These are the nights where every book, a food memoir, a reformed theologist’s view of God’s sovereignty, the Bible--three marked translations, a classic on personal development, and a biography of Benedict Arnold are equally tempting. So I play a game wit h myself and sit down to the food memoir when I am too tired to eat.

My face tightens as I can not help subcosciously mulling over the letters to write, the test to study for, that I need to visit the gym, write a resume, cook dinner for next week, call home, write a story, go to work for the fifty-fifth hour this week, strategize my next career move, worry that I am not faithful over my finances, MBA? MFA? Seminary? all three?, that my kitchen is a mess, I have no vacuum cleaner bags, my desk is a disaster, Christmas shopping!, I don’t want to move again, Christmas parties!, and something here about Mastering the French Art of Cooking--o, yes, I am reading a food memoir and my brow is taut.