I wish there was a home-cooked meal spread across that table over there. A gigantic bowl of buttery garlic mashed potatoes with a sprig of rosemary sleeping soundly atop fluffy clouds of creamy goodness. Crisp green beans drizzled with olive oil and thyme. Or long, fat asparagus drizzled with a velvety balsamic vinaigrette. Sweet curried carrots lightly hugged with fresh golden honey. Light, flaky biscuits with pools of butter swimming in warm, hollowed centers. Savory sweet potato casserole, browned on top. Romaine lettuce, loosely chopped and adorned with goat cheese pearls, dried cranberry rubies, and sugar-glazed pecan nuggets.
There at that table I would admire my feast, dipping a spoon into the potato clouds and cinnamon orange lakes of yam, relishing their delicious, smooth textures skating gracefully across my tongue. Biscuits would melt like wafers between my idle teeth, which eagerly anticipated crunching through beans and asparagus, crushing tangy flavors into the earthy greens, swirling together around excited taste buds.
How I would dine – like the servant who has snuck a seat at the king’s table when no one is around to see – stuffing my stomach to my heart’s delight.
But, alas, that meal may be placed in another man’s dining room, and not in mine, for all the fridge has stored is a dab of grease, half a loaf of stale bread, and two slices of pungent cheddar. So while the mind craves the scrumptious cuisine I have described above, the mouth must settle on the ol’ fashioned fallback staple slapped up and down the griddle – grilled bread married with melted cheese.
– Written on July 15, 2012