photo by Antoinne Rimes

I had that Padma Lakshmi dream again...

The one where she comes to San Francisco, and I accidentally meet her in the street. She is alone and looks scared and confused.  She asks me where she can get a really good apple fritter, and I tell her I know of a secret place where happiness is deep fried dough drenched in a sugary glaze.

She looks at me with tears in her eyes and asks me if she can kiss me.   I tell her yes.  We kiss, and we head off to this little place in the Tenderloin I know of that makes the best apple fritters in the city.

Imagine an apple fritter the same hue as Padma’s skin, and as sweet as a kiss from her luscious lips.  That’s the eighth happiness, the happiness of deep fried and sugary things.  It is the $1.45 Nirvana.

The Nirvana that requires no mountain climbing or chanting, only the desire to receive peace.   That is what it must be like to kiss Padma Lakshmi…nirvana.  Padma is my fantasy, but that apple fritter is available for a buck forty-five every day.

Emotional eating, maybe, but I am aware. I limit myself to one awesome, deliciousness every month, or I would never have a shot at the real thing.  Padma, I await you. Come to me.


AuthorAntoinne von Rimes