I really have an affinity for any food that can be described as unapologetic. The most meltingly tender pork ribs you’ve ever had, cooked for hours and swathed in spicy-sweet barbecue sauce and plunked down on a piece of brown paper with a slice of thick buttered white toast. Or a fresh-from-the-oven cinnamon roll, dripping with an oozingly sweet sugar glaze and with a center piece that’s just so soft, it’s actually nearly impossible to get a good grip on it to stuff it into your mouth. And even just a really well cooked piece of steak, with slightly burnt and smokey rough caramelized edges, and the most gorgeous rosy-pink buttery interior.
These are all of course just amplified versions of something more pedestrian that we’ve surely all tasted before. They’re souped up versions of themselves, charging forward on all four cylinders without ever looking back, and they are unapologetically just exactly what they are meant to be.