Anyone who knows me, is aware of my passion for food. And my ability to eat absurdly large amounts of it in one sitting. My sister and I even wrote a musical called Food for Thought, in 2000, about food in a grocery that comes to life when the doors are closed, with a subplot that entwined the store owner, employees, and the homeless. Sausage Party stole our concept, in a much cruder way, but that is another topic in itself.
I don’t think, however, the depth of my passion for food is known or understood.
When I was younger, I remember very clearly that I was always the last one sitting at the dinner table. The rest of my family scarfed down their food and became impatient with my methodical and careful approach of reflecting on every bite.
I’m not a picky eater, I generally like most of what is put in front of me. My choice to become a pescatarian has only been 6 months in the making. However, it’s the scene surrounding the meal that affects me to my core. I have an unexplainable need for meals to be an experience. It physically pains and agitates me when I see people rushing through the motions of this thrice daily process to the point that I can only surmise that in a past life I was part of a royal culture that not only embraced and encouraged this, but demanded and respected it.
The restaurant experience for me is one that I cherish.
But, I also love the whole she-bang of going to the grocery store and gathering all of the ingredients necessary to make my next best masterpiece. I can walk up and down the aisles for hours…it’s a powerfully energizing and relaxing thing for me.
Food is my mediation. And it’s very important to share this with people that I care about.
So, the next time I invite you to lunch, or we speak of an extravagant dinner party, know that it’s my way of being willing to bare and share my soul.