Hunger Is More Than A Problem Of

In Spite Of My Conviction That A Group Of Deliberately Assembled Relatives Can Be One Of The Dullest, If Not Most Dangerous, Gatherings In The World, I Am Smugly Foolhardly Enough To Have Invited All My Available Family, More Than Once, To Dine With Me.

There Are Many People Like Me Who Believe Firmly, If Somewhat Incoherently, That Pockets On This Planet Are Filled With What Humans Have Left Behind Them, Both Good And Evil, And That Any Such Spiritual Accumulation Can Stay There Forever, Past Definition Of Such A Stern Word.

... Most Bereaved Souls Crave Nourishment More Tangible Than Prayers: They Want A Steak. What Is More, They Need A Steak. Preferably They Need It Rare, Grilled, Heavily Salted, For That Way It Is Most Easily Digested, And Most Quickly Turned Into The Glandular Whip Their Tired Adrenals Cry For.

The Oyster Leads A Dreadful But Exciting Life. Indeed, His Chance To Live At All Is Slim, And If He Should Survive The Arrows Of His Own Outrageous Fortune And In The Two Weeks Of His Carefree Youth Find A Clean Smooth Place To Fix On, The Years Afterwards Are Full Of Stress, Passion, And Danger.

It Is Puzzling To Me That Otherwise Sensitive People Develop A Real Docility About The Obvious Necessity Of Eating, At Least Once A Day, In Order To Stay Alive. Often They Lose Their Primal Enjoyment Of Flavors And Odors And Textures To The Point Of Complete Unawareness. And If Ever They Question This Progressive Numbing-off, They Shrug Helplessly In The Face Of Mediocrity Everywhere. Bit By Bit, Hour By Hour, They Say, We Are Being Forced To Accept The Not-so-good As The Best, Since There Is Little That Is Even Good To Compare It With.