Let’s talk about food.

If you follow me on Twitter, you know that I Tweet nearly as much about food as I do about writing.

Perhaps more.

Yeah, probably more. (Except right before book releases, but I still manage to slip a few morsels in.)

I wish I did not love food so much. As it is, I love the feeling of sitting down to a meal—be it at a four-star restaurant or Taco Hell at home. I love the pleasure of eating the way I love lolling in sun-warmed sheets that smell like skin. The way I love a great foot rub, hot water in a bath, fires in the winter.

If I had to pick a last meal, I’d be hard pressed; I could feasibly eat a last meal every day from now until I’m 80.

Among my favorites:

Movie buttered popcorn with evil fake buttery topping
Red Lobster cheese biscuits
Any biscuit, actually
Mashed potatoes
Ham gravy
Caviar with accouterments
Hot dogs with mustard
Greasy cheeseburgers
Miso soup
Roasted garlic soup
Feta marinated in olive oil and herbs
Crisp tater tots and ketchup
Guacamole
Perfectly grilled cheese
Tomato dill soup
Pad See-iew
Enchiladas
Chicken salad served in half an avocado
Morels
Korean seaweed and rice
Homemade croutons
Biscuits and gravy
Mulligatawny soup
Fresh oysters
Warm donuts
Ribeye
Sweet potato tempura
Warm chocolate cake with fudge frosting
Fried chicken and cold slaw
Anything with alfredo sauce on it
Crispy salads with blue cheese
Warm, crusty bread (and cold, salty butter)

When I’m queasy, I head for McDonald’s. There’s something seriously medicinal about McDonald’s fries and orange Hi-C. And there’s nothing in the WORLD like McDonald’s hashbrowns.

Can I get an “Amen?”