My new mantra is "I don't want to be busy all the time; I want to slow down and be present in the moments." I've decided to start with brewing really good tea, not the usual Lipton varieties.
I'm remembering a great iced tea that Janet and I had at one of the cafes at the Chicago Art Institute, a simple black tea with some unidentifiable "notes" going on. I asked our waitress, and she said it was a Rare Tea Cellar tea with citrus; I wrote down the name of it so I could look for it in Texas. We also drank a cream soda with ice cream in it that tasted like the Dreamsicles I loved as a child.
I'm remembering the delightful Caribbean pumpkin soup we had at The Lucky Platter--a mix of spices, peppers, pureed pumpkin and bananas. While we were unable to get the actual secret recipe, the chef named the ingredients and we're now on a search for a version of the recipe that will replicate the experience of a memorable dinner in a cafe Janet and her family have enjoyed for over twenty years.
I'm remembering some fruity non-alcoholic cocktails we enjoyed as we overlooked Chicago from the 96th floor of the Hancock building. They were made of fresh fruits--just delicious!
Part of the experience of drinking or eating something new is the ambience of the place where we meet it, how we felt, the conversations at the table. Like traveling eyes, the palette wakes up on a trip. We take pictures, buy postcards and souvenirs, and search for recipes and spices that will bring back the Happy-Travel moments.
At the airport, returning home, I bought a Little Debbie. I wasn't ready for the party to end, and I reached for a little comfort food of negligible nutritional value (okay, none!). Eating it, I was taken back to Lawrenceville, Georgia, the "new" town to which we moved when I was sixteen. We were living in a rented house and I'd not yet made close friends. My parents started buying boxes of Little Debbies and orange sherbet, and we ate them at the kitchen table just before bedtime. Sugar packaged in little cellophane bags--creamy white icing between two gooey oatmeal cookies--made those nights seem happier, a little festive.
I have in a wooden recipe box hand-written recipes that my parents and their friends gave me in 1967 for wedding presents. I have Melba's Brunswick stew;Elizabeth's French coconut pie; my daddy's recipe for spaghetti sauce ("Cut up the onions real good so you won't get a belly ache"); Carlene's Nabisco pie; and my former mother-in-law's recipe for butter beans with ham hock and just a touch of sugar "to round out the flavor."
When I got Nellie's recipe for pasta this morning, I remembered our days of leisurely walking the streets of Florence ten years ago, then meeting on the balcony each night with ingredients for bruschetta When we share recipes, we're getting as close as we can get to sharing a meal with the people we love. Does anything bring back memories like food?
Every time I eat a Little Debbie, I'm back home in Georgia with my family.
Every time I eat anything Italian, I'm in Florence with Nellie.
Now--every time I drink really good tea (bought some at Teavana this morning)--I'll get a flash of a great week with friends in Chicago.
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