The Sonic commercial says it all: you gotta eat. Maybe you don’t gotta eat Sonic, but it’s no understatement. When I eat, I don’t taste. I devour. And after I devour, I describe. My family lets me swallow my last bite before asking the $64,000 question: how many kinds of delicious was it? For me, anything lower than a seven means it was sub-par. I’m something of a gastronomical Homer Simpson; I like all food, except for a few demonic specimens (raisins, you make a grown man cry). Like Homer, I also have no shortage of superlatives to apply to my culinary choices.

I’m hesitant to describe myself as epicurean even though I love food. I know a lot of people say they love food, but I really, really love food. I don’t seek out the finest cut of filet mignon, the rarest specimen of truffle, the most tender taste of ox marrow. Instead, I’ve described an airplane serving of apple pancakes as heavenly, Sargent’s princess bar as blissful and a slab of turkey meatloaf as delightful. I have a palate, but it’s less discerning than most.

Nine times out of ten, flavor transcends quality. It doesn’t matter where the food is from or who made it – it’s if the savory flavor renders you speechless. All you need is love and a Wendy’s Frosty, which is why I’m an equal-opportunity appreciator, enchanted by Hershey’s miniatures and Godiva truffles alike. The only disagreeable part of my enduring epicuriousness is the people who are so quick to disillusion it.

After nearly 21 years of a Paul Bunyan-sized appetite, I have compiled a few do’s and don’ts for anyone hoping to expand their culinary horizons.

1. DO mix and match: Haters always hate on hummus egg, my go-to-snack. It’s pretty simple to make – you cut a hard-boiled egg in half, remove the yolk, and fill the hole with hummus. Bite and delight. It’s nutritious and delicious, but there’s always a jaded critic nearby that tries to tell me I’m insane. Correct me if I’m wrong, but I’m pretty sure deviled eggs are basically the same concept. As a middling college student, deviled eggs are out of reach, so hummus egg fills the void.

2. DON’T calorie count for your friends: The only thing worse than knowing the unhealthiness of your lunch is when your friends tell you about the unhealthiness of your lunch. Obviously, a Choco Taco and French fries isn’t nutritional feng shui, but eating it once doesn’t mean I do it all the time. Someone telling me how screwed up my metabolism will be in 20 years won’t stop me from eating it, but it will make me enjoy it less. I eat my share of edamame and broccoli, so I like to eat my junk food in peace. So don’t sit and preach while your friends eat, unless you’re Jennifer Aniston.

3. DO branch out: This summer, I went on a Eurotrip with my sisters and a gastronomical bucket list. I knew I’d sightsee and get jeered at by foreigners, but I wouldn’t let myself eat at overpriced tourist traps for every meal. In Prague, I treated myself to a lovely pork neck with creamed spinach on the side. In Budapest, I dined on a roasted piglet platter that compensated for Hungarians’ apparent distaste for deodorant. When in Rome, do what the Romans do. And when in Central Europe, eat enough pork to put your Jewish ancestry to shame.

4. DON’T forget: The worst part about a delicious meal is forgetting about it a week later. I have an impeccable sensory memory (I still remember the taste of my kindergarten birthday cake), but even I falter sometimes. To combat this, I take pictures and reminisce obsessively. If my parents had a nickel for every time I gush about the hot dog I ate at a Cubs game, they could pay four more college tuitions.

So eat, drink, be merry and fill a memory card with pictures of your dinner, for posterity’s sake.

Terri Pous is a Medill junior. She can be reached at [email protected]. Illustration by Morgan Krehbiel.