When you have trouble swallowing you view food differently. You look at a steaming plate of pasta and don't think "That looks good" but rather "That looks like a lot of work." On the plus side, when it's all gone, instead of regret you feel a sense of accomplishment.
If you think restaurant portions are large now, you should try eating out after throat surgery. For once, the waiter who asks “Are you still working on that?” is using the right verb.
After our dinner with the Serbian waiter we walked down the street to Ann’s Florist and Coffee Bar. I was thirsty for a beer, beer having recently joined pastis as one of the few alcohols that didn’t burn my healing throat. Walking past the counter of pastries I spotted some delicious pieces of blueberry cobbler.
We got a seat outside on the terrace. The waiter, kneeling to address us at eye level, went through the long list of beers, which included craft beers as well as national brands.
“I’ll have the blueberry cobbler,” I told him.
“Would you like that on draft or in a bottle?” he asked.
Yesterday marked one month since my surgery, and while the pain has lessened considerably – there’s no longer a small pool of saliva on my pillow when I wake up – swallowing solid foods is still a problem. And I’ve found that I miss not just eating, but the anticipation of eating. When you don’t have mealtimes to look forward to – just another round of soup, smoothie, protein drink, ice cream (yes, it’s possible to get tired of ice cream) – it makes your days unimaginably dull. Especially during a pandemic.
Recovering from throat surgery I've been watching a lot of food shows, sort of like a eunuch who becomes addicted to X-rated movies.
Heritage doesn’t advertise Italian home-cooking but it has something else I remember from the homes of my Italian friends back in ’50s New Jersey. On a narrow wall by the kitchen hang three small paintings: one of Mary, one of Jesus, and one of Padre Pio. They give that buzzy room with its sophisticated diners a sweet and unexpected touch.