity over the roots of my food began when I started watching shows like Masterchef (America, Canada, and Australia) and all the homemade dressing and ice cream I could be making, instead of buying. I enjoyed immensely the segments where the farmers were featured, or when the contestants were told to harvest their own food for the menu. I love both the subtleness and rawness about food. I began frequenting farmer’s markets’ more, or buying local—subconsciously, I think, my feet are taking me towards rooted awareness. The thought of searching for clarity should be celebrated more, not just regarding food —societys’ production and hobbies, and our treatment of people and animals.
So, I am at the coffee shop now doing what I only labeled it as an “unkept-promise-to-myself” in the previous post, sitting, writing, exploring the question I asked myself this morning—perhaps for an article, or perhaps just for awareness.
Pineapple Avocado Salad
I made this salad for a BBQ with friends, and it was nothing short of spectacular. I took this recipe off Pinterest and I will add the link below. It is incredibly light, fresh, and delicious. Enjoy 🙂
Total time: 10 minutes
Lessons Learned: I wish I took better (and more) quality photographs of this salad.