Anyway. Garfield the Cat. Loveable, affable, orange cat. And although I am a ginger (of sorts) like he is, and although I am hairy (mental vomit anyone?), and although I have whiskers (I do keep the Vandyke in check however), these are not the qualities I am speaking of.
No, our kinship is much more heart mattered then those physical aspects. The topic of our twinsy-ness is that of lasagna.
That meat, cheese, noodle and sauce concoction that is the ambrosia of my existence. The kryptonite to my Superman, the silver bullet to my werewolfness (ok, another hairy joke), the garlic to my vampireness (am I really going down this monster type casting?), the flame to my Frankenstein monster (yep, guess I am)… Ok.. enough…
But just look at the photo. The way the cheese and meat just meld together, the way the layers of noodles create a cake like affect, the way the sauce just….
And now I’m hungry. Great.
The thing about lasagna though is this. It is good that first day. Oh… so good.
But the second day, when it has had time to congeal and to become the sum of all its parts. Oh, that day is the day that I truly hate myself the night of. I engorge myself on this meal and sit around for the next three days bloated on pasta and sauce, waiting for the cheese to finally process through my system and the coma caused by the concoction to cease.
It is a horrible thing. It truly is (ok, it’s not.. it is a glorious thing, coming close in magnitude to the angel’s breaking forth in a chorus of Hallelujah).
Yeah.. I got it bad. I know. But, like my buddy Garfield says best….
In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Food for the Soul (and the Stomach).”