I was thinking about the meaning of good food, and the hedonic pleasure associated with it. As you might imagine, I was contemplating the food culture of France.
It seems to me that food has no meaning, except to the extent that it is a communication between one human and another as to what is possible. It is possible to put a lot of love and qualitative information into a well prepared meal. To the extent it is affirmed, it represents a bond, a shared committment to elevation. It represents the triumph of work, and perception, and diligence over the commonplace, the easy, and the insipid.
To the extent, though, that it is valued for novelty or variety, it is decadent. There is no pattern or template, no qualitative richness in the movement. Meaning is about transcending self pity and difficulty, and if you are just sitting there as a figurative fat child waiting to be entertained, then the best meals in the world are wasted on you.