Your Tongue
i should be drinking coffee.
instead i'm writing.
there's been a lot to think about and digest lately. i'm like a toddler, putting things in my mouth to see if they're food. will this taste good? is it good for me?
which is funny, because last night i was a judge in an iron chef contest at horsefucker's birthday party. the mystery ingredient was limes and i got eight dishes--four from each team--to sample. it was more or less a tie, but the best dish by far was the lime-tequila ceviche. it was, in fact, fucking great and i'll try to get the recipe up here soon.
i sat at the judges table, between lael and christy and stephen, and spoke in a mock (and i mean mock) japanese accent, pretending to be nobu roboto, executive vice president of hyundai. the chefs put plates in front of me and i put the offerings in my mouth. is this food? does this taste good?
and all i can say is you know what tastes good when you get it. if you trust your tongue.
people are giving me all sorts of great advice now, but sometimes you just do what you want to do. at the end of the day, you're you, and you know what tastes good. sometimes that's junk food, sometimes it's berries, sometimes it's nothing but water and fresh air.
hell if i know what all that means.
