And though it’s true that when the flavor is finished the anxiety returns, we do not have so many reliable sources of pleasure in this life as to turn our nose up at one that is so readily available, especially here in America. The persistent anxiety that fills the rest of my life is calmed for as long as I have the flavor of something good in my mouth. All day long I can look forward to a popsicle. “Don’t say that was delicious,” my husband warns, “you say everything’s delicious.” “But it was delicious.” It drives him crazy. Where there is no discernment there can be no awareness of expertise or gratitude for special effort. You’d think that people would like to cook for, or eat with, me-in fact I’m told it’s boring. Whatever is put in front of me, foodwise, will usually get a five-star review. An egg sandwich from one of these grimy food vans on Washington Square has the genuine power to turn my day around. I seem to get more than the ordinary satisfaction out of food, for example-any old food. I don’t think this is because so many wonderful things happen to me but rather that the small things go a long way. I wonder if this is more than the usual amount? It was the same even in childhood when most people are miserable.

Perhaps the first thing to say is that I experience at least a little pleasure every day. 2, 1914 on view in the Metropolitan Museum of Art’s ‘George Bellows’ exhibition until February 18, 2013 Butler Institute of American Art, Youngstown, Ohio

White tiger zadie smith