Solitude

I like to eat my meals alone.

I’m not a hermit.

Or emo.

Or anti-social.

But I like to hear the sound of my molars working, gnawing away at the food, bite by bite.

Let’s take salads, for example.

I like to feel the complementary crunchiness of the lettuce against the rough matchstick carrots, raw pepita seeds and sunflower seeds.

 

I like to savor the taste of the meal. The simplicity.

I let the crunchy leafy greens,  creamy salted cashews, lighted marinated, roasted and sliced kabocha squash, and sweet carrot

matchsticks do the talking.

No over saturated dressing.

Maybe a small dash of salt if I’m feeling sassy.

Mix all ingredients.

Enjoy the tranquility sitting at our wooden kitchen table. No TV. No laptops.

I hear the clocks ticking. One in our kitchen. One in our living room. They don’t sound in unison but rather like a pendulum. One and then the other.

I hear our fish tank gurgle once in a while.

I hear my molars moving to the rhythm of the food.

I feel a smile crept onto my lips after my first few bites.

This is bliss in its most simple form.

 

 

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