The best meal I’ve ever eaten, taken as a whole, was probably at Calle Ocho on the anniversay of Cuban Independence, when the Cuban chef prepared a heartfelt and technically stunning series of courses. Unlike that stupid ass-piled gold-slapped burger, the courses were wonderfully balanced. A white bean puree combined with a small pork chop was just goddamn amazing.

But it’s hard to make a hierarchy of meals. Some of my mom’s meals, my wife’s, hell, even my own have just been so enjoyable in the moment—and food always tastes better with friends.

… and now I’m hungry.