ADD + Food = ?

Seems like every time I'm near food or even smell food cooking in the remote distance, memories are dredged up from past meals or time spent with special people in their kitchens.  I think I have a nose like a wolf, able to detect roasted garlic from halfway around the globe.  The connection to food is intense, unending, fascinating and incredibly distracting.  Being ADD is bad enough, but combine distractability with any connection whatever to food, and, well, I think there's a new 12-step program out there waiting for me.  


When I was in high school, I had to keep a journal for one of my classes.  The instructor would collect the journals and look them over, commenting on our writing and reflecting on lessons learned.  Even then, young unformed person that I was, I was very focused on food.  The final comment from the teacher at the end of the semester was, "I enjoyed your writing, but I thought you were leading up to a big barfing finale."   Hmmm....odd, but heartfelt I guess.  


I guess at heart I must be some version of a food writer, but remain closeted.  It just annoys me to death to hear food snobs critiquing chefs' work on Food Channel shows when what they have just eaten is ridiculously, exquisitely fine food (Iron Chef) prepared in less time than it takes me to tie my shoes.  


I am more along the lines of Diners, Drive-Ins and Dives, gluttonous to no end and happy to dive head first into vats of chocolate and slather my face in marinara sauce.  Slurping pasta noodles quickly so they hit my face before they slither into my mouth is my version of entertainment.  What can I say?  Food Slob, that's me.  


I imagine myself to be a sophisticated analyst of world politics, but a good tomato salad with mozzarella and splashed with olive oil distracts me from offering my opinion.  Or, I fantasize about writing a thought-provoking treatise on environmental issues like plate tectonics' effect on geophysical alignment of nuclear polarity (huh?), but a hunk of gouda cheese plated with autumn pears diverts me and I go into paroxysms of delight.  It's hopeless, but I'm happy.  


I just have to find my audience.  


Now, where did that little plate of strawberries and creme fraiche go off to?