Last night, after being a bit snow bound for over a week, spending too much time letting my mind go bleak -- and not for illegitimate reasons -- decided to have a toke. For a time, I was lifted to that other plane of existence, where all of this could be considered just a surreal joke, something to endure, a knowing that this is temporary, that none of this is real, no matter how fucked up it is.
But as usual, that experiential plane of a better reality doesn't last all that long, at least for me, a casual and infrequent toker. But, I felt relaxed enough to consider a snuggle up into my pillows, and a time to just go to bed.
The next hour was excruciating. All I could think of was food. I had visions of some of my favorite eats. I remembered some of the most savory foods I have eaten over years of my life. The first time someone showed me how to properly saute mushrooms and to prepare a perfect steak, make a perfect salad dressing, and a salad that tasted better than I had ever had.
I recalled the first time I had prime rib, ironically on the Island of St. Thomas, VI, at the Black Beard Hotel, when I was 19 years old. It was an amazing experience of culinary perfection.
Then I remembered the seafood stew that I had in Panama when I worked there for six weeks, sea creatures that I didn't even recognize, but the flavors and the comfort of eating was coursing through my memory. I could smell and taste it all.
But the most lingering memory, that kept me awake the longest, was a savory chunk of fresh Maine lobster, dipped in butter. . .
A middle of the night walk down great eatery experiences isn't all so bad, even though it was like being on a raft, in the ocean, dying of thirst, with nothing to drink!
Won't toke tonight. Need to get some sleep.
