The first paragraph of Lydia Davis’ new beautiful essay:
It takes me so long to get used to new things in my life that when I am tired I call my husband by the name of that other husband I used to have, although it was a long time ago by now, and this new son by the name of that first son I had, who was in my life for ten long years before this one came. But it is worse than that, since when I am even more tired, I remember only the other husband and the first son.
Sometimes food feels this way to me. I feel like I know it by another name, or I know it from somewhere else. Sometimes food feels like a friend that is also a stranger.