I like my food like De-Bo. I want the flavor to knock me clean out on the first forkful, snatch my chain and leave me wondering what the hell just happened.
I like my meals like a southern Baptist church choir. I wanna take a bite and it’s like the choir director just cut the music, and let each section ride out acapella, rocking and stomping and doing the elbow popper and gettin’ it in so good that all you can do is just wave your right hand in the air in silent testimony because the food has left you speechless.
Right at the table. Elbow-poppin praise. That. Damn. Good.
I mean, don’t get me wrong. French food is pretty good. And Paris has given me the gift that keeps on giving – a sweet tooth. Never in life have I craved sweets after a meal until now. I don’t know if they use a special cow’s milk for their chocolates, or if they sprinkle fairy dust in their flour but I’m pretty much hooked on dessert now.
But overall, unless there is some magic dish I need to try, French cuisine gets a B-. And if your child brings home a B minus, you celebrate right? Like good job, Junior!
In my house, if I brought home a B minus, the Colemans had an altar call to bring me and my intellect back to Jesus because there are 20 points out there that I failed to acquire and that needs to never happen again.
So that’s kinda how I feel about food. It needs to be an exceptional experience. A sonata of culinary harmony that builds to a climax, ends on a pitch perfect note and elicits a standing ovation. Or maybe I’m just being dramatic like I’m known to be, but God gives us a certain number of days on this Earth, and I aim to bring joy to each of mine with all the edible goodness and mercy that has been offered to us. Because food is life, life is short, and my belly will go to Heaven with knees bowed and hands raised in thanksgiving for curry goat and shrimp po’ boys.
If your belly isn’t there yet, get your culinary life in order, and visit some places with food that will make you a believer (Ocho Rios, Accra & New Orleans are a few that come to mind). When you’re done with those, stop by Paris for a vanilla macaron from Ludaree. It’s what they serve for dessert in heaven.