My 500 Words- write about food


The rich smell of coffee wafts up to my nostrils. I inhale.
The aftertaste of dark blueberries and coconut milk lingers on the rooftop of my mouth. I relish.
The image of our yesterday parfait, overflowing with whip-cream, chocolate ice cream, butter-finger chunks with a cherry on top.  I fight the urge to vomit.

Each taste so delectable, Rolling over our tongues. Most I can enjoy, more often than not, I regret.

There is the hope of a green salad this afternoon thrown together in a silver bowl.
Cherry tomato’s line the top with Kerrie-gold cheese shredded around.
My favorite new strawberry lemonade also calls to me. The magic bullet truly does magic.

I remember last night as I stuffed marshmallows in my face.
“Don’t eat those!” Mom laughed and pulled the bag away from me.
“What? I’m just eating my emotions.” I stuffed another one fast before she took the bag away completely.

“No more bread!” I say, “I can’t take it anymore!”
“No more bread? Ok.” They reply back. “Good idea.”
Then I look in the fridge. There she is, soft and fluffy.
I imagine the sensations I would feel if it was in my mouth, toasted with butter and mom’s canned apple butter spread all over. My mouth waters. “No more bread!” I say. I slam the refrigerator door.

At night I crave the salt. The bag of chips always in the pantry.  I raid. I find nothing.
“where are the chips!” I yell.
“In the dirty Pantry!” I hear.
Yes, there they are. unopened bag. We will eat the entirety of them.
Costco salsa is poured into bowls. We sit down to watch The Voice.
Not even an hour later our mouths have devoured the entire 16oz bag of gluten free tortilla chips along with the salsa. The salt leaves us craving for more. Need water. But who really enjoys drinking water. (especially room temperature? No thanks.)
Soda. I need a soda.

Then, there are the late night cravings of something sweet. The grocery store up the road closes at eight on the dot.
Zips closes at ten. Bingo. We jump in the honda. The sub is banging my ear drums as country blares through the speakers. “Life is a highway I wanna ride it all night long….” We sing at the top of our lungs. Then everything goes silent. We pull into the drive through (cause there is no way in hell we are going to walk through that fast food joint).
“A large tub of fries… and a large milkshake please.” Our total is calculated and we wait at the window. The bag comes out we pull out of there and park in the parking lot. There we shut-up our craving and stuff our faces with grease, delicious grease and…. “I can already feel the phlegm in the back of my throat.” But we keep on eating. The music beating and our memories just increasing.

Now I’m back at the table with my coffee over. I inhale one more time.
I am looking for a snack. I raid.
Nothing comes to mind that is good.

I’ll just wait till lunch.


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