So one of my ...resolutions, I suppose, this year was a two-fold one.  To stop eating out so damned often, and to eat healthier.  This has proven more problematic than it sounds for a whole bunch of reasons (excuses). 

For one thing, I've sort of forgotten how to cook.  Which I partly blame Thomas Seay for--a great roommate who cooked awesome food, thereby removing any need I had to even enter the kitchen.  Multiple years later and I still wander into the kitchen around meal times and feel surprised that there is not a boy making homemade croissants or pretzels or searing steaks or dredging chicken.  And partly because all the things I know how to reliably cook are either fat-heavy or portioned to feed an army or both.  Chili for 20?  I can do that.  Biscuits and chicken gravy for ten?  I'm your girl.  Make a meal for myself without wanting a week's worth of leftovers, and might incorporate a vegetable or three?  Um.... Next question, please?

For another thing, I spend a lot of writing time trying to get out of the house and write someplace less personally distracting, which usually translates to a restaurant/coffee shop of some sort.  And then there's the whole absent-minded writer thing.  If I do stay at home, I'm likely to wander out of the study, down the stairs, into the kitchen and grab whatever doesn't fight back.  Usually cheese and crackers, or a PB sandwich--which isn't terrible for one meal, but when it's your fourth meal running? 

I guess my rambling point comes to this.  Today, I took leftover roast beef from the fridge, sauteed some onion and green pepper, toasted a baguette, found some gouda, and made myself a homemade cheesesteak.  I am ridiculously proud of myself.  Is it healthy?  No, but it is healthIER.  I controlled the ingredients, left off sauces and excess fats and salts.   Is it great cooking?  No, but it's a start.   I have successfully applied heat to my food. 

And best of all, it's tasty.