Popcorn Shrimp, among other things.

Today my great-grandmother turned 80. I'll give you a moment to let that sink in. It seems odd writing that, much less saying it knowing that many of my peers have grandmothers at least a decade or so older. But no, I have an 80 year old great-grandmother, a 64 year old grandmother, a 43 year old mother, and I'm turning 22 in four weeks. What does this have to do with food? We decided to celebrate this monumental birthday by eating out at a restaurant in Rockmart called the Pizza Farm.

Now, for a place called the Pizza Farm, I found myself disappointed that pizza was barely on the menu. Like it was an afterthought. As though someone picked out the name, felt clever, wrote an entire menu and then said, "Oh shit, we forgot to put pizza on here!" Noticing that steaks and seafood were more plentiful, I assumed those were the house specialty. I chose the popcorn shrimp; simple and usually delicious. A hard to screw-up food, if you will.

The whole time I ate, I wondered, how can I describe the taste of shrimp to someone? I always found them to have a metallic taste. Like eating a butter-flavored battery. If a AA was malleable enough to eat, I imagine that's how shrimp would taste, sitting on your tongue silently melting away as your saliva drips down on it in a pool of acidic sludge. I swear it's more appetizing than it sounds. My side dish was the also safe bet baked potato, loaded with what must have been a cup of butter, salt, and sour cream.

As I sit with a bloated belly pouring over my blog, I can't help but think how easy it is to eat too much delicious food. If there were no delicious foods, would we still eat as much? I eat, therefore I am? Come at me, Descartes.