I like to joke with my family, that I have two rice fears: #1, opening the rice cooker and it’s empty (groans), and #2, opening the rice cooker and it’s brown rice. The latter is a response to my recently diet-conscious family, who, I applaud…but I can never relate to.
I am a food hedonist.
Nothing gives me greater pleasure than savoring a flavor I’ve been longing for. Nothing causes me more torment than spoiling the opportunity for a good meal with something that is eaten just for sustenance.
We all have values…mine are just inherently hinged on the act and the art of eating. Why is eating so great, why is eating so spiritual to me? I have a love story with food, and here’s why:
The diversity of textures. Contrast is exciting. Nothing beats the sensitive sip of hot soup, a crunchy garnish and a dollop of cold sour cream. I love the element of surprise before the flavors settle in; like an opening show, a physical clamor before the heart of the meal hits your tongue.
Alternating between different temperatures is important. Starting with a hot soup, cold salad, hot meal and cold dessert is an emotional experience. Each is a state of being, and when I get to experience all of these, I feel whole.
The creation of balance on a plate. salty with bland, sweet with salty; creating different harmonies…as if the tongue is an artist’s palette, dependent on the artful way food is positioned on a fork.
Food connects us, uplifts us, helps us rejoice, helps us mourn. It gives us life.
So, stop asking me if I’m hungry. The answer is always yes. 🙂