President Thomas S. Monson loves life, and that includes enjoying a variety of foods. Members of the LDS Church are always fascinated by personal tidbits that bring a human element to their beloved prophet — including the universal commonality of gathering to eat.

Monson’s friend Wayne Chamberlain says he has had countless meals with the prophet. Chamberlain says Monson has been a regular visitor to the buffet at The Little America Hotel in Salt Lake City.

“I have watched him eat hundreds of meals and he dearly loves meat and potatoes – and desserts,” Chamberlain said.

And then there is Cummings Chocolates.

“President Monson loves Cummings Chocolates and Brother Cummings provides a 2-pound box of Cummings Chocolates each and every week for the First Presidency and Quorum of the Twelve meeting in the Salt Lake Temple,” Chamberlain said. “President Monson always joked that when he was the ‘junior’ member of the Twelve he rarely got to choose his favorite flavor, because all of the good ones were taken by the senior members of the Twelve.”

Every friend interviewed by the Daily Herald for this special section acknowledged that Monson loves his soda, but like President Dieter F. Uchtdorf said in his October 2016 conference talk, referring to a soda that kept him going, it shall remain nameless.

In a New Era magazine article from October 2009 entitled “The Joy of Service,” Monson said, “I have many memories of my boyhood days. Anticipating Sunday dinner was one of them. Just as we children hovered at our so-called starvation level and sat anxiously at the table with the aroma of roast beef filling the room, Mother would say to me, ‘Tommy, before we eat, take this plate of food I’ve prepared down the street to Old Bob, and then hurry back.’

“I could never understand why we couldn’t first eat and later deliver his plate of food. I never questioned aloud but would run down to his house and then wait anxiously as Bob’s aged feet brought him eventually to the door. Then I would hand him the plate of food. He would present to me the clean plate from the previous Sunday and offer me a dime as pay for my services. My answer was always the same: ‘I can’t accept the money. My mother would tan my hide.’ He would then run his wrinkled hand through my blond hair and say, ‘My boy, you have a wonderful mother. Tell her thank you.’

“You know, I think I never did tell her. I sort of felt Mother didn’t need to be told. She seemed to sense his gratitude. I remember, too, that Sunday dinner always seemed to taste a bit better after I had returned from my errand.”