I like to think
I have good taste—literally. I love food, as my mild girth will attest to, and
between my dad’s frequent culinary experiments and my own burgeoning kitchen
creativity (emphasis on the “burgeoning”) I’ve developed a healthy respect for
sustenance done right. However, I’m also in my early twenties, a year and a
half out of university and basically poor, so between homemade butter chicken
and lavish amounts of penne noodles I’m apt to stuff myself full of the worst
“food” imaginable. And I love it. The following dishes make me feel genuine
remorse, as if I’ve actually killed a part of myself, but Goddamn I love them so.
