1. The first thing on my mind when I wake up is what I’m going to eat for breakfast.
2. I would like to have a magic refrigerator, something rather Harry Potter-esque. A never-ending enchanted supply of whatever it is I most desire at that moment. The Ref of Requirement.
3. A few days ago, after hosting a rather rowdy raclette party, I woke up mid-morning in the sweltering hot weather, somewhere in between dreamland and reality, utterly convinced that I was a gorgeous piece of raclette cheese melting languidly under a grill draped over boiled potatoes.
4. In my darkest, most desperate hour as a foodie, when the junk food attacks creep into my system, that most vile desire to eat ultra-processed, chemically altered savory food … I relish in the secret guilty pleasure of a giant bowl of bright neon orange Kraft Mac & Cheese made from powder, milk, butter, and soggy industrial pasta.
5. When I do eat this, it’s at very odd hours when no one is looking: 10 a.m., 3 p.m., 5 p.m., 2 a.m., 6 a.m. The box and its contents are soon disposed of without a trace. It never happened.
6. Everyone has their secret fantasies … mine is to slow-roast the fattest, plumpest chicken in the world, with hundreds of fine slivers of fresh black truffles slipped under the skin. In its cavity there are more shavings. As the chicken roasts over soft, feverish coals, the skin begins to glow as it releases musky, fragrant juices. The most banal of all meats is now rendered into a beautiful, black jewel — an onyx glittering, teasing and tantalizing. When done, I want to eat this noble bird with my hands. To be shared only with one person closest to my heart. The succulent flesh pulls away with tender whispers, the caramel-like jus runs down my fingers and arms and as I put a morsel in my mouth the world melts away.
7. I would love to get a massage using truffle oil.
8. Beautiful food brings tears to my eyes. Like a rush of emotion coursed through my palate. That sole meuniere, one summer ago, in Vagenende on St. Germain in Paris … so beautiful and innocent in all its simplicity and perfection. Crisp and flaky, buttery with subtle wisps of lemon … cool, dry Quincy wine that bathed my mouth in intense oceanic pleasure … just the right hint of saltiness reminiscent of sand and sea and perhaps a fallen tear of joy.
9. I dream of eating a whole bowl of fried chicken skin while watching a marathon of cheesy girly sitcoms.
10. I’m obsessed with kitchen appliances. I have an electric grill, a deep fryer, a steamer, a food processor, a blender, a juicer, raclette grill, sandwich press, ice cream machine, handheld blender, espresso machine … the collection grows every year.
11. I once had to politely sit through a dozen courses of terrible food, one dish more horrible-tasting, more rancid than the other. I had to make niceties, smile, guzzle wine and discreetly chew on a raw spring onion garnish to remove the terrible aftertastes. I remained absolutely grumpy and in a foul mood for literally three whole days. It haunted me like a nightmare. I got night terrors. Flashbacks of scenes from a horror movie: soggy vegetables, strange meat confections, unpleasant, slimy textures crawling down my throat! Aaaaah! Cold sweats in the middle of the night.
12. I’m dying to try escargot eggs. And wish I could eat escamoles, or ant eggs sautéed in butter, garlic and cilantro one more time.
13. My number-one pet peeve is fancy, French-named establishments that are misspelled. If you must name your restaurant in French, it only takes five seconds to Google the right spelling! It’s not le crepé but la crêpe! Sigh…
14. I have a recurring dream. I’m on a high diving board and I take the most graceful swan dive a la Esther Williams down into a luscious, creamy pool of melty, full-fat raw milk Brie de Meaux.
15. I hadn’t been to Boracay for ages and the only thing I wanted when I got there was a choriburger. After a fun night out walking home on the beach I searched for the damned choriburger. Nowhere to be found, I ate a burger, fries, and chicken nuggets. As we neared the hotel, we passed a stand with choriburger. Despite the previous junk food, I still greedily ate one with sweet and spicy sauce.
16. I was actually jealous of my niece’s Little Tykes Toy Kitchen set. Hers has flashing lights, cool frying sounds, a microwave and an oven. When I was a kid mine just had a fake stove and refrigerator. Not fair.
17. I once came home really late, rather tipsy and ravenous. All the while in the car ride home I was fantasizing about a piece of mortadella waiting for me in the fridge. By the time I got home I ran to the kitchen with such longing and urgency, like a young lover rushing to see her sweetheart after years of separation. I inhaled the piece of mortadella in an almost animal-like manner only to realize immediately after swallowing that it was expired. For once I was grateful for the amount of vodka in my stomach that must have kept me from the brink of disaster.
18. I actually love vegetables. Yes. No kidding.
19. When I scuba dive and it’s nearing the hour of mealtime, I no longer see beautiful colored dancing fish, I see, ooh! Steamed grouper with ginger … those gorgeous fishy lips and fat, succulent cheeks. Grilled parrotfish stuffed with lemongrass. Wow! That lobster looks mighty appetizing. Greek octopus salad! Uni sashimi! It’s kind of how Sylvester the Cat sees Tweety Bird — not as a bird but as a piece of fried chicken.
20. I think Anthony Bourdain is sexy. But his bestie, Eric Ripert? He’s hotter than an oven-roasted hot potato. He can turn me into a dauphinoise anytime with those velvety smooth, classic French sauces, perfect juliennes and the charming way he tips his head as he raises his glass for a toast.
21. Gordon Ramsay, albeit mildly amusing in his telegenic mean-ness, will forever be to me the man who disrespected the poor geese who died a noble death producing foie gras. Ugh. One of the worst dishes of my life: foie gras terrine with York ham and mustard? Why?! It’s utterly lamentable.
22. I don’t exercise five times a week so I can be thin or lose weight; I exercise five times a week so I can eat as much as I want of whatever I want.
23. When I see an oven-baked dish of lasagna, glorious with crisp golden-brown legs of mozzarella cheese sexily rolling down its side — a sea of white, sunset colors, béchamel and tomato-colored oil, a tiny fleck of brown ragout peeking out below — I want to just plop my face down on it. Just freefall, like Garfield with a symphonic and melodious “Banzaaai” in my head.
24. I wish they would make a scratch-and-sniff cookbook.
25. Before I die I’d like to eat the following: albino sturgeon caviar, Ortolan, a whole roasted truffle and a deep-fried cheeseburger.