Man, it was good. So good, that it was my entire dinner. I scarfed down the entire bowl with pita chips and called it a night.
Anyone who knows me knows that I love hors-devours. The only thing I love more than hors-devours before dinner is hors-devours for dinner itself. (I say hors-devours instead of appetizers for the sheer pleasure of incorrectly pronouncing it like whores-devores.)
Anyone who knows me also knows that I also love roasted vegetables, specifically brussels sprouts. I crave vegetables more than I crave pizza. But I also cave to mounds of peanut butter and consume a generous amount of alcohol and random drunk eats. So, I'm not thin, but during the weekdays, I seem like the perfect picture of health.
Freshman year, I had more than one person ask me if I was vegan or vegetarian. I always had fruits and vegetables on my plate. This past year, people asked the same question. But instead of fruits and vegetables, I always had hummus and vegetables on my plate. I'm not vegan or vegetarian, but with my dining hall eating habits, I can easily go a week and realize that I've accidentally turned into a herbivore ignorant of the wonders of pasteurization like a Brachiosaurus or something.
I love cheese and meat. I could easily go to the sandwich line and get a wrap with turkey, cheddar, tomato, spinach, and onions with pesto mayo. Sounds divine. But for some reason, every time I've entered the cafeteria so far during my college career, auto pilot has clicked on. I've gone straight for vegan cuisine. Freshman year, I made a point of staying away from foods the workers made. I had gained the boarding school 22 and was not going to gain a freshman 15. So, I avoided the oils and sauces and stuck to raw items. I managed to maintain my weight while girls on my hall gained. So, sophomore year, I stuck to the same bland food, but added in hummus because it started to be served daily.
Last summer before sophomore year, I managed to lose a lot of weight, discover a love for running, and admittedly, develop an unhealthy relationship with food.
During sophomore year, hummus became a staple in my life. I love hummus, but I hate how dependent I became on it for dinner night after night. In the dining hall, most people had a burger or chicken as the main component of their meal. Instead, a giant glob of hummus took up a third of my plate.
I'm done with sophomore year. I'm home now, and luckily or unluckily for me, my kitchen does not come with a trough of hummus with a giant serving spoon. I've undergone a humus detox, and have been having salmon or chicken for dinner.
Last night's hummus was wonderful. It was salty with feta and had that familiar texture of dependency I know too well. I'm glad I had it for dinner. But the last time I had that much hummus sitting it my stomach was weeks ago. Granted, the last time that much hummus resting in my stomach it was plain hummus nestled alongside vegetables. This time it was a much more involved hummus cuddling with pita chips.
Hummus and I have a heated love affair. I fall head over heels for the dip and get lost in its creamy consistency. It's simplicity makes me feel healthy, strong, and proud that I am able to resist other temptations. But hummus can also leave me feeling stuffed and full of regret. It can fill me with self-hate and make me feel abused and weak.
My relationship with hummus is complicated. We're figuring things out.
But in the mean time, try the carrot siracha flavored hummus. Impressive.