We woke that day like children. Like tiny puppies licking sleep away from each other’s eyes. Excited to live, the way Sundays make you. A whole day, stretched out like a canvas. I wanted to paint Sunday with my joy. You felt that way too. In fact your feeling that way about Sundays was one of those things that brought us together.
The sun was in my eyes and you yawned against my neck and mumbled “Brunch?” That word still evokes now, what at age 20 it had just begun to – the promise of an afternoon, the thought of a sweet white wine, laidback glamour, bohemian chic. We were so cool and young then. We showered and made paintings with the suds. Even soap bubbles were made adorable by love.
Hunger and Food are Everyday aspects of our lives. Great loves and great wars have been made over food. When we write stories about food, we're also writing about love. We're writing about need, desire, ephemerality, mortality and our instinctual desire to preserve the impermanent. Which is why we create memories and metaphors.Read More
By Karuna Ezara Parikh, Issue 9, Food Art, May 2012