It’s white truffle garlic bread soaked in butter and topped with homemade ricotta from North Italia. I spread the cheese in thick slabs before I bring it to my lips and my eyes nearly roll back as the flavors fill my mouth. It’s a dinner split with my friend, caesar salad, and bolognese – a house specialty – brought out in courses after the bread. It’s Diet Coke with lemon and a refill without asking. The split portions come split for us when the food is delivered and they are filling and perfect and both of us clean our plates.
It’s moving to Copper, a nearby restaurant, for dessert where I order warm deep-dish apple cobbler topped with vanilla ice cream. The warmth in my chest, while I take another spoonful, feels like sipping red wine — something I smelled and longed for during our dinner, counting the days until Dry January is over. I drink all my water, gratified.
We get cake balls to go — Oreo and Chocolate Strawberry — and I tuck them in my purse along with the boxes of Girl Scout cookies. I bought three from the stand on the street after dinner: S’mores, Thin Mints, and Peanut Butter Patties. They are in my freezer now, promising a month (or two, if I stretch it) of post-dinner satedness.
All of it feels decadent, self-indulgent, a small and important luxury to meet a friend for an evening. To talk and eat and do it all without hurry. We do it all without hurry. And it fills me up, not just the food, but the reminder of connection and trust and casualness I feel being out with a friend, coming home to an evening of whatever I want it to be. Coming home full and sleepy-eyed from the carbs and sugar and I’m so wholly satisfied I barely remember what guilt over eating calorie-rich food feels like.
My hunger — in my belly and in my solitude — has been satiated for the day.
With Love,
Natalie