I spend a good fraction of my day thinking about declining education and public safety budgets and rising unemployment levels. Perhaps because of that I can barely find the words to respond to this piece from the Atlantic

No, it’s my other daughter, Sophie, that I am worried about. Sophie is the one who inherited the foodie gene. She has just left to attend university in London and the calls have already started. "Do you realize how much fleur de sel costs?!" "Where I am supposed to find fresh mozzarella?"While other mothers are baking brownies and chocolate chip cookies to fill care packages, I’m looking up the regulations for shipping guanciale.

I worry about Sophie getting enough to eat simply because she refuses to make do. Like me, Sophie has low blood sugar, so when she gets hungry she goes slightly mad. Does she grab the nearest pretzel/apple/bag of potato chips to bring her hormones back to normal? No. She would rather suffer till she makes it to the farmers’ market to pick up a week’s worth of perfect plums.

Maybe Adam can help.

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