Good food. Good sex. Good friends. The three ingredients to a happy life. But three time a day really is not enough (we’re talking about food you pervert).
I’m what they call skinny-fat. I really have no muscle, but then again I have no fat. Juanita gives me a lot of shit because I occasionally eat like a fat person and could easily win any hot-dog eating contest (I’m good at putting things in my mouth, sue me). But honestly, eating like a fat person takes a special skill set. People don’t give fatsos enough credit.
The other culinary art-form I take part in instagram. Other than salivating over a well-crafted menu, the first thing I ask the waiter at any restaraunt is always “what’s the best dish to order for an instagram pic?” This will occasionally take a server off guard (though any Michelin starred venue is used to this request).
For example, last time I visited the ‘rents over the holidays (Columbus Day), Carmen and Gerald took me to their favorite restaurant. I know it’s totally selfish that they didn’t let their only daughter pick the restaurant, but sometimes you have to let things slide. I tried not to be too angry with them since people are more likely to spend a lot of money on you when you’re nice, and Gerald hardly bat an eye when I ordered the $75 steak. Carmen might have flinched, but it could have just been that her botox was wearing off.
Greasy, Fried and Fatty. The three ingredients to a diabetic coma.
I would never actually eat this. Not even if I was pregnant with demon triplets or adopted into the Kardashian clan. The whole “eat whatever I want” whale-approach to pregnancy might work for Kim and Beyonce, but I’d rather not have to photoshop my entire existence. My fat-person eating habits do not include things that actual fat people eat.
Was it worth it? Of course. This steak was more photogenic than my three-year-old disabled maltipoo (he’s an internet sensation, look him up). And I wanted the whole world to see what grease and good lighting could do.