Here are my two current favorite paragraphs about loving food.

First, from Paul Constant’s love for vegetarian restaurants in this week’s issue (he’s explaining the one day in his life he was veg):

The next day, I told Jenny how good I felt, not having consumed meat for an entire 5-hour period—13 hours including sleep!—and that I had seen the light and was swearing off meat forever. The day after that, my parents took me to McDonald’s and I broke down and ate a Double Quarter Pounder with cheese. I never got anywhere with Jenny and she’s now a terrorist-fearing Christian Republican who’s married to a cop with an auto-detailing business on the side.

The second, from the next upcoming (Sports!?!) issue of Oxford American Magazine*, where Wright Thompson explains his love for BBQ nachos from the Ole Miss Stadium:

Finally, I get back to my seat. I’m focused. All I see is the cardboard tray on my lap, a saturated-fat All-Star team: pulled pork, dry rub, sweet barbecue sauce, tortilla chips, jalapeño peppers, and a blanket of molten cheese that may or may not be a dairy but sure as hell is awesome. If I were tobacco-lawyer rich, I’d hire someone to paint a replica of Michaelangelo’s Sistine Chapel on the ceiling of my Gulfstream, except I’d want God reaching down His Almighty Finger into this very plate. It’s almost too beautiful to eat.

Read them both.

* You will have to buy Oxford American to read this particular piece. Do it. It’s a great mag and well worth the $5.