I'm Lovin' It

Food. My heart beats excitedly as I type those four letters, a hunger recently quenched by a heated bowl of leftover pasta rising to the surface as though it had never left me all, releasing a cat-like growl from the sugar-coated darkness otherwise known as my stomach.

Yes, I'm really sad, aren't I? Not many girls would compare their stomach rumbles to those of their angelic-looking, yet frightfully violent cats, one of whom possesses the freaky power to scare a black eyeliner-clad teenager away into a pigsty of a bedroom, though I kinda guess that there are plenty of reasons which make me stand out like a sore, cocoa butter-coated thumb.

Let's get one thing clear: however much I may wish to hide the evidence of yet another devoured bar of creamy dark chocolate, there are unfortunately not enough excuses in the biscuit-dunking world (well, doesn't everybody do that with their drinks, albeit an exception for fizzy cola?) to deny my twinkly-eyed passion for food. Yeah, being a teenager and giving into temptation on the basis of my still-slender hourglass physique might count as an acceptable excuse for devouring on beloved treats, but unlike those who supposedly gain an ounce of pleasure (and hopefully not in the unwanted form of weight) by sticking their hands into a box of sugary Pop Tarts, I'm sent to heaven and back when a square of chocolate - which, in case you haven't quite grasped the oh-so-honest truth, is my favourite food on this planet, after boiled/roasted vegetables and my mum's traditional Sunday roast - hits the tip of my tongue, melting into a spoonful of paradise within the cocoa-splattered haven situated in my mouth.

Without needing to lift a sticky finger (except to pop another square or edible substance into my mouth in a similar manner to a tongue-flashing snake/twerking Miley Cyrus), I've grabbed onto a delicious platter of happiness within the grasp of a packet, though my love of food does extend beyond the supermarket's mile-long display of half-price Mars bars in the confectionary aisle. Otherwise, why would I even be bothered to discuss a life-long love of consuming food with pleasure if I could place my ever-so-steady attention upon a box of yet-uneaten shortbread biscuits instead?

From honey-roasted parsnips to fluffier-than-my-kitten's-fur vanilla marshmallows to the oriental-inspired stir-fry I cooked/fried (however you wish to view it) as my birthday meal last week, I'm passionate about food from almost all categories and, as I've grown to take notice of in recent months, that passion has all but strengthened even more since I began to participate in the preparation and stages related to placing the finished product onto the jam-encrusted table. At this rate, I wouldn't collapse onto the paper-thin carpet in wide-eyed shock if I successfully applied for a place at the prestigious Cordon Bleu cookery school in the très beau Paris because nothing appears to be preventing me from gaining cookery-related skills and increasing my appreciation over flavour and quality, which, if you happen to stick your head out of those sprinkled cereal bars, is quite an enviable skill to possess. If you share any similarities with my cocoa-sniffing self, I mean.

Even when a groan escapes my lips whilst stumbling out of bed at the crack of dawn, I'm powerless to quenching my desire to race as gallop faster than a Grand National-winning racehorse down the perilously deep stairs towards the safe haven of the kitchen, grabbing a bowl of sugar-free muesli with a sweeter-than-imaginable apple added on the side. Basically, I find everything associated with food intensely fascinating and, as schools ought to remind our takeaway-chomping students, basically fun, from the very moment I get the ingredients out of the fridge to the time I sit down and am transported on a free ticket to wonderfully flavoured heaven within the realms of my not-so-Michelin-starred home.

A large cookie-sized chunk of the reason for which food conjures such a happy feeling within myself is that I associate it with the time I usually spend with my mum, who - just like millions of mothers across the world - has lent me her knowledge to cook a meal and one mighty chocolate fudge cake through preparing and making with heartfelt love, an emotion which I traditionally try to remain in touch with whilst grumbling about my revoltingly onion-scented fingers as my brother receives no demand to offer help out. Plus, I probably would've stood absolutely no chance of becoming somewhat of a kitchen whizz if my mum hadn't already gathered a lifetime's worth of cookery know-how, which is a rather sad truth within today's obesity-led society - whether we choose to recognize the truth or not, do we not develop habits similar to those of our parents, even the ones related to what goes on in the kitchen? So, as I tuck into a homemade apple crumble and allow the sweet, warming flavours of the stewed apples and cinnamon explode like a firework display, that smile detailing my satisfaction is partly owed to my mum and several well-known chefs, whose recipes have become classic within my dazzling sea-blue eyes.

Perhaps it's due to being proud of my traditional British heritage, but if you were to be transported to a normal, tanning salon-packed high street in my native country, it would be pretty hard to avoid coming across a shop - whether it be another store in an ever-popular chain or independently-run family business - selling food of all different varieties. Although I haven't picked up a so-called 'freshly-made' sausage roll from the local butcher's (which, if you think about it, is hardly the kind of place that a clothes-shopping teenager wants to hang out, is it?) for years, you needn't look far to find people carrying a slice of pepperoni pizza in their tomato-splattered hands or sitting down on an unclean bench to tuck into an iced doughnut. My seemingly affection for food all but comes to a drastic stop whenever I catch sight of an oily, disgusting takeaway meal being promoted in a leaflet which, to my misfortune, is often delivered as part of the junk mail on a near-weekly basis - I may sound like the hugest lover of food when chocolate and jacket potatoes are brought up in a conversation, but I couldn't run further from my ever-increasing disgust of cheap ready meals and nutrient-lacking Pot Noodles! As long as I stay in the safe comfort of home-cooking and artificial-free clutches of occasionally eaten sweets, not even the most calorific lamb kebab is capable of preventing me from grabbing onto my cake-shaped slice of bliss; those euphoric five minutes solely dedicated to temptation heaven on a starlit evening needn't be disrupted rudely because I feel, what's the word, untouchable, rather like that Ivory Coast bar of dark chocolate which I always nag at my brother to never ever eat as I rightfully claim it as my own!

So, once I hit a certain age, am I destined to lose all of the appreciation which I've gradually built around food, waving goodbye to a stably developed relationship? If anything, there wouldn't have been any need to hold a surprise party if I followed the path of numerous teenagers by gorging myself on bars of Snickers for breakfast (or so is the attitude in modern-day Britain), strengthening an all-powerful hatred of healthy vegetables and vitamin-rich fruit and devouring plates of pizza as though there is no tomorrow, but determination has thrusted me upon a path which I'm proud to follow, which only maximizes my enjoyment and pleasure surrounding food to a whole new level. But come on, I ought to remain true to my age from time to time, right? A pizza - one of which, I stress, is prepared with fresh vegetables and a light sprinkling of cheese (to the shock of many, the smell of strong cheese provokes a need to wear a gas mask, which I unfortunately don't possess) - is only bought as a treat around once a month, whilst I am making an effort to control my hunger pangs over chocolate as Santa-shaped chocolates can only last for so long.

I'm a teenager living in a modern-day world where food is consumed all the time. The only difference is that I make a difference to appreciate it whilst the mouth-watering moment lasts. How about you?