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.