I don’t think about food but tea.
There are even more beautiful poems to describe lovesickness:
The soul of the lost country, the longing for the journey. Unless every night, good dreams leave people to sleep. The Mingyue Tower is high and I am leaning against it alone. The wine enters the sad heart and turns into tears of lovesickness.
Interpretation in vernacular: Silently missing my hometown makes me sad, and the lingering thoughts of travel are hard to get rid of. Only by having good dreams every night can I get a moment of comfort. I don’t want to lean on a tall building alone on a moonlit night and look far away. I can only pour bitter wine into my sad heart frequently and turn it into tears of lovesickness.