Alone in the kitchen with a cold sausage, or why I'm the only one who finds my poetry sexy

There are events that might lead a girl to stand in her kitchen at 2am wearing a tank top and short shorts, eating a cold spicy Italian pork sausage dipped in yellow mustard over a wood counter. Namely: a wedding at the Royal Ontario Museum that went on all night.

There are perks to serving with a catering company. Seeing as I'm virtually penniless and practically unemployed -- and may or may not have a history of dating not-so-rich men -- the closest I'll ever get to attending a wedding of this magnitude is to serve at one. Hours of setting white table cloths just so, setting up silverware and pouring water yielded one of the most beautiful weddings I've ever seen (not that I'm an authoritative arbiter of taste when it comes to weddings, but it was genuinely gorgeous.)

Of course, the food deserves a mention: miso beef satays; california sushi rolls garnished with wasabi mayo; crisp endive boats filled with chopped walnuts, roasted pears and Roquefort; truffled ricotta ravioli with a fragrant basil pesto; roasted golden and purple beet salad with goat cheese and citrus vinaigrette; a mushroom tart overflowing with oozy cheese; nicely seared black cod served on a lentil-mango cake or a 60-day aged beef tenderloin accompanied by roasted fingerling potatoes; vanilla crème brulée spiked with cinnamon that was likely the creamiest thing you'd ever eaten in your life. Suddenly it was midnight, and somewhere in there I poured wine without spilling any and had to hold back tears as I set up coffee cups when the father spoke proudly of his very accomplished daughter and equally accomplished son-in-law.

But when I finally trucked my aching body home around 1:30AM, the only thing on my mind was -- that is, apart from sleep and aspirin -- sausage.

Sometimes a couple date bars and a cup of hot, weak coffee just won't cut it.

What do I eat when no one is watching? I buy cream cheese in plastic tubs, and when the tub is just about finished, I smash a couple crackers inside, smoosh it all around, and eat the concoction with a crack of black pepper.

I like to scoop mouthfuls of cottage cheese right from the container while lying on the couch fanning myself on a hot day, watching bad daytime television. I often forget about my second cup of coffee in the morning and end up drinking it cold. Which, by the way, suits me just fine. I get unreasonably excited over the prospect of treating myself to a jumbo freezie from the convenience store down the street, $.65. In fact, I get so excited I almost skip back to my apartment. Almost. And I eat whole, plain lemons, alone, so no one will give me the look that says, you eat lemons? or will remind me my practices, in addition to being entirely unconventional, are detrimental to my decaying tooth enamel.

There you have it, the makings of a gourmand. So it won't surprise you to learn that after a long night serving rather pleasant people and working alongside fellow servers (otherwise known as future friends), I retired to my single girl apartment to devour a cold sausage with my hands, happily dipping it in a pool of yellow mustard. Readers, I have no shame.

What do you eat when you are alone, and you believe no one is watching?