Furdy

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I adore food, but I would never call myself a foodie.
I don’t dress myself up as a giant pickle spear and have sex with someone dressed as a slice of Swiss cheese.

Or is that a furry?

What is a person called who dresses up in food-related furry costumes?
A furdy?

I can just picture too sweaty and horny restaurant mascots eyeballing each other from across their respective street corners, ready to smack their pizza and submarine sandwich costumes against each other in the middle of the street. Then a giant taco comes out of nowhere and joins the fun and I’m standing there wondering how the hell I can join and….

What I mean is, that though I don’t know the difference between where the brisket and the shank cuts are on a cow (though I should as it was one of the few items I recall being taught for my screenwriting degree at my overly-priced hippie college), it doesn’t mean that I won’t put it in my mouth.

And I watch a lot of Man Vs. Food. A lot.
If you know what I mean…

Food is a topic I’ve never written about on my blog. It’s one of those subjects that is so obvious, yet so precious to me, I have difficulty finding the words to articulate how I feel about it. When writing reviews of food, I typically only have two comments, “(Insert food name) tastes good in here!” (points to stomach) or “(Insert food name) made me crap all night.”

I’m not even sure I appreciate good food when I come across it. All I know is that I love all of it. Take for example, my favorite place to eat in Austin, Texas has a conveyor belt that rotates tiny plates of cheap sushi across my face. I’ve eaten everywhere from places owned by Ashton Kutcher (like that really means anything) to roadside diners in New Mexico, and there is absolutely no difference to me.

Other things I know about myself and my relationship to food are:

– I’m an only child therefore prone to not sharing my food. In fact, I’ve been known to hunker down and scowl when anyone asks for a bite of my food. There exists an infamous moment when my 10th grade “boyfriend” asked me for a bite of my pickle and I quickly exclaimed, “NO!” and pulled my pickle away and my mother yelled at me and then bought me a pickle ornament that Christmas to remind me of how selfish I am.

– The only time I will share food is when I no longer want it. Last weekend, sitting next to my ex, I instinctively turned to him and said, “Here! Eat the rest of my hot dog, will you?” He looked at me as though I was holding a steaming pile of shit. Maybe it should have been?

– I think about what I’m going to eat throughout the day the moment I wake up in the morning.

– I’m surprised that I don’t weigh 700 pounds

– I’ve been complimented on my picturesque salad making abilities many times.

– My favorite food until the day I die is sourdough bread with butter and strawberry jam.

– That this post ended up being exactly what I thought it be: pointless and boring.

What is your absolute most favorite food?