Maybe it’s because somewhere along the road some evil and yet also chef-like scientist infused garlic butter into my family’s DNA, but I was always raised to believe that a good meal is a big deal. Dinnertime is not a simple concept to me, and while this sounds so ridiculous when I write it out, food and the way it brings people together just might be my love language.
Okay, yes, internet, we can always make obesity speeches and talk about America’s overindulgence, but I’m not talking about eating. The typical American stereotype of eating- or a mindless consumption of mass-produced false food-byproduct- is a crime, I think. Call me a nerd, but a good meal is enjoyed, not just eaten. We’re talking flavors, textures, temperatures, spices and smells, and that’s just the tip of the tasty iceberg. Food has the capacity to be complex or simple, comforting and exotic, and of course, it’s the perfect accent to a great conversation or a fantastic evening.
Considering my resources are, well, limited as a freeloading college student, I’m not calling ahead to five-star restaurants every night (or ever, really) but even the simplest thrown-together-with-love-and-whatever-was-in-the-pantry dinners my friends and I whip up are supremely special and make me do a little happy dance at the table. Something about sharing a meal makes me sentimental, and well, last night was no exception.
Wanna cure your troubles?
Gather your good friends that laugh loudly and cute little boot glasses (!) and serve up some pesto-parmesan pasta. Easy, but oh-so-effective.