Every time I walk the aisles in supermarkets, I am amazed by how much packaged sauces promise success. I’d buy up most of my amazement, except HY stops me. Like a fishwife.
And like a fishwife, I go on admiring and taking packaged sauces out of the racks, like I have never been civilized. Perhaps I have not.
I cannot cook. I don’t particularly enjoy eating (not like a foodie). But it amazes me (for a long time now and still today) how love dictates how food is cooked, and its lack of how that food tastes.
Hunger is a desire. Desire is not hunger. Some will forever be fed by hunger. Some say desire is hunger.
I know the taste of answers, but I don’t know the answer.