Eat, Pray, L— Actually, I’m Still Kind of Hungry

By the time I was staring down the barrel of divorce, I had suddenly found myself in a beautiful life I didn’t want. I was married to an investment-banker-turned-personal-trainer. I had the luxury of a high-end juice delivery service and a personal chef who prepared organic plant-based meals. I wanted for nothing, but still I yearned for so much: spiritual peace, wild passion, and maybe a big, crappy meal? So after being taken by a long-lost urge to pray, I first whipped myself up a pre-praying snack: chocolate-coconut dream bars. This is how I began my journey to eat, pray, and—oh, hold on, my pizza rolls are ready.


Like Julia Roberts, I started my trip to renew my passion for life in Italy. This is also where I began to eat. Did you know they serve full meals on planes? Did you also know that if you start to cry, they’ll give you an extra dessert? Thanks, Delta!


It had been too long since I tasted food like I did on my first night in Italy. Europe isn’t like America where they eat for convenience. In Europe, they have 23-course meals that last all night and all the next day. I started with delicious, stringy pasta with tangy homemade tomato sauce. It was sprinkled with oregano and Parmesan cheese, the likes of which reignited my fire for life and by the way—are you gonna eat that? It just didn’t look like you were gonna finish that so I just thought I’d check.



Next, it was time to fill my soul as much as I had filled my stomach (three extra jean sizes). I had a ticket to fly to India that day, but I got distracted by free samples at a goat cheese stand and missed my flight. I thought, Good. Now I can keep eating. I headed off to find God in Vatican City. I sat in the pew and meditated on all the wrong turns I’ve taken in life—like marrying a man I didn’t love because society told me to, or like when I was trying to find the olive oil store and made a left onto a one-way street. Then it was time to taste the blood and body of Christ, except the crackers were so delicious that I think I might have ended up eating his whole torso! And the wine was so good that I basically got a blood transfusion from Jesus. After I threw up in what seemed like a port-a-potty but was actually a confessional, I knew what I was missing from my life: love. And something kind of sweet and savory at the same time? Do you know anywhere around here that I could find something like that?


Before I switched my India-to-Indonesia ticket to go direct from Rome, I found a cute little bakery right by my hotel. I sat there for hours waiting for my one true love to talk through the door. I passed the time eating cannoli after cannoli, biscotti after biscotti, and every flavor of gelato. Unfortunately, my soulmate never walked through the door…because he was across the street at the family-owned pizzeria! There, I saw a man more beautiful than anything I had ever seen before. He had a full head of silky hair that fell lazily across his stubble face, a smile that might have blinded me had I not been wearing my “I Heart Italia” sunglasses, a broad and muscular chest—but wait! I thought I had seen the most beautiful thing in the world, until I realized what he was holding. In his hands was a slice of margherita pizza with a crust harder than my abs. Cheese whiter than my privilege. Tomatoes the color of good tomatoes. It was then that I realized I wasn’t meant to eat, pray, and love. I was meant to eat. So if you do know of a good place around here, could you let me know? I’m still kinda hungry.