Food Philosophy

I believe that food lies somewhere between a lustful passionate romance and an artful, soulful expression of self. I’m not talking about the slop that they serve at the joint around the corner, and I’m not referring to the multi-star Michelin rated restaurants that the snooty nosed patrons flock to. I’m referencing the food that I produce; I’m talking about the meals that I create with my own two hands and a generous dose of divine inspiration.


Food is my mistress. At night I slink to her. In the dim light that emanates from the back of my fridge, my hands wander, caressing plastic wrapped melons and tupperwared loins, of pork. I think there are very few pleasures in this world that are as satisfying as the first bite of a finely prepared meal. I find great joy wandering the aisles of Wegmans as I search for the perfect accoutrement to pan seared pork chops, or a luscious stuffed chicken marsala. Excitement seems to follow me around corners of the meat counter, through the ripened cheeses, down the bakery section with yeast drifting through the air like invisible balloons. I stop, picking up the loaves, feeling the thick steamed crust, hearing the crack beneath my fingers. My heart races as I eye the pesto peeking out from Mediterranean Bar. Tonight it will be mine, oh yes!


Other times, when I walk into the market, my lust subsides, and the artist in me is reborn, my imagination streaked by the colors of fresh produce. I see my circular canvas with a myriad of side dishes sliding in and out of the frame. Main dishes first pan seared, then fried, then roasted settle at 12 o’clock, then 6 ,then fade away to make room for the next candidate. I wander the store in a daze, my inner eye set on the perfect composition of sight and salt and savory. Bit by bit my palate creates itself in my basket. Fennel fronds protrude from the edge, tickling passersby. Mushrooms of different sizes and shapes sit next to the onions: red, white, yellow. A beef cutlet imagines its marriage to citrus and bleu cheese. Back at the studio, I sharpen my instruments and prepare for the frenzy.


No matter how I am feeling, food is always an expression of self. Whether I am keyed on an unhealthy passion for a single ingredient, or I am longing to create the perfect plate, I will always see the food I cook as an extension of who I am towards those I love.