Fat and Hungry

That's how I find myself at the moment. I love to eat. I don't know any other way to explain it. Am I an emotional eater, sure, what Mexican American, raised Catholic, fat Mexican mother having, person isn't. But it's more than that. I kinda feel like the kid who cried wolf here- no really, I love to eat food. I love the flavors and the textures. Eating great food is the closest I will ever be to truly enjoying a great painting or reading a phenomenal book. Hell, cooking up a great meal is the closest I'll ever get to creating a fantastic work of art. I'm a better cook than I am writer. The veins flow, you know, with this great energy when I cook. My hands tremble as Thanksgiving gets closer. I love food, have I said that already?

A great meal puts you in touch with the universe. It bypasses the mind and the bs that lives there. Has anyone seen Big Night? Watch it and wait for the meal scene. It's so rich and heavy and sublime. The size of the meal does not matter, the quality, technique and love put into does. Simple, fluffy scrambled eggs vs. a Mexican wedding feast. They're the same thing!I'll stop talking about food here and save it for another post- maybe ten best meals ever or something.

I've just decided though, that until Thanksgiving, I will stay fat and hungry. I will no longer eat until the buttons pop. I will eat enough, the enough defined by the federal gov't, and stay hungry. I have no fear of losing my winter fat, I have enough of that to last an ice age, or two. No, instead I fear my heart exploding with joy and cholesterol; I'd like to stick around long enough to enjoy other great meals.

If you see me 'round (hehe), and I'm angry and cranky and start basting you in BBQ sauce, snap me out of it. Slap me and remind me T day is only around the corner.