Slow food for fast people

The cupboard is empty. I really need food. I'm thirsty. An empty fridge too. Still 23 minutes to go before the grocery store closes...and I'll need at least 20 to get there, maybe 15 if I'll turn it into a deadly joyride, if the constellation of stars will send traffic in the opposite direction and if I would just find my damned keys in time.

No keys. No car. No 20 minutes. No food. Nothing to drink. It'll be once more a fast food evening. Fast food. I really don't like that term. My origins forbid me to like it. I'm a disciple of the slow food movement. You know: food as joy, not as a simple necessity. Not as an unbearable burden to keep on living. Slow food. Slowly. Taking your time. A properly set table. Candles. The right atmosphere. The right company. The right wine for every dish. Taste as an impossible voyage through the world. Through cultures. Through a mix of colours.

But not tonight. It'll be a fast one. I will make up for it tomorrow, the day after and the rest of the week. It's a good friend's birthday. A party is waiting. And I'm sure it will be a party to remember.