So finally I was able to open up my current document and do some writing. It felt good, and I want to do more of it.

But then there’s this whole job thing, so we’ll see about that.

Anyway, meanwhile, a friend recommended a book that sounded really great, so I got a copy and started reading it on my lovely subway commute (I should just start calling it the LSC, since I am so appreciative of it, since I get to read). It is great. It is phenomenally up my alley.

But it’s secondary food.

Let me explain. Back in college, I had a friend who was the result of a German woman marrying a Japanese man. A made in World War II relationship. My friend, let’s call him Mr. Axis Power, told me how in the beginning of their marriage, his mom would cook all sorts of things–German things, of course–for her husband. She’d ask him how it was, and he would say, “It’s good, for secondary food.”

This baffled her. She kept trying, doubtless serving all sorts of delicious schnitzels, and roesti, and big meat dishes. Still–the only praise she received was “good for secondary food.”

Eventually, the two figured out the problem; for him, being Japanese, rice was primary; all other foods were secondary.

So back to me. For me, romance is primary; all other genres are secondary. I am loving this book, but it’s not compelling me to read as it would if it were an equally fantastic romance. It’s good–for secondary food.

And so my next book after I finish this one (The Devil You Know by Mike Carey, btw) will be a palate cleansing primary food, a romance carefully chosen from the stack.

And hey, any day where I can equate books and food is a good one, right?