The wrapper is the same , shiny.
I remove the silver tinfoil, straighten it out and then break the first wafer stick and take a bite. I like the sweetness and the crunch. I like how kitkat feels like the sugar-coated excitement of happy childhood memories.
The rice isn’t white. It’s always a yellow or orange and the pieces of chicken in it are smaller that the size of my expectations from the dude I only just met. But it’s been slow cooked on low heat with all the right spices. I open my mouth but it’s not to say hello.
Biryani will always be love at first bite.
I simply peel away the soiled outer layers and as reveals its heart, lying in its bare simplicity. I dissect it until its segments can each be picked up , examined, devoured. The truth may be bitter. But carrots, never.
I drink in the last sip of the warm chocolate that the 90’s kids take for granted in a liberalised economy, as I wear branded clothes and ride my imported car. Bourn-e-vita. I spell it with an e in the middle , to retain some mystery from the Ludlum spy.
I go back to where I began. a story and a cup of ‘Bourne’ vita in bed :
Coffee is too grown up for me to even try.
So i lay out my meals for V-Day,
Food is my true love anyway.