Be careful what you eat

When I first heard my husband’s voice on the answering machine, it was the first time that I heard his voice after we had met on the plane.  I was already in love with him, and I wanted nothing to do with him.  After the message finished, I sat next to the machine for half an hour, too afraid to get up even.  I knew he loved me–I could hear it and feel it, even after it had crossed an ocean, vibrating through electric wires and imprinted on a tape.  If you are not familiar with the idea that someone can love you without hesitation and with no fear of declaring it without even saying the words, it can be hell to take on.  Like a natural disaster, like a hurricane or a tornado.  The tendency is to hammer great big pieces of wood on the windows and then run for the basement.  But as it is just like that, it is at the same time the opposite, as if the worst of the storm and the calm afterwards happen at once.

 I am addicted now, and I look for love every time I make dinner even, or a cup of coffee.

When you eat sausage that is made by hand and fruits and vegetables that were picked yesterday, a parmigiano reggiano that is tended to daily until it is ready to be tasted, and oil that was pressed with the attention normally reserved for a birth, it can be nearly too much.  You can’t just eat food like that and walk away.  It speaks to you, it wakes you, and you find yourself lighting candles and listening to music that moves you and at the table for hours afterwards, talking and laughing.  Precious time slips away that was meant for errands and responsibilities and your heart is on the table, and all is turned upside down and absolutely fantastic.

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