Saturday, April 15, 2006
The ultimate glutton
21st March 2005
I think the feeding centres of my hypothalamus must have doubled in size overnight.
I have skulked to the kitchen and opened the fridge no less than 20 times today.
And should gluttony be a pathological condition, I am experiencing an acute exacerbation of it today.
I have always wondered how one knows when their gluttony is bordering on pathological. I think I know now. It is when:
1) The mere whisper of “chocolate cake” reflexively sends shivers down your spine
2) You are having a sumptious 3 course lunch and all you can think of is what to have for dinner.
3) It feels like the end of the world has come when you get to your favourite seafood stall a few minutes too late and it’s closed—you cannot comprehend how it is within the realms of humanity to close without waiting for you to arrive.
4) You see a scrumplicious looking chocolate cake in Peckhams and you buy it. As you carry it home, your parotids are revving in top gear and all that fills your mind as you cross the busy intersection is not the cars zooming two inches from your toes but that one sublime, perfectly crafted piece of chocolate cake. When you get home, you lovingly unwrap it, grab a fork, cut a lavish slice and poise the fork in mid-air, angling it to deliver the choice morsel in the only way you know would do it justice. Eating is an art, you feel, and you of all people, should know it. The cake hits your palate and there’s this split second of nervous excitement as the messages from your taste buds travel to your brain. You taste the cake at last, but alas!—it is dry, crumbly and old. The sense of disappointment that wells up in you is acute. You feel cheated, betrayed. You are virtually in tears and all that you can think of the whole week is that one fateful bite—dry, old and crumbly.
I think the feeding centres of my hypothalamus must have doubled in size overnight.
I have skulked to the kitchen and opened the fridge no less than 20 times today.
And should gluttony be a pathological condition, I am experiencing an acute exacerbation of it today.
I have always wondered how one knows when their gluttony is bordering on pathological. I think I know now. It is when:
1) The mere whisper of “chocolate cake” reflexively sends shivers down your spine
2) You are having a sumptious 3 course lunch and all you can think of is what to have for dinner.
3) It feels like the end of the world has come when you get to your favourite seafood stall a few minutes too late and it’s closed—you cannot comprehend how it is within the realms of humanity to close without waiting for you to arrive.
4) You see a scrumplicious looking chocolate cake in Peckhams and you buy it. As you carry it home, your parotids are revving in top gear and all that fills your mind as you cross the busy intersection is not the cars zooming two inches from your toes but that one sublime, perfectly crafted piece of chocolate cake. When you get home, you lovingly unwrap it, grab a fork, cut a lavish slice and poise the fork in mid-air, angling it to deliver the choice morsel in the only way you know would do it justice. Eating is an art, you feel, and you of all people, should know it. The cake hits your palate and there’s this split second of nervous excitement as the messages from your taste buds travel to your brain. You taste the cake at last, but alas!—it is dry, crumbly and old. The sense of disappointment that wells up in you is acute. You feel cheated, betrayed. You are virtually in tears and all that you can think of the whole week is that one fateful bite—dry, old and crumbly.
# posted by H : 3:51 AM
