An Ode to Food: *Not Actual Ode

I love food. Whether I make it myself, get it to go, or sit down at an eating establishment, I love food.

Why do I love food? That’s a tough one, Alex. Should be simple, but I find myself digging deep into my soul to find the answer.

It starts from a very simple feeling. I love to eat. I am naturally inclined towards food; I've looked forward to meals and planned my week around specific restaurant visits since I can remember. I always thought the rest of the world failed to recognize the beautiful opportunity presented by food. So many people eat whatever is convenient, while I saw a form of sustenance that gave us the chance to enjoy it for its artistically-driven pleasure.   

That is only part of the story, though. I am not interested in eating any food to satisfy my needs and fulfill my desires. I am in constant pursuit of culinary perfection, a journey that has no logical end but that fuels me to reach for unattainable conclusions.

I take up this battle when I prepare my own meals, inevitably leading to disappointment. I will happily acknowledge the strengths of a dish I prepare, but I obsess over the misfires.

Lasagna from scratch--yeah, I grated the Parmesan. 

Flatter than 14th century conceptions of Earth.

Wontons--yeah, I wrapped 'em all myself. No biggie. 

Entered a bouillon-based broth that tasted of pure shortcut.

I am always willing to take on a new challenge because the process of creation enthralls me. Humankind feeds off of accomplishment; no illicit substance can give one the excellent feeling that comes from taking on a challenge and besting it. Cooking is a daily outlet for creativity, and it gives me a way to shed my competitive urges.

Despite the pleasure I gain from whipping up my own dishes, I have as much appreciation for restaurants as anybody. I’m just a tad picky.

My food philosophy essentially sees mealtimes as brief windows of opportunity; I want to take advantage of my allocated stomach space for the day, and also want to get the best possible grub for my dollar. When I go out to eat, it is a careful selection process that considers every possible factor. I make the task assigned to the International Olympic Committee look easy in comparison.

 Burger Paradise

I wanted a burger on my birthday. I sought to locate Flagstaff’s finest offering in the hamburger department to commemorate the world’s foremost celebration, and I wasn’t disappointed. I ordered a burger adorned with onion rings, lamb meat, and best of all, mozzarella sticks. I could taste every element of those ingredients, but every bite gave me the most crucial flavor: the effort that went into my food. At risk of deploying a cliché, truly great food comes with a taste of love. In the University Union, one can taste the lack of effort that goes into everything. From the appearance to the glaring deficiency of harmony amongst the ingredients, I can instantly tell when food is prepared sans passion. My birthday burger left me with the feeling I seek from great food and reminded me why I will continue to chase the perfect meal. 

Summer Awaits: The Times, They Are a Changin'

For my entire existence, summer has always meant downtime. My annual calendar has never failed to coincide with the academic year, which makes summer a period of waiting. Now that I graduate in less than a month, my internal clock is in for a major reset.

Normally, a discussion of summer would be a perusal of various leisure activities to consume myself with while putting forth a reasonable effort to not simply sit around.

This time, life starts.

Planning for summer now entails preparing for the world beyond. Thoughts of proper business attire, U-Hauls, and job applications replace trips to Sedona, lazy summer afternoons, and all other activities I usually associate with this time of year.

I’m ready for the significant change that awaits me. The challenge of Life is far more invigorating than deciding where to get tacos for lunch. 

But then again, maybe I’m not ready. Am I ingrained with a routine passiveness that renders me incapable of productivity between June-August? Have I been trained to put my brain to rest during the summer months?

Maybe I have. I am about to wage war with the school calendar mindset that constitutes all I've ever known. Usually, I get to relax and wait for the next semester to begin. This time, the established annual pattern must be usurped by a sense of urgency that comes with growing up.  

Time to see what I’m made of.

Spring Break: A Reason to Go to In-N-Out

Yuma, Arizona. When hearing the term Spring Break, this hotbed of solar energy is more than likely not a destination that comes to mind. However, it is where I spent the majority of my off-week—a deviation from normalcy I desperately needed.   Many folks flock to beaches and touristy hipster towns, but I sought a different experience.

My trip to see family in Yuma is always centered around the same focal point: my habitual trip to In-N-Out Burger. This solitary pilgrimage is the highlight of my month, I rarely make it past the first reachable location before pulling over.

                                                                              

But Nigel, isn’t it about seeing your family? The 3x3 burger is as much a part of my familial conceptions as any person could ever be.

A lot of people would probably feel uncomfortable or awkward sitting alone in a booth at a burger joint. I fantasize about this scenario weeks in advance. After I place my order, I locate a table that will provide the ideal dining experience and perform the routine set-up. One packet of salt, two packets of black pepper, a healthy portion of ketchup, and a precautionary but not environmentally-destructive amount of napkins.

My number is called.

At the moment I hear the digits that correspond to my receipt, I feel a fluttering sensation in my stomach. The flavors I've imagined for weeks are suddenly seconds away, and I rush in a euphoric haze to swiftly reap the benefits of my longing.

The freshly-made fries are spread out evenly on the tray. Salt and pepper is applied. It is time.

                                                                       

My authentic In-N-Out experience could never accommodate the process of photography. The raw, lusty impatience to devour my burger and fries triumphs over any yearnings to provide a snapshot of the moment. Come to think of it, why would I ever want to see a picture of the perfect proportion of ground beef to cheese? This image has no value as a standalone; without the aroma of sauce and the crunch of fresh lettuce, it is nothing more than a torture device.

                                             

If I am ever captured and held hostage, don’t even waste your time with water-boarding  The photograph of a hot In-N-Out meal coupled with even the faintest possibility of realizing it would fill my body with more anguish than any man-made device could ever hope to elicit.

Perhaps my affinity for In-N-Out could be perceived as over-the-top by some.  

To me, the people of the Southwest who are fortunate enough to be blessed with this culinary mecca are grossly unappreciative of the greatness at their fingertips.