The other day I was talking to a coworker about how I never forget a meal. To my recollection, it has never happened. I have occasionally skipped meals, but I have never gotten to dinner and realized I forgot lunch.
The reason, I said, was because I believe that good relationships require prioritizing. And I have a good relationship with food. Why? Because I make it a priority. Because I cannot live without it. Because I seriously love food. Also because I would die of starvation, but mostly the first one.
My St. Patrick's Day dinner was 25 percent Irish, 75 percent Italian and 100 percent brought to you by Jimmy Fallon. It had cabbage and fettucine and spicy Italian sausage and cheese and the kind of tomato sauce that you will never find in a can and so dang good that the two hours I spent at the stove felt like nothing compared to the foodgasm going in my kitchen.
On Saturday night Rachel and I went to this really expensive steakhouse and ordered salads. ($38.50 for a steak? That thing better still be mooing and producing milk.) We discovered that while their salads are only fine, their baked Brie is so good I sort of felt like we were doing something wrong. And then came the creme brulee. With Chantilly whipped cream. (We may have eaten the whipped cream with our spoons.) I briefly considered licking the brulee dish, but it was a nice restaurant and Rachel had driven, so I didn't want her to pretend she didn't know me and leave me there.