food 1.
“Één kleine patat met.” The words are out of my mouth before I know it. I feel a little guilty as I watch the guy behind the counter put salt on the chips and then squirt mayonaise over them.
It’s an ordinary day, except for the fact that I have to wait for over an hour at the station. I’ve spent most of my time behind a computer looking at numbers and trying to make sense of them. It already occurred to me at university I had a terribly urge for junkfood. Grease and salt, why do those tastes appeal suddenly so? When I came to the station I ignored the desire first, went and bought a gift for a friend and then I found myself standing in line at the Burger King. I look at the menu, nothing appeals to me, and the horrifying smell is enough to chase me away from junkfood heaven. I fiddle my hands look around at the othersad idiots compelled by their hunger in line, and leave. I take a little pride in myself in not giving in and not sit down in plastic food plaza. Besides I never wanted a whole menu, it would be too much. I just wanted something quick and salt. I find myself wondering whether a healthy sandwich will also suffice. No, it has to be warm. I wander back through the station, and find myself then in line at a small take away snackbar. I shouldn’t be doing this. Giving into impulses, it will make your money disappear. Food is everywhere around me, and I begin to grasp it’s effectiveness. I debate with myself whether I rather want bread with a croque monsieur, but at the counter the words are out of my mouth: “one small chips with mayonaise.” Apparently that’s what I wanted. I pay my two euro’s and take the hot chips and attempt to find a small bench. It’s cold and my small fat food, is nice and warm. With a fork I take one of the potato chips dip it in the mayonaise and eat it. It tastes like everything I expected it to, and in the beginning I munch away happily. Nothing seems more delightful than braving the cold of winter with food that’ll store immediately into thighs. As I progress I start thinking about what I’m actually eating, about how difficult it is for my body to break all this down, how much bile should be produced in my gallbladder and how the cholesterol might clutter my veins which are already small. I think about the amount of salt, which should be bad for my bloodpressure amongst other things. I look at people walking by, and excuse myself with the idea that I don’t do this regularly, and that the last time I ate fries like this was months and months ago. My brain won’t stop, still it tastes delicious and the guilt is hardly there. Then I consider that I shouldn’t let my bodily impulses control me so much, because next time it will be even easier to give in.
I finish the chips, it was just enough for me, more and I would’ve gotten sick, less and I’d have an urge for more. I throw the carton away in the bin next to me, and wait for dissapointment that I’ve done this. Nothing comes. No, actually I feel a sort of delight at my own wickedness and self indulgence. I shrug and get up. They’re giving out free tea because of the by cold delayed trains and I need something to wash the taste from my mouth. I take my tea, get my book out and wait for my friend.
It’s an ordinary day, except for the fact that I have to wait for over an hour at the station. I’ve spent most of my time behind a computer looking at numbers and trying to make sense of them. It already occurred to me at university I had a terribly urge for junkfood. Grease and salt, why do those tastes appeal suddenly so? When I came to the station I ignored the desire first, went and bought a gift for a friend and then I found myself standing in line at the Burger King. I look at the menu, nothing appeals to me, and the horrifying smell is enough to chase me away from junkfood heaven. I fiddle my hands look around at the othersad idiots compelled by their hunger in line, and leave. I take a little pride in myself in not giving in and not sit down in plastic food plaza. Besides I never wanted a whole menu, it would be too much. I just wanted something quick and salt. I find myself wondering whether a healthy sandwich will also suffice. No, it has to be warm. I wander back through the station, and find myself then in line at a small take away snackbar. I shouldn’t be doing this. Giving into impulses, it will make your money disappear. Food is everywhere around me, and I begin to grasp it’s effectiveness. I debate with myself whether I rather want bread with a croque monsieur, but at the counter the words are out of my mouth: “one small chips with mayonaise.” Apparently that’s what I wanted. I pay my two euro’s and take the hot chips and attempt to find a small bench. It’s cold and my small fat food, is nice and warm. With a fork I take one of the potato chips dip it in the mayonaise and eat it. It tastes like everything I expected it to, and in the beginning I munch away happily. Nothing seems more delightful than braving the cold of winter with food that’ll store immediately into thighs. As I progress I start thinking about what I’m actually eating, about how difficult it is for my body to break all this down, how much bile should be produced in my gallbladder and how the cholesterol might clutter my veins which are already small. I think about the amount of salt, which should be bad for my bloodpressure amongst other things. I look at people walking by, and excuse myself with the idea that I don’t do this regularly, and that the last time I ate fries like this was months and months ago. My brain won’t stop, still it tastes delicious and the guilt is hardly there. Then I consider that I shouldn’t let my bodily impulses control me so much, because next time it will be even easier to give in.
I finish the chips, it was just enough for me, more and I would’ve gotten sick, less and I’d have an urge for more. I throw the carton away in the bin next to me, and wait for dissapointment that I’ve done this. Nothing comes. No, actually I feel a sort of delight at my own wickedness and self indulgence. I shrug and get up. They’re giving out free tea because of the by cold delayed trains and I need something to wash the taste from my mouth. I take my tea, get my book out and wait for my friend.