Lost A

Tag: food preferences

  • Flavors

    Flavors

    Sometimes the same bite of food carries a different soul depending on where you meet it. Salted caramel ice cream, for example, can taste bold and golden on one day, and strangely muted on another, as if the sweetness is responding to the air around you. It’s never just flavor. It’s the moment, the lighting, the quiet or the noise, the way your heart is sitting inside your chest. Even familiar ice cream becomes a new experience when your mood shifts, tasting the way you feel.

    And then there’s the magic of who you’re eating with. Salted caramel eaten alone can feel indulgent but simple, a small comfort. But the same spoonful shared with someone you love becomes softer, sweeter, almost warmer. It turns into a tiny celebration, a conversation, a memory. It’s almost funny how a bite can taste different just because someone is sitting beside you, laughing, listening, or simply being there.

    That’s why taste is never just taste. A scoop of salted caramel can be a hug, a reminder, a quiet companion, or a bridge between two people. Food grows with us, shifts with us, and becomes part of the story we’re living, one bite, one moment, one shared spoon at a time.

  • The farewell tour

    The farewell tour

    I decided to give myself a tiny farewell tour before my healthy meal plan subscription takes over my life, but it started in the most unexpected way. I went to an Italian restaurant, a place I won’t name because it doesn’t deserve the honor and immediately felt overwhelmed. The tables were practically breathing on each other, I could even hear the guy at the next table chewing, which somehow made everything worse.the crowd was loud enough to rattle my nerves, and the service moved at the speed of a sleepy snail. Even the food was just… fine. Average. Nothing worth remembering. I left feeling like the universe was telling me, “Enough restaurants for now.”

    The rest of the day felt kinder. I stopped by Altitude Roasters for my usual order, only to find it sold out, so I tried something new Amber Flow, this apple‑orange‑hibiscus‑cold‑brew situation that tasted like a small adventure in a cup. Then I went to Pick to try the new mango sticky rice ice cream everyone’s been talking about. It wasn’t mind‑blowing, but it was enjoyable in that quiet, comforting way. And somehow, these tiny stops felt like a soft wave goodbye the kind you give with a small smile, knowing you’re ready to walk toward something a little more intentional, a little more grounded, and exactly what you need right now.

  • Pickles

    Pickles

    I hate pickles. I hate how they smell, the texture the taste, they are disgusting and they destroy any food they are in. I just don’t like pickles not even a little. There’s something about them that barges into every dish, uninvited and impossible to ignore. They hide in burgers, sneak into sandwiches, float in salads, and somehow appear in meals that have no business being in them. And every time, they take over the whole flavor, drowning the balance I actually wanted. It feels like pickles are everywhere, waiting to ruin a perfectly good bite with their awful personality, and honestly… I’m tired of fighting them off.

    But unfortunately, I’m stuck with pickles whether I like it or not. They’re everywhere, and at some point I realized I had two choices: keep fighting them forever or learn to compromise. So I started picking around them, pushing them aside, trying to make peace with their existence. And slowly, I realized that when life insists on giving you pickles, you might as well search for the tiniest thing you can tolerate about them and live with it. Somehow and I still don’t fully understand how I think I’m starting to like pickled onions. They’re gentler, sweeter, less aggressive, almost polite compared to the usual offenders. Maybe I just needed to lower my expectations and accept that pickles are pickles; they will never be coffee, and I should stop expecting them to be coffee. So here I am, calling a truce in my long war with pickles a small, surprising step toward accepting that maybe not all of them are out to ruin my meals.

    Last week, I somehow found myself putting pickled onions on almost every meal I had everything except breakfast. I used them with rice, tucked them into sandwiches, paired them with Mexican food, Lebanese food, literally anything that crossed my plate. Breakfast was the only safe zone. But then, over the weekend, I had this wild idea: what if I added them to my usual scrambled eggs with labna and a drizzle of balsamic vinegar? So I tried it… and it was surprisingly yummy. Maybe giving pickles a chance isn’t the worst idea. People do change, after all. Maybe there’s hope. And since I can’t have coffee all the time anymore, I guess pickled onions will have to do for now, at least until the future decides to surprise me again.

    Ps: the photo contains three pieces of leftover reheated sambosa from one of my favorite restaurants