My friend Pinky recommended a book to me called The Peculiar Sadness of Lemon Cake, or something like that. It was a sad little book about a girl who could taste and experience the emotions of a person in the food they prepared. From the title, you can guess that this talent wasn't personally felicitous.
For me, it would be different story. Lately, I've gotten on a preserving jag. There's something so magical about turning beautiful fruit into gleaming, translucent jelly. Then, even better, I can give this glorious, jewel-toned creation to a friend and feel really excited about it. I made it and they can eat it: literally spread the joy on toast or whatever.
For an apartment dweller (as I am for most of the year), these few moments of feeling connected to the earth and constructive in a pioneer-like way are amazingly satisfying. I'm insanely proud of myself, even if I use pectin instead of a candy thermometer. Maybe I'm turning into an artisan. That would be cool.
No comments:
Post a Comment