The Passion of the Food

The lemon meringue pie I made in celebration of my very first "Freshly Pressed" post.


   We eat every day. We have to or we die, but you all are smart enough to know that. We eat to fill, sure, but we also eat to love.
Maybe it’s more appropriate to say we eat while we love.
   Food is the most important art form. Of course music is important, but it’s not essential to the human body. As much as I hate to admit it, neither is literature. But food, food is essential to life. Food varies between cultures, speaking to us of the ancient customs of its creators; sometimes Greek cuisine spills over into Italian, sometimes into Middle Eastern.
   Food is like love. No matter how many times we eat something we don’t like, we’ll never just stop eating. Because somewhere out there, we know something so utterly satisfying is just waiting for us. Once we find it, we want it at every meal until we die. And no matter how many times we say food is just there for nourishment, we know we’re only lying to ourselves. Food is there, just like love, to make us whole.
   We fall in love over food. We take someone out, or stay in with them, light candles, and look at them across a table filled with food. We tell them we love them over that plate of pasta, ask them to marry us after finishing our strawberry shortcake, feed each other the biggest, most beautiful cake we can find at our wedding, and hope to wake up to the smell of bacon and eggs cooking in our kitchen, our kitchen, on a Saturday morning. We crave it when we’re carrying the baby that we created out of love, we feed that baby with food from our bodies, we teach the baby, once it’s not much of a baby anymore, how to cook food. That baby, all grown up, takes its love out to eat and proposes to her after shortcake too.
   Food is love. Food creates love. Food is the never ending cycle of absolute joy and contentment.
   Food is why we live, why we laugh, and how we love.

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