It’s no secret that food can transport you to another time.
Sitting around the table with family.
Eating that one amazing funnel cake at the county fair.
Baking with a grandmother during youth.
But what about food associations with not-so-great memories?
Because that’s my relationship with tofu. I’m no a hater. I’ve loved the stuff for years. Even though I’ve made some of the worst batches of tofu in the world, I still crave the good stuff.
But, here’s the sore spot. When I used to think, see or dream of tofu (in any form): a person popped into my brain. This was a person I don’t want to see. A former relationship that’s long dead in the water. It all kept going back to him.
I didn’t think I could make tofu as well as he did.
I didn’t think I had the same sort of patience as he did.
I knew I wasn’t him, and I knew I ate his tofu all the time.
The link to tofu in my brain was all wrapped up in that person, and I thought: This needs to stop. I needed to perform some serious image therapy on myself and stop linking food I loved with someone who made me feel such incredible pain. So the other night, I did just that. And the result was well worth it.
I made my own barbeque marinade.
I pressed my own tofu blocks.
I cut my own tofu the way I wanted.
I asked my own roommate to put this in the oven, so a meal would be ready upon arrival.
I prepared, crEATed and enjoyed this meal by myself in my own way. And it was the best tofu I’ve eaten in years.