Away it takes me

A few days ago I was at a conference, having a drink with someone, sort of a makeshift friend. We were asking the requisite questions that people have to ask when a certain dress code is observed and the ambient noise never reaches quite above a very low din, and once we had finally exhausted most of them, he looked at me, and right out of his mouth, without irony or judgment: "so why food?"

Uh.

So I thought, and probably played with my glass and I think I spilled some of my Negroni and then fumbled and wiped it up and this all took maybe about 12 seconds.

And then I gave some convoluted answer about it sustains us, it's a common thread, connecting humans across the world and through generations. He nodded politely and I think that he'd expected me to say something like that. It was a very correct answer. Like, er, like "sensible shoes" are correct, which believe me I know nothing about, and furthermore is certainly not how I think about food. So finally, to my new friend: "you know what? I like food because it's goddamn sexy."

I don't exactly know what this means, but I know it to be true. You sweat garlic. Beets dye your hands for days. I mean. Food changes the makeup of your body, outside and in. Food's gotten me into trouble a few times with a few different people. A well-made meal makes me feel good, so good. I'm pretty sure I won a special guy over with preserved lemons and empanadas. And when I want to relax, in that secret way that feels sinful because you should really be doing something else, I go into the kitchen and make myself known. When I'm cooking food I'm a pinup and a sex object, and I like that very much and I think that everybody should have this feeling once or more than once.

There were some things that happened (this, and then I went to here, and watched this), and I had a hard time reconciling food's role in my life. World events, which are so important, taking place all around me and I needed to figure out why food still held my interest in such a steadfast way. So I took a moment, fell out of love for a few days, and decided to re-examine my relationship (why I can do this with food and not with humans is beyond me). What I came away with was this: Food's generous, it's good, it's kind, it's forgiving. Food won't screw me over. Food gives as much as I do.Which is a lot, it really is. It's such a lot.

And when the grease is dripping down my arms and my face is red from a night over the stove, and I've got a plate of roasted beets in butter right in front of me and just waiting, and the romance is palpable...I don't know if I've found a greater love than that. Night after night I'll go back, wanting the excitement, the novelty, (but mostly?) the protection. It's a commitment and vows and everyone's looking on, and I don't care, because I'm proud of it.