Clearly I love food – the smell and flavor of a fantastic meal can define an experience. But what I generally think less about is how an experience can impact the food you’re eating. Until today, anyway.
This morning, my family got a call it has been waiting on for more than two years – the one notifying us that a kidney donor had been found for the hubster’s mom. As soon as I heard, I packed up my things and left the office, heading to meet everyone at the hospital. After showing up with a latte in tow (don’t worry – this post won’t be about my Starbucks addiction), we all sat together during the pre-op procedures, trading copious hugs just before surgery began.
From there, we – hubster, me, hubster’s dad and brother – headed to the hospital cafeteria to grab some lunch. After all, it was after 3pm and we had a long wait ahead of us.
Plastic trays in hand, we peruse the selection and end up with a mish-mash of food reminiscent of my days in my college dorm: pizza for bro, Chick-fil-A for pop-in-law, hamburger and fries for hubster and soup and some fruit for me. Oh – and it is worth mentioning that bro found an Oreo cookie parfait for dessert. Considering it was just crushed Oreos and pudding…it rocked.
Anyway, I haven’t asked hubster if his burger tasted any good. Or if the fries were crispy on the outside and deliciously fluffy on the inside. And it’s not because it was hospital food and I had low expectations. It’s because the food itself didn’t matter. My potato and leek soup – eaten anywhere else, on any other day – would have probably been disappointing. But today, on this day, as we cautiously celebrated an amazing woman’s new lease on life…I can’t imagine anything could have tasted sweeter than our shared mish-mash meal in the Baylor cafeteria.