I sat in the movie theater watching a movie I thought would be excellent but was only pretty decent (Invention of Lying) with my smuggled in, street vendor bought mango slices and my movie theater bought frozen pink lemonade. As I combined my two fruit flavors with the lemonade’s complimentary wooden shovel masquerading as a utensil, I was struck with how food can so easily become a stand in for friends. In my recent lack of companionship my afternoons have been pestered by a single desire to find some combination of things to shove down my throat that will make life a little more interesting. (That fellatio joke you are thinking of is not original) Whether it be my 20 minute walk to find a Dunkin Donuts, or my call for delivery of a six pound bag of Indian food, or my cider donut and $1.99 rootbeer float flavored ice cream from the local grocery store, food can guise itself as a thing to do.
People cook because they want to seem like they are accomplishing something, and eating is something so cooking provides the set up to your eventual accomplishment of nourishment. But really, it’s accomplishing nothing. You are left with only a stomach that must empty itself within the day (hour if you ate six pounds of delivery Indian food). This is similar to a friend. Friends are nourishment for the soul, yet in a fleeting way. Friends leave and then you only left with a desire to sleep so that you may wake up and enjoy your friends again.
Lately my lack of compatriots has led to an increase in eating. Not necessarily more food, but rather weirder edible discoveries. I cooked a mesquite-chile ravioli, a fried eggplant curry, and a tofu scramble with spaghetti. I like my friends to be unconventional and fucked up. So, thank you, fucked up children of my friendship for being the chile ravioli of my soul.