I’m eating a sugar cookie. Just baked.
As my teeth touch the outside crust, it is crisp and buttery, and oh so sweet and light.
The crust yields, willingly, allowing my teeth to breach its wall and enter into the almost molten joy that eagerly anticipates my hungry lips and tongue.
It is like eating a white cloud, kissed by a lemon sun, crunching though a crystal ice-like shower of sugar on the top, and finding the soft and moist and lovely and warm center inside. And I’m drinking tea, a clear, hot, amber elixir, full of health and goodness.
I don’t add any sugar or jam to the tea. Or lemon.
The cookie has all of the sugar and lemon I need. The tea is just slightly bitter, but not the kind of remorseful bitterness that comes from a passing moment of engaging in wanton culinary ecstasy, no.
Just a slight bitterness that complements and balances the happy sweetness and fatness of the cookie, thus utilizing every taste bud on my tongue.
Yes, that’s what I’m doing, right now.