"Food is the only beautiful thing that truly nourishes."

Richard Gere says that to Wynona Ryder in the movie Autumn in New York. Cheesy line, I know, and not even the kind of cheese that I like (which should be sharp-flavored, not bland).

But I guess the movie was really meant to be a three-handkerchief tearjerker for tender-hearted swoonies.

For my taste though, I'd rather use the handkerchiefs to gag the scriptwriter.

So why did I watch the movie at all?

Two reasons: Wynona Ryder and I thought, mistakenly as it turned out, that the theme song would be the version sung by Frank Sinatra.

But they're all I remember of the movie – and Gere's foodie doodie line, not because it's deep (like is water wet and is the Pope Catholic?), but because it happens to be true.

Trite as it is, the line gets a rerun in my head after I've had a particularly good meal.

There's a warm glow in my belly, which I'm sure isn't caused by a developing ulcer, and the world looks brighter.

Let me stress though that while I could say that Gere line to myself without cringing I'd never think of inflicting such lameness on anyone I'd want to impress.

Anyway, here's why the line got welded to my memory.

Nothing is so satisfying as that first decent meal you have coming out of some lean and mean years.

I know that many of us in this country have had to go through such times at some point in our lives –and for the really unfortunate, for the rest of their lives.

But for someone like me with well-nourished memories it's a jolt to go through on a forced diet.

You see, as a child, I would wake up to a household that sat around a breakfast table usually laden with several dishes to choose from – bacon, ham, and tapa or longaniza; eggs anyway you like them; pan de sal, fried rice, and champorado; cheddar and sometimes cottage cheese; Spanish sardines and dried fish; coffee, milk, chocolate, or orange juice.

Then so many years later, as a jobless journalist living alone, I suddenly woke up early one morning shivering and sweating like I had malaria.

I had to scramble to get together the few coins I had left to buy a packet of soda crackers and a sachet of instant coffee.

A week or so later, my wife, from whom I was newly separated then, realized what was happening, because she saw how much weight I had lost. She was outraged and gave me grocery money.

But I'll spare you from the unsavory details of that particular hardship.

The point is: Since then, I have learned to savor any meal, no matter how simple. It only has to be edible and cooked to my taste, which is just a matter of seasoning.

Just this morning, to inspire myself before starting this piece, I went over to my favorite nearby carinderia and enjoyed a tortang alamang, a patty of egg scrambled with teeny shrimp, and rice, which in that place is always done just right – cooked with neither too much or too little water.

Of course, it helped that I had just worked up an appetite watching cooking videos on YouTube, particularly a clip with Mark Bittman of The New York Times' The Minimalist preparing a pernil, a Puerto Rican-style roast pork shoulder that had to be tenderized for four hours in the oven.

And my taste buds were still tingling with the memory of the Hungarian sausage and fried egg I had for breakfast the day before.

Then a day before that, Bobot, a friend from my Daily Globe days, just had to remind me through a Facebook post of our nights in Ermita when we'd gorge ourselves with goulash, rollmops, and rye bread at the Fischfang and then have apple pie a la mode at Rosie's Diner for dessert – and that was before we'd have our beers at the Hula-Hut.

So I was drooling with those memories this morning.

Not that I've always been fond of fancy meals.

I had a lot of them when I was a lifestyle writer tasked with doing food pieces, among other things.

Most of the time, I prefer simple meals, especially when I'm the one preparing them.

Yes, I can cook, but I stopped doing that because I realized that it was costing more to cook for myself than to eat out.

Anyway, it's one thing to skip a meal only because you're busy: With money in your pocket, you're not bothered because you're sure you can buy anything you want to eat later.

It's quite another thing to have to skip it because you're broke – and you're so keenly aware that you can't even buy a bottle of beer to be miserable with.

Food nourishes. Period. Just eat it.