Writing about food is hard. Even food critics ultimately fail at the task, but nonetheless keep trying. Presumably because a paycheque is involved, because practice makes perfect and because, well, we need someone to describe the food we eat (its effable tastes, its associations). Food critics, as it happens, fail less miserably than the rest of us. Great meals may provide the setting for our most important personal legends, but the food often leaves us at a loss for words. Here’s another photo of us having a fantastic time—oh, and yes, the Mahi-mahi was out of this world.

Our nights and days are bound together by meals. As the saying goes, “Hey, you gotta eat”—and we do, with happiness and, recently, increasing guilt. Ancient Greeks ate two meals a day: a lighter ariston of bread, olive oil, fruit and red wine late in the morning; and a ...