For months, I'd been existing on delicate lettuces, sunny galettes, oodles of zoodles, smoked eggplant whipped lighter than air, vodka with basil, water with mint, mint with strawberries, strawberries with strawberries. I'm not trying to make you hungry. And I'm not trying to brag. In fact, forgive me, all the freshness was beginning to feel a little too fresh, a little too bright. I needed sunglasses just to digest and I needed some heft. I needed too much butter and salt and for something to sit dense and gloating in my belly. I needed the anti-kale, the anti-radish. And I needed, just for a moment, to not feel like I was inhabited by dancing fairies.