I'm not really that phenomenal a chef, so when I run into something that makes tasty food without much requirement for skill and experience, I definitely take note. One such masterpiece of modern engineering, is apparently, our pressure cooker.
The thing about pressure cookers is that they keep, well, everything, locked up inside. All the heat, all the steam, all the food, is trapped inside, and things not only heat up, but get squeezed quite exceptionally by the pressure. Apparently, water boils somewhere past 400F inside that pot. The results, after a few minutes, are quite delicious, and I highly recommend you try one.
But food isn't the only thing in the pressure cooker, it would seem. I'm not sure when the analogy struck me, but I feel very similar to my carrots last night. There is an often-overwhelming pressure to present myself as the square-bodied, rough-chinned girl that I am. How I would love to go on those fascinating hormones, and let my body work its way into a slightly better, slightly curvier, (and hopefully less stubbly) shape.
But all that pressure has a lid on it. A tight, intentionally pressure-proof lid built out of the last 30-some years of my life. The painful knowledge of the consequences of opening that lid are blisteringly clear. In a very similar, though much less humorous way, coming out (especially given my family and friends), would mirror very well the explosion of steam and carrots which might have painted my kitchen a soggy, steamy orange, had I removed the lid.
I'm not sure the carrots would have been so happy to be "free" when they had been splattered, heart and soul, across the appliances. How similar I feel, knowing just how similarly splattered myself, and my darling wife would be in the analogous life of "freedom."
So again, back to the same old, lidded life I come. Unwilling to blow the lid, barely able to survive the internal pressure and temperature, but knowing that somehow, I must.
Much Love,
-Hailey-
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