Food. I love food.
Thinking, talking, and daydreaming about it; looking at it; blogging about it (SlicesofMe.Blogspot.com); feeling and smelling it; its cultural and familial origins; and of course tasting it (dreamy pumpkin-filled tortelloni in a sage butter sauce at Via Emilia; the tastebud tickling gold corn Johnny Cake with barbequed duck and cranberry butter at Bar Americain; heaping, garlicky portions of broccoli, brussel sprouts, and mashed potatoes at Mama's Food Shop; the portobello mushroom sandwich on perfectly crusty bread at Nicky's Vietnamese Sandwiches; the why-do-I-like-this-better-than-fine-dining tofu salad with carrot dressing at Yaffa Cafe; and the savory and sweet de Pabellón arepa at Caracas Arepa Bar, to name a few favorite dishes of late).
Depending on the day/hour/minute, I have very specific cravings for flavors and textures. And sometimes when I have those cravings, like a recent desire for chocolate and peanut butter malt balls from Trader Joe's that resulted in a five-alarm self contol disaster, I eat that food to the point of disgust. And then I don't want it anymore, at least not for a while.
I readily admit that I have little to no self-control with dessert, so I've learned not to keep it around the apartment (except for impulse buys like the malt balls...oops!). Therefore if I'm all snug at home and have a hankering for a Twix bar (another favorite), I know I have to go down the stairs of my 4th floor walk-up, around the corner, back, and then up the stairs, to get one! Often after I've weighed my options, a handful of nuts, an apple, or a piece of low-fat mozzarella string cheese becomes more appealing.
