There’s a line I’ve said out loud too many times to ignore:
I’ve got to stop eating this survival food.
Not because I’ve suddenly become picky.
But because my standard has shifted.
And with that shift comes a truth I can’t unsee:
What’s on your plate reflects how much power you believe you deserve.
Fast food.
Plastic trays.
Processed meats with questionable origins.
It’s not just about appetite.
It’s about access. And acceptance.
It’s about being conditioned to believe that a $6 combo is an achievement
When in truth, it’s often the most subtle form of control.
If I could afford to eat the way I think…
If my resources matched my imagination and self-worth…
I wouldn’t be wrapped up in brown bags under fluorescent lights.
I’d be dining on marble countertops, seated in calm, open spaces where time slows down, not speeds up.
I’d be served:
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Steamed mussels in garlic white wine
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Filet mignon resting on truffle potatoes
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Heirloom tomatoes drizzled in imported olive oil
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And fresh salads with names I don’t have to mispronounce
Not because I want to be flashy.
But because I value purity, precision, and peace.
And yes I’d be eating with platinum spoons, gold-rimmed forks, and sterling silver blades.
Not for the look.
But for the symbolism:
What touches my mouth should match the value I place on my life.
The problem isn’t fast food.
The problem is that we’ve been fed fast living
Fast decisions.
Fast comfort.
Fast money.
Fast deaths.
They call it convenience.
But what it really is…
Is containment.
See, when you walk into a luxury dining experience, you’re not just eating.
You’re entering a world where care is embedded into the process.
The ingredients are real.
The presentation is art.
The pacing is deliberate.
The silence is respected.
And the price you pay isn’t just for the food, it's for the respect of time, attention, and dignity.
That’s what I want from life.
And I don’t believe I should be shamed for it.
They’ll say you’re bougie.
They’ll say you’ve changed.
They’ll whisper that you’re "acting different."
But here’s the truth:
If the rest of the world can eat crab legs without apology, sip fine wine at lunch, and ask for the chef by name
Then why should I be made to feel guilty for wanting real ingredients, real service, and a real experience?
The foundation of this country was built on poverty.
Not just lack of money
Lack of value.
Lack of intention.
Lack of care.
And somehow, choosing luxury becomes a crime for people who come from systems of less.
But I’m not ashamed to elevate.
I’m not afraid to evolve.
Because beneath the meal is the lesson, the mirror, and the message:
What you consume reflects how you see yourself.
What you allow reflects how you plan to rise.
So no, I'm not just trying to eat better.
I’m declaring that my time, my body, my mind, and my plate deserve better.
From now on, it’s not about food.
It’s about self-respect, taste, and territory.
And if the meal is the metaphor…
Then trust me I’m serving legacy.