8 AM. WHAT DO YOU WANT FOR DINNER?
We were in bed, the window shut, and the light off. Olivia was asleep in her bed, dreaming about something—dogs, probably
We were in bed, the window shut, and the light off. Olivia was asleep in her bed, dreaming about something—dogs, probably.
“What do you want for dinner?” Dani asked.
“I don’t know,” I replied.
It wasn’t true. It was only 8 a.m., but I already knew what I wanted for dinner.
“Indian food,” I said a few minutes later. I had been dreaming of butter chicken and garlic naan. “What do you think?”
“We could order those…what are they called? The potatoes with cheese.”
“Sure, yes. I don’t remember the name either, but I know what you mean.”
At that point, the conversation was over. Dani went to take a shower, and I made a six-egg omelette for us to share. While cooking, I kept thinking about butter chicken and cumin rice, trying to recall the name of the cheesy potatoes Dani wanted. It was an ordinary day, but it was probably the first time I realized how often I think about food. It doesn’t matter whether I’m hungry or not. I’m aware of it—it’s nothing to be ashamed of or worried about. It’s just something that needs to be acknowledged.
After eating our omelette and finishing our toast and coffee, we went to work. In the evening, on my way home, I ordered Indian food and paid an extra five euros for priority delivery. Everything was delicious. But when I went to bed, feeling full and tired, I smelled something in my room: raclette cheese?
Tamara Tossi ©