I Heart Food - A Food Rant

This morning I opened up a can of biscuit (whoop ass) and had those babies for breakfast, spread with creamy butter and a tart French marmalade. The biscuits were store bought. And I am a food snob. But I must admit, Pillsbury really knows how to build a biscuit makin' machine. Mouthful after mouthful of greasy, soft-yet-flaky biscuit, I wonder how they do that.

My favorite thing in the world is cooking. Food is like God, food is like porn. Food gives me a reason to live – literally and figuratively. I think I identify myself with Food. A strange thing to identify yourself with, you might think, but the truth is, there is no better faith.

Food is like rock and roll. Its art. Its music. It gets you going. It gives you a glimpse into a fantasy world, where everything is good and fine and perfect. It puts you in another place.

Have you ever had a pasta so good, it made you wonder if you felt what they felt in the old days, when people cooked over a real fire and harvested each grain of wheat by hand and ground it under real stone? No? You're missing out.

You eat two to three times a day, or more: breakfast, brunch, lunch, tea, dinner, snacks; the list goes on And that is a normal day. Think of holidays, birthdays, celebrations of all kinds. There's always food, whether its some special cakes, cookies, pies or appetizers or snacks or a huge elaborate banquet. Food is an integral part of our lives, one that is taken as much for granted as using the toilet. You just do it, every day, without really thinking about it.

That is the problem with this country. Nobody cooks anymore. People think the problem lies in politics or the economy or the oppression of other nations. It doesn't. Its about the inability to really get down and enjoy life anymore. The simple things are the ones most taken for granted, yet the most integral to our existence. Nations rise and fall. Life goes on. Sure, I mean if some other nation invaded ours and took over, we'd be speaking another language and we'd be all oppressed and whatever. Who cares? We'd still eat food, every day (hopefully). And, god damn it, some one still has to cook.
I actually feel very blessed to be able to come home to my little apartment kitchen. It's like a heavenly escape, with delicious tastes and smells and textures. It really doesn't get much better than this. 
Yes, these are the kinds of things I think of when I get up in the morning.

And now... for a cup of freshly ground and brewed coffee.