Dear Anonymous,
Hunger on the streets. It's not that there are not sufficient social services providing food. Not my point here nor my expertise.
I am talking hunger. For homemade. Made from scratch. Watched men just out of prison swoon to the flavor of real butter. Holding their wax paper cradle of cake or muffin like a sacrament.
Maybe it is a hunger for what may feel like home to some. Maybe a flavor of deinstitutionalized nourishment.
Always, always 'Is there more?'
Always. Always the eternal insatiable hunger.