I often follow many maxims/axioms/philosophies/religions in life and one one of the best one liners I have heard is that when life gives you lament, make lament juice. As I capriciously consider the compounding confluence of my constant consternation, I lament the meaning of contentment and consider the congested and cogent considerations of my cognitive castrations. Food is not contentment.
In fact, forcibly and frightfully, food are for fools who feed on the many facets and flavors and freshest fervor for fatiguing fragrances and frothing fermentation of fat, fried, flamb'ed feasts in functions and forms in foreign intestinal fornication.
Alas. All is asunder.
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