Heartstopping Works of Culinary Love
We don’t get to see each other every day or even every week.
You’d think when we did get together we’d spend the whole time catching up, talking, reconnecting. Which we do.
But really, everything is organized around the food. We’ll head to the village on our first morning to stock up on fish and seafood she said before I left.
That morning, I woke up way early, made coffee and went outside. Mist rising from the lake made of the entire landscape a glorious ever-changing watercolour painting.
A lone canoe plied the waters. Strips of clouds wreathed the hills.
After taking a multitude of photos I went back inside. I had noticed her wicker picnic basket out the corner of my eye. I peeked inside.
It was a collection of culinary curiousities. There were green peppercorns and Belgian chocolate; pastry flour and oatmeal, quinoa, gourmet hot chocolate, marshmallows and salsa. Things I love, or once randomly mentioned, or might grow to love. It was an archive of thoughtfulness.
What do you cook to make someone feel cared for? What kind of food makes you feel the love?
Our last night there I cooked my heart out. I had no recipes, no internet, no food blogs. I had a tuna loin bought from a boat in the harbour in the village. I marinated it in blood orange juice, lime, balsamic, blueberries and those compelling little green peppercorns. Seared it in olive oil, served it on a bed of arugula, some of the reduced marinade on the side, lemony quinoa on the side of that.
Some recipes can never be duplicated. Perhaps they satisfy more deeply because of that.