Love the little bit of sun flare in that picture. I had planned another topic for today, but couldn’t string the words together in a way that made me happy, so instead we’ll catch up on some backlog.
I happened to be on an interview this morning, and the guy interviewing me asked me “why food?” One of the easiest questions for me to answer, but not one I am able to eloquently sum up in a nice, compact elevator speech. Because it means so much. From my girls trip last year to Mystic, CT, I have a giant photo hanging in our kitchen that proclaims FOOD IS LOVE. And that’s it, really, isn’t it? Some of my earliest fondest memories from my childhood involve food, but beyond that, it’s about coming to the table. To share with family. With friends. Creating memories. Around occasions. And nothingness. And that’s one thing I strive to give my kids. Memories of love. Food. Family. Laughter. After all, it’s all woven together in our tapestry. Our rainbow cakes. Our Feast of the Seven Fishes. Nick’s yesteryear favorite dinner of Penne with Vodka Sauce and his sister’s first taste of grapefruit. Our celebrations of Chinese New Year. Even though we’re not Chinese. I want them to remember coming together as a family, at the table, when they look back on their childhood. And when Nick requested a homecooked meal for his birthday dinner, it just reinforces the fact that I’m on the right path. It all starts here.
And so it is with trips too. Since early Spring, I have taken a trip a month, largely for work, and some of them (heck, most of them!) have been intrinsically tied to food. The memories that surround the trip are all about “Remember that meal we had at that dive?” “Those roadstand tomatoes?” “That waiter at such-and-such as awesome, wasn’t he?” We share. We connect. We laugh. We love. We feed our souls from the inside out, nourishing every fiber of our being.
When I say that Sarah and I ate our way across Seattle back in May, I’m not exaggerating. Because we totally did. Our last meeting with the Starbucks crew was a lunch meeting. But after that, we had a second lunch at Lola. And then we seriously worked our way from one end of Pike Place Market to the other. Eating. Experiencing. Thinking “oh, we’re not hungry,” and then an hour later we’re chatting it up with a cute waiter and two dozen oysters. (That review is coming soon)
The day we arrived in Seattle, Beth forwarded me an e-mail with a list of Top 10 eats in Pike Place Market. Whoever said “timing is everything” wasn’t kidding. I saw Piroshky Piroshky Bakery on the list and it was one of our first stops. A Russian bakery that has been family-owned since 1992, we found it easily by the small line snaking outside the front door. And in actuality, the line gave us a chance to get the tiny lay of the land, suss out the menu, peer into the clear glass case and decide exactly how many piroshkies would be too much.
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