This summer, I ate well. I ate very well. I discovered farm fresh heirloom tomatoes, salted and oiled and plated with strips of fragrant basil, the perfect richness of duck rilettes. The different, subtle, minerally complexities of white wine. How lemon and slight citrus can transform a heavy dish —say pasta with cream. That lightness with the richness which gives it an ethereal quality.  There is just something about amazing food that makes you appreciate the sudden, immediate moment. When you put it in your mouth a part of you surrenders. All your defenses drop. I give in you say because all your nerve endings are firing and you live suddenly in a world of flavor and heat and cold and texture. Sometimes I want to translate what I’m eating into words and if I’m with a companion it is fun to guess what the cook is doing what they were thinking perhaps even the history and evolution of the dish. There are so many elements of story telling in that moment. And then it disappears into the cavern of your stomach and you go home with the just the memory of the meal. Maybe even the periphery of the experience. I want to talk and tell about what I eat. I guess that’s why I’m beginning this part of my writing.

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