I am voracious. My friends share tiny plates but at the restaurant, I am surrounded by personal portions: slivers of a shaved vegetable salad, pomme frites and sweet treats.
The point is to consume, not to be gluttonous. The point is to appreciate the city that I love and that tests my nerves like none other through the foods I consume, the neighborhoods that I explore as I go to the places where the food would be consumed and the journey to the neighborhoods of the consumption. I don’t pretend to know much about food. In terms of quality, growing up my family did okay, not because we could not afford better but because we chose not to. I’m still understanding my tastes, but the excitements stems from the newness.
We go out so much – I go out so much – out of a desperation I can’t quite articulate. Maybe this year is the year I begin to accept adulthood and the real world. My desire to consume stems not from curiosity but from a desire to prolong the frivolousness of a dinner out when I could be at home, saving and savoring something made with the chops and stirs of my hands.