Some people eat to live, while others live to eat. What about you? How far would you travel for the best meal of your life?
Hmm…this is an interesting question. The only time I even considered going to the ends of the earth for food was when I was pregnant. Travel, kill, maim they’re all the same … right?
All I know is when these hormonal tastebuds spoke, I listened. Womb service is no joke.
Every single day I HAD to have Kellogg’s Raisin Bran cereal or someone was going to die. Not in an OCD kinda way, but in a murderous sort of way.
Then there was the pasta salad served at a little place several blocks from my building that was as necessary as air during this pregnancy. Rain or shine, snow or sleet, I was getting that damn salad!
Anyone who has ever been with child, or in the presence of someone in this position, knows when the baby wants a ham & swiss cheese sandwich with mustard slathered between two pieces of Jewish rye, you better get it, even if it’s 8 a.m. Hormones do not wear watches.
At the time of my first pregnancy, I was working at a very large law firm in Philadelphia. I had the BEST secretary in the world. She was 100% Italian, which meant she knew how to feed the masses or me when necessary. If the baby started making ridiculous demands at random times during the day. She delivered.
She was my Foody Godmother.
One day I just mentioned a cake that I had at some point in my life, the next thing I knew her brother was standing at my desk with a bakery box. Bam!
If I wanted a juicy navel orange in the middle of February, which I did for most of the month, I got it. I didn’t ask questions, I just ate.
So, to answer the question: I wouldn’t necessarily travel for the best meal of my life, but I certainly would enjoy if it magically appeared on my plate.
Enjoy the Ride …