A tour of Buckingham Palace left me to wonder who frequents the 40+ seats at the dining table, adorned with lavish gold-plated silverware, and a menu approved by the Queen herself. She finalizes every detail, right down to the spelling of the menu items with the head waiter before the kitchen is even warmed up. My stomach growls.
After the tour, I made my way to a cafe, with the palpable name, EAT. A spiced chicken sandwich on wholegrain caught my Hungry Eye (there it is again), though I can't imagine even the most decadent sandwich served to a bunch of diplomats on one of Queen Betty's silver platters.
Satisfied, nevertheless, I continued along my way on a shopping binge along Oxford Street, where after hours of circling the streets, I finally found the perfect pair of boots. The only problem was their ambiguous colour.
"Is this a shade of grey? Or brown?" I ask the saleswoman.
After a curious look at the leather, she determines its the colour of a mushroom.
My stomach growls. Mushroom. I've been so consumed by the shopaholic environment that I haven't realized how long its been since lunch. Hunger strikes.
It beckons, but I am diverted from the pangs by a bookstore. Go figure.
I promise myself to take only moments to browse the shelves. Many moments later, I walk out with a book called, Hunger, by Sharman Apt Russell.
Laughing to myself, I wonder if the title of choice was influnced by the fact that its well past dinnertime now. Book in hand, I make my way to a cafe appropriately called, La Pain Quotidien.
I have my daily bread, and then some, at the same time endulging in my new book. It will prove a good read, angled broadly on the topic from scientific, anthropological, and historical perspectives at once. Over the next week, it will prove to influence my eating patterns. At times, I barely get through a chapter without grabbing a snack. Otherwise, it leaves me feeling like a glutton after only a single bite of food.
With my stomach full, and my mushroom boots nearly broken in already, I consider hunger. I have felt it before, but not like some. I imagine the circumstance of those who have never eaten a mushroom, and barely meet the caloric equivalent of a bowl of mushroom soup in a day, let alone have the resources to spend on a pair of boots modeled off this plant.
I look around at the ready available food in this big city and feel a pang, but it isn't hunger.
