I’m learning how to feed myself—when, how much, how often. For the first twenty-two years of my life, I was fed. My mother made me breakfast, lunch, and dinner, usually meat and potatoes. Hearty meals borne from her farm-family upbringing. Very few preservatives or dyes or unpronounceable ingredients. I had an unlimited meal plan for the first three years of college. Swipe into the dining hall. Swipe for a sandwich or a slop bowl. Everything was hot and ready, prepared and p

I know. I know. It’s mid-February, and it’s a little too late to be sharing reflections from last year, but I finally got around to...