Aside from the pleasures of the bed, there are the pleasures of the table.
Tonight, three medium-rare rib lamb chops done on my grill, fresh baby spinach sauteed in olive oil (and a dash of bacon fat) with garlic and salt. A glass of very cold Pinot Grigiot.
And the pleasures are not simply in the eating, but in the making.
Not political. Not sexual. But religious.