Editor’s Note: I wrote this at 1 a.m. while tired and more than a little drunk from 6 perfect courses of amazing food and wine. I’m not going to edit a single thing. Not even to fix the formatting. Blogging verite if you will.
I know after yesterday’s post this is going to seem like a very strange turn-around, but we just came home from Beast Portland, where we had an amazing 6 course dinner courtesy of someone who is not me (don’t worry, I’m still far too broke to afford something so wonderful). It was great. I don’t want to say that it re-affirmed my waning faith in the healing power of food, but few experiences in my life have been more spiritually nourishing and all of those were sex-related.
By the end of the night, I wasn’t stuffed or too full. I didn’t feel guilty for what I’d eaten, there was no way I could have. A person can’t feel guilty about experiencing craftsmanship like that. I get caught up in this artificial moral framework around food, and while I’ve never been able to understand people who feel guilty for the sex they have, I think I do that with food and it’s it’s bullshit.
Ben’s already asleep, so I’m not going to write much more. Only to say that tonight’s dinner brought me back, if briefly, to the real nature of food. The true joy of making and eating that I let myself get away from with this arbitrary restricting. I am not just an anxious person. I’m also a part of this biome and this world. We have so many different and amazing ways to exist in these frameworks. In the context of the food cycle, in the context of the nearly infinite variety of foods and food types available, how can a person really be so small? I want to draw in, to be less and experience less and I just can’t.
I’m falling asleep now, but it’s s start.