Pot Pie

It seems like the highlight of my life the past few days, has been marked by food.

I convinced my friend to go to Souplantation on Monday night football because they were serving Chicken Pot Pie Soup.

Oh my god.

Better than sex.

I love November.

Trader Joe’s starts stocking their Fondue in a box. The guy at the check out asked if you needed a fondue pot. “Just a saucepan!” I exclaimed, as if I were Betty Crocker, not the domestic disaster my friends know me to be.

Did I mention the amazing acorn squash I had last night? Delicious. My friend and I were discussing what makes some acorn squashes sweet and succulent, and others not. We couldn’t figure it out. But I have discovered cooking the squash seeds. At first, I felt like I was doing something scandalous, a pioneer on the home front. I wondered if there was some poisonous reason that people never ate squash seeds. I think the squash seeds were sold out to the pumpkin seeds for no good reason. I am speaking out on behalf of squash seeds everywhere! Why are they discriminated against and pumpkin seeds get all the packaging? Taste the same cooked in the oven!

What is amazing to me is how you can eat the exact same thing and it can taste completely different depending on where your taste buds are at. (There’s that ending the sentence with a preposition violation, but how else do you say the same thing with the same umph!?) In that sense, eating and fucking are very much alike, because sex can feel totally different depending on your mood too. What you’re craving one night, might not hit the spot the next.

Believe it or not, you can get Chicken Pot Pied out.

Sooner or later though, you’re always hungry again.