“Love” and “restriction”.
The first thing that comes to mind when I think of love and restriction is food. Yes, food.
Hey, it’s better than my second thought, which was the time I got grounded from my first car, a week after I got my driver license. Not for one week. Not for two. It was for SIX MONTHS of restriction. I have videos of the car set to the song, “Cry Little Sister” from the Lost Boys soundtrack. It was THAT bad. What kind of parents do that to a teenager after giving them a CAR for their 16th birthday? Apparently mine, because the LOVED me. Longest six months of my entire life. Still painfully clear twenty-three years later. So you see? Forget the second thought, let’s go with the first one. Contemplative cuisine; the snacking, shoveling, and wolfing of it.
I LOVE food. Any kind of food, in any way. An array of delicacy to have affairs with.
Pasta, seafood, sushi, steak, bread, chocolate, dairy, fruit, fast food, slow food, and any kind of mexican – any kind of bakery goods. Fried, baked, buttered, battered, or grilled – doesn’t matter. Like I said, any kind; any way.
I can’t even cook. I am a foodie at the mercy of the many fine chefs mastering in their nummy kitchen heaven in the comfort of their domains.
God love em’.
By the way, my sixteen-year old daughter wants to be a chef when she grows up. Coincidence?
I read somewhere that you only savor the first bite or two of jubilant noshing, and after that you are just eating on auto-pilot inhale. Not me. I savor every morsel. Every one. With pleasure. With rapture. With complete and utter devotion to the chew.
See, here is the scoop. Food lovin’ makes me gain weight. My tummy bloats. I get heartburn. It clogs my arteries and gives me muffin top. Well… bigger muffin top (and bigger). Even though I’d like to eat a gazillion calories a day. If I did that, I’d be movable by Mack truck only. So, I restrict myself. Sadly. Tearfully. Does anyone feel my pain?
That’s my restriction – the love of nummy, yummy food.
Thanks DramaMama for a lovely visit. It’s been great. Now, if you’ll excuse me. I hear a Reese’s cup calling my name.