when i wake up, after instagram and peeing, in that order, and cleaning up after last night’s drunk people in the kitchen, myself included, I think a lot about leucotomies.
a leucotomy, more commonly known as a lobotomy, is when a doctor takes a stake and smashes it through the space between your eyebrows, stirring to scramble your prefrontal cortex. there are two methods of doing this: transorbital, and low-and-slow. in a transorbital lobotomy you turn the heat to high, seasoning the pan with any neutral oil (I prefer evoo) and toss in pan, for just one minute. the brain continues to cook off heat. in a low-and-slow lobotomy, creaminess is the name of the game — it’s closer to a custard than anything. use low heat and constantly stir to avoid curdling. you can add milk and butter if you want.
people who have these procedures done go on living their lives, but their personhood is severed. they don’t laugh at the jokes they used to. they don’t listen to the same music. they don’t even like, follow, and share the same grams (though thankfully they are able to continue posting). a lobotomized person is worth 60% less in revenue to an advertiser. they spend less money because they don’t have desires for products. they don’t have insecurities. they don’t have gaping holes that they try to fill with consumerism. its just them and the flavor of the day. them and sitting around, just sitting. them and going on walks. them and how-do-i-cook-my-next-meal.
if I got a lobotomy I would want it to be low-and-slow. i like to imagine the doctor gently severing the connections in my brain. the fear of rejection, of failure, everywhere society has disagreed with me, the rash of strange alienation, all melting away as I cook. and then we eat.