Food – A Romance Story

James Anthony Ellis
Legacy Magazine Editor

Editor’s Note: One of the great mysteries in our world is the enigma of the relationship that men have with food. It’s part bromance, part love story, part love-hate relationship. It can barely be captured in words. But that didn’t stop one man – me, Jim – with tongue squarely placed in cheek. 

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I entered the room. A darkened room. Even without the ability to physically see my way, I knew my mind’s eye could guide me to my prize, the focus of my desire. It was not too late. It is never too late. My muscle memory could recall the location of the parts of this room that called out to me. 

I extended my hand. I reached out … reached out with a full and open heart. I reached out with an open state of mind, longing to grasp and consume. Saliva building. Grasp and then consume. 

With hand guided steady, I reached out to clasp the lever that would open my entire world with a brilliant shining light. 

Could it be true?

Ah yes. 

It was then I knew… I didn’t have a freaking clue how to write in the style of a romance novel.

It was then I knew… I would give it a go anyway. 

With the light shining in my eyes, I squinted. I had to, given the brilliant illumination. 

But then again, I could just reach my hand knowing where it was being guided. 

And what did I find? 

Ah, the clear curves of the ripe apple – so soft and delectable. A stem. Even barely able to see, through a slight squint, I removed that stem and felt the skin of this savory edible.

But I would not consume. Nay. Just not in the mood. Not at this late hour.

Now that my eyes were becoming accustomed to the light in the dark, I ducked my head to peer into this Maytag Machine of Morsels to Manhandle.

The next call: a plum, a precious plum. Delicious. But not tonight. The hour 1 a.m. is meant for something less fruity.  

Perhaps just a drink? A Canada Dry ginger ale? A vitamin water? No, no, no … I was hungry. This was a midnight snack sort of attack.

And so the call would go out once more … one that I must heed.

Now towards the cupboard – the Kraft mac and cheese, the saved Magic Bar with chocolate chips, walnuts, coconut and graham cracker crust. The corn dog – with the sort-of come-hither type call, which would be too graphic for this family friendly medium.

And yet I hear the voice. I hear it so clearly.

“Consume me. Eat me. Make me yours.”

At first I thought this was coming from the leftover Starbucks’ cake pop. But because my love is of the hetero variety, I determined it must be a bagel, a donut or perhaps even a juicy cream-filled éclair. Or for a truly “He-Man” experience, it may have been a tri-tip or side of beef that I would have to devour like a wild cougar or lion.

But I was wrong. This lilting voice was actually originating from the freezer. My thoughts raced:

• Am I dreaming?
• Am I going insane?
• Am I in love?
• Am I still asleep?
• Why doesn’t the freezer have a light in it like the fridge does?

So many racing thoughts.

And then it was clear. After opening that top freezer door, I would see the true object of my desires. And what desired me.

The Jolly Llama. Not just any Jolly Llama … the Gluten-Free Dairy-Free Caramel Chocolate Chip brand.

“Lick me. Lick me. Lick me.” Its soft purr was beyond inviting. It was a demand of the highest order. And I had to comply. It was a sweet flirtation that I had to follow, as dictated by my deep desires, my yearning hunger and – of course to be truly ridiculous – my burning loins.

Is this love? Is this desire? Is this even healthy?

Who cares? I am a man and I have needs. And I am hungry. I am hungry.

But most of all, I am in a relationship with food … and it cannot be denied.

It will be a relationship that will last until the end of time. There is no breaking up this union. Let no man – nor no empty cabinet or fridge – tear asunder what has been established in the eternal book of a romance – the never-ending love story of food and mankind.

THE END

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NOTE: No animals, food or dessert were injured in the production of this writing.