Always seemed to me such a social thing.

Let's break some bread, turn on the oven. Hover over the stovetop and inhale the delicious aromas together. Chop the eggplant? Thanks.

Pass the pie? Yes, please.

But lately living in a small town, mine seem to be taken more and more alone.

My plate is the only one on the tabletop, the leftovers stuffed unceremoniously into the refigerator, to be picked on ungracefully later on in the evening.

People say the food we eat is a reflection of our lives.

Then isn't how we take our meals a reflection of the same?

Lara Gabrielle Blanco Heintz