I work in a restaurant and as such, most often eat lunch there. I consider myself one of the lucky one’s. Although I certainly pride myself in the food I prepare for others, it is in my own personal concoctions that I am most proud of. Today it was a simple lunch, a cheese pizza. There is something beautiful about pizza. It is the perfect amalgamation of bread, cheese and sauce.

As I sit here, eating this pizza, I realize how much of this experience is predicated upon by pattern. From how I hold the slice, to the amount of food I fit into each bite. Or how I dip each bite in ranch while casually glancing through the newspaper as I sip on water. I think I realize this now because I am doing something different. I am thinking about eating and how I do it, rather than just doing it. For some reason I feel more involved now.

The sauce becomes richer, tangier.

Everything becomes still.

I dip my slice in ranch and realize

I have yet to have my fill.