You can sit down to cheesecake.
Served on proper plates with a fork, you cut into it for a well-selected piece.
Cheesecake is romance food, and if you eat it solo, these are special moments with yourself.
To eat cheesecake is to dominate and get what you want: it’s pliable yet firm, with no falling apart at the last minute and little cleanup afterward.
Cheesecake is pleasure with precision.
And because you are being so decadent, you are accordingly proper while eating it.
Meatballs with marinara sauce and melted provolone; Cannoli; Dried figs; Raw clams; Steak fries; Fried fish with mashed potatoes and green beans with a lemon wedge on the side; Crispy focaccia with thinly sliced tomato, seasoned with salt, pepper, oregano, garlic and basil; Fresh spring rolls with peanut sauce; Lobster mac and cheese; Pork fried rice; Hot apple crumb pie with a scoop of vanilla; Popcorn; Eggplant parm panini; Rice and refried beans; Homemade potato salad.
I wish I had some popcorn. Maybe I will eat some pretzels in lieu of it. But that would practically be like eating rice cakes instead of what you really fancy.
I like eating popcorn because you can eat a lot of it with little consequence. (Except when you bite down on a kernel). And the repetitiveness of it — popping one fluffy piece after the other — takes your mind off things.
I wonder how much popcorn you would have to eat to actually get full. A pound or two? At any rate, I don’t have any.
A customer is casting a spell at the Starbucks counter. Listen to her conjure. The barista is spellbound! The pastries, they glaze over…
the french fries were stuck
in a lump of hardened american
that choked the potatoes by the wad
the slender cuts jutted
like push pins from the clot of cheese/meat
as if shoved through a voodoo doll
the tray-shaped carton lay
like a messy casket displaying a corpse
while life at the party raged on