I am a soft-boiled egg with a vibrant orange yolk, gently scooped onto buttered toast soldiers. I am a browning banana ready to be mixed into a cake: bruised, squishy, discarded. I am the dainty caviar atop a mountain of freshly-whipped taramasalata. A packet of salt and vinegar crisps, folded and crunchy. I am mushy peas. A flaky fillet of salmon pulled from the oven, steaming. A sprinkling of Demerara sugar spilled out of the packet that now lives in the condiment drawer. I am the finest food and the crap stuff, too. I am nutritious and wholesome and an energy-giver. But I also sap and disappear.
