Yes, I like food. Food and I go way back. We have been in a very intimate relationship pretty much since I was born, well, not considering the brief period of time when I was fed nothing but mushed up…things. Things of that nature are not food. But I digress. Food is pretty wonderful; as I’m sure everyone on the planet will agree with. It comes in many marvelous shapes and colors, forms and textures, degrees of spiciness and sweetness, saltiness and bitterness. After all, if taste, a key element in enjoying food, can make it onto the top five senses list, it must be pretty important.

I won’t bore my readers with a list of all my favorite foods. Such a resplendent compendium would doubtless fill a small paperback. However, why is it that I enjoy ethnic food more than classic American? American is very limited, being generally epitomized by hamburgers and chicken fingers, and perhaps that is the only reason, but I think it also has to do with the fact that American food is too familiar, and its smells and sights and greasy parts have been a component of my genetic makeup for decades.

Of course, as any good foodie will tell you, we don’t have many authentic ethnic eateries in the States. Mexican, Italian, Chinese, Indian, and French food (among many others) have for the most part been adapted and adulterated by our culture. We do have pockets of genuine cooking, in such forms as Chinatown and Little Italy, but these haunts are few and far between and much too much of a travel for most of us.  Still, that doesn’t mean one shouldn’t enjoy the foods America does offer to the utmost. Just don’t expect to meet the same familiar faces when you traverse to their country of origin. Luckily for us, however, real ethnic cuisine tends to exceed in quality the foodstuffs we get here, so you won’t be disappointed.

(A small sidenote –as I type, I am devouring some pecan and chocolate chip cookies. Sustenance for a writer, right?)

The methods people employ when eating are as varied as people themselves. From those who eat daintily, with fork in one hand, knife in the other, delicately chewing each bite thoroughly before inserting the next bite, to those who shovel food in as fast as air will allow, never minding who around them gets hit with the shrapnel, I think it’s safe to say that no one method takes precedence anywhere. I think the majority of the population fluctuates around the middle area, depending on how hungry we are and who we are in front of. I know for myself, I tend to become a little more voracious when alone. So that must make me a member of the fast and the greedy, I suppose.

But what can I say?

I like food…

This is me eating a burrito from Chipotle, my new favorite restaurant. Yes, I enjoy any place that stuffs a pillow-case sized tortilla full of cholesterol-laced goodness. What you see above is my trying to keep said goodness contained within said pillow-case. It is a remarkable accomplishment for anyone who can do it, and I have not yet learned the trick. Guess I’ll just have to keep going back to practice. Oh darn… I also thoroughly enjoy reading the silly anecdotes they put on their cups. I swear, I get so engrossed in those things…

This is a picture of me out with my friends at our annual Girls Night Get-Together. Here we are at The Cheesecake Factory, another scrumptious eatery with portions fit for Goliath. Seriously, I split my meal and still had too much. Ah well. The vittles you see before me are half-masticated bits of Chicken Madeira, a delicious egg encrusted chicken meal with potatoes as good as heaven.