My hunger is a bit snooty.
I crave sugar covered beignets,
plump fried artichoke hearts,
paper thin pizza crust,
baked organic asparagus,
and my grandmother’s ziti.
Her overcooked, crispy ziti.
The kind she made when she babysat.
And the next morning’s egg salad on a toasted bagel.
The cigarette smell while she cooked.