Sharing stories of food stories we love.
You're home, finally. This morning feels like the distant past, like sipping your cup of coffee at 7 AM actually took place a week ago. You remember hitting snooze on the alarm once, no wait twice, and running a brush through your sleep-tangled hair. But the memory feels hazy.
The day started off gloomy. Under a gray sky, you trudged to work, thinking that airy linen t-shirts and bare legs and creamy almond milk iced lattes suddenly seem quite far away.
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I came across an interview this week. The chef, in discussing her habits and philosophy, said that “everything is cumulative”.
She was talking about health. No day is good or bad in its own right. Nothing exists in isolation. Every run we take, or good decision we make, adds up.
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Where have I been?! Busy. Hugging my family. Sitting next to my dad, earnestly discussing work while he patiently listens. Watching my oldest sister turn from just her into a mother miraculously overnight. Weeping a lot of happy tears over said transformation. Laughing with my littlest sister (she lives in Maine and I have to absorb her physical presence when we're together, saving it up for when she leaves. I kiss her cheeks, I tackle her onto the couch, I hold her hand).
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Things I love: Almond butter studded with chewy bits of crystallized ginger. Very good, intensely dark chocolate, the sort that melts into velvety bitterness on your tongue. Vermont maple syrup, the real deal that glows amber in the bottle and tastes like you're standing outside in the crisp air, wearing Carhartts, breathing deeply in a stand of fir trees. Crisp rice cereal. The crunch of it, the way I like to add it to a bowl, pour cold skim milk over it, then float a layer of heavy cream on top. Oh, you think that defeats the point of skim milk? I think you're missing the point. (Pure pleasure, that's the point.)
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It's not exactly bright outside. Rain is streaming down past my window; the sky is growing gloomier by the minute.
A string of warm days has melted most of the snow in the city, leaving the sidewalks wet and icy. Stepping off the curb means dunking your foot into a rivulet of cold, dirty slush.
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