Thanksgiving has come and gone, food and family enjoyed. My niece and her husband hosted the bounteous feast. Though now 'eating for two,' she was unable to finish her plate. Seated next to her, I scavenged some morsels of stuffing, gravy, and flesh, carrion for the tarrion. Then later pie for all. And great parlor games!
Though food is what many think about over the holidays, I do not intend to dwell on my particular dietary peccadilloes. I think my readership has already had their fill of that. Or at least I'll try not to dwell on what it is we eat and drink, so much as how.
The recent New Yorker magazine was dedicated to food, as it usually is this season. One article followed the story of René Redzepi, proprietor of Noma, a gourmet food restaurant in Denmark, where 90% of its food comes from local sources, and a significant portion of that foraged in the wilds nearby. Mushrooms, berries, even the occasional insect (though this is in the 'alpha' phase as far as I could tell), added fresh, cooked, or preserved by pickling or drying. The restaurant is rated 'best in the world,' apparently for the second year running by the über-exclusive British Restaurant magazine. The article was very interesting, but in the end, though I am fond of local food in general, and intrigued by foraged food in particular, I did not feel inspired to dash off to Copenhagen on the next flight. Instead, my appetite was stirred for the contents of my own refrigerator (which my wife will tell you can be rather scant - actually, no, she will tell you it is always scant).
Another fascinating article had to do with a coffee grower in El Salvadore who produces high altitude and shade-grown beans, meticulously hand-picked three or more times (sequentially to get the ripest 'cherries' - that is, the round pods in which two coffee beans ripen). Aida Batlle, the grower, a woman in a field dominated by men, is also a connoisseur, and a vanguard in what is now referred to as the 'third wave' of coffee. The first being the Maxwell House bilge water served from percolators - or Folgers Instant - drunk by our parents' generation. The second wave took the dark, or French roasted coffees of southern Europe, in particular from Italy, often espressed, and sometimes sweetened or mixed with steamed or foamed milk. This is the coffee that Starbucks and other cafés popularized. And some say bastardized in the process.
The third wave is supposedly closer to the roots of where coffee originated in what is now Ethiopia, millennia ago. The coffee is roasted mildly, and added to boiled water, and sometimes pressed or poured through a sieve. 'Cuppers' then will taste the various varietals in a fashion similar to fine wines. Hints of caramel, or chocolate-covered strawberries, say, or the aftertaste of créme brulée are detected. Or how about 'remember that time we were stranded in Morocco mid-summer with the musky smell of camel dung heavy in the stagnant air... And the pipe tobacco from the cart driver?' (This last one was mine, but the impression I got was that a 'cupper' could say such a thing without breaking character.) This third-wave eschews anything dairy or sweet in their oh-so-precious cups. A frappucino is considered a crime against humanity.
And reading the article I was inspired to try such a fancy brew. But then again, I don't drink much coffee, and I like latte when I do. I really like it, and I refuse to think the lesser of myself for it. On the other hand, I suppose I would give the Batlle coffee a try. The article said it was available at Caribou cafés, but I don't get there very often, maybe twice a decade. I'll wait and see if this so called 'third-wave' lasts.
This fascination with the latest greatest taste - local or exotic, traditional or new wave - has me noticing something about my breakfast. And for this, I need to go into my aforementioned verboten area of what I eat. 27 of my breakfasts out of 28 consist of granola (most often the inexpensive Giant brand - which ain't that bad really), some 'Kashi' Seven Grain cereal (similar to Grape Nuts), and several dollops of yogurt stirred in. I will vary the kind of yogurt - traditional, greek, goat - and vary the relative amounts of the dry stuff. So that, though the menu item reads identically, each day it is slightly unique. Which has seemed a desirable strategy. For, as you may be aware, eating the same dang thing each morning can become tiresome. As I munch on the contents of my feed trough, I snort at the porcine behemoth next to me: 'Oink, don't they have anything else at this giant factory farm? I never would have agreed to vacation here if I'd known.' Munch munch...
However, it ain't necessarily so! It's not what's in the trough, it's what's in the heart. It could be exactly the same each day, and if I am truly alive and present, so also will my meal be. What miracle is this: notice this hand that holds the spoon, it lifts and guides it magically into my open mouth, just after I've swallowed! And these teeth that crunch and munch, as this tongue deftly dodges the 'guillotine' as it pushes and prods the larger morsels into the grinder! What a symphony!
And the green tea. I vary the flavor - jasmine, moroccan mint, genmaicha - and the spoonful of honey - orange blossom, clover, wildflower - but truly these variations are mere window dressing for the wonder of hot essence rising from a cup of golden elixir!
Full disclosure, it is not often that I can be this present. While eating, I'm usually busy getting my son's bagel ready, or checking the weather forecast on-line, or counting out my week of medicines and supplements, maybe planning or resenting my day ahead; and true, I will continue to vary the ingredients of my breakfast meal. But I know from experience that the key to a truly remarkable meal has very little to do with what went into it, and very much to do with my presence of heart, mind, and spirit. When I accept the invitation to right now, it is truly a present. To notice what is there in front of me, and not mire in what isn't, seems to be the key.
But like all keys, it is subject to getting lost...and found again, just when you give up looking!
