The closest place to my office to find food is a mall food court, to which I have to take my car. When there, I’m presented with a dizzying array of choices: Vietnamese, Korean, Japanese, Greek, Indian, Burgers, Sushi, Lebanese, Salads, and, of course, hot dogs and poutine. Sure, they’re trading in variations of meat and rice and spices. But when I remember the first food court I ever went to as a teen in Saint John, with its choice of fish n’ chips, burgers, and pizza slices, I like the newly expanded choices.
I thought of this when a friend on Facebook was mentioning someone’s foolishly restrictive dietary choices and their tedious discussion thereof and wondered if we can’t just be thankful that we have food.
We live in cities where people of even modest means can eat whatever they like, whenever they like. And yet, we still find things to complain about or turn up our noses at. I’m thankful for the choices I have.
Except that I can’t choose between the bibimbap or the tandoori.