Not literally.

I’m not dreaming about floating food in the sky or dishes scurrying across my table.

But I am dreaming about my future, in food.

Yellowfin Tuna with citrus, pickled broccoli, and marigold | Tusk PDX

For a long time I haven’t let myself think about food much, let alone dream about it in my future. I used to use food—and food writing—as a coping mechanism when I was a teenager. Cooking interesting recipes, reading about all the food I couldn’t eat. I devoured Jeffrey Steingarten’s essays like they were candy.

When I completely overhauled my diet, a lot of that had to change. I used to mark up Bon Appetit magazines with post-it notes, highlighting recipes that could work with my dietary restrictions. I would try out new techniques for cooking my simple vegetables and meat, or experiment with fermented foods.

When I became a carnivore, all that changed. Mostly, I eat burgers. (They’re easy to cook and easy to pack to work.) I’ve done some learning on cooking a good steak, and things like that, but I haven’t felt the need to add non-animal-based foods back into my diet. For the most part my culinary interests were relegated to the occasional YouTube food/travel video.

Sure, maybe I fantasized about eating pain au chocolat in Barcelona—but let’s be real. That’s 1. Barcelona and 2. Ninja-levels of healing.

But that’s the thing. With the recent healing that has taken place in my body, I’m beginning to think that maybe I can introduce some vegetables in the future.

Maybe I can eat the paleo-friendly foods that I find on my Instagram feed.

Deviled Eggs with Fried Chicken Skin and I believe that’s chipotle honey | Turkey and the Wolf

Not now obviously—I’m giving myself another year for things to settle down—but maybe next summer when I’m in PDX, I can go to Tusk and actually try something.

Maybe I can put some buttery sauteed mushrooms on my steaks.

It’s nice to dream again. Barcelona is calling.