Just returned from the monthly delivery of the natural foods buying co-op, loaded with my butternut squash ravioli, roasted soy nuts, chai tea, good coffee, cheddar cheese, and edamame. Our local grocery store is regularly so disappointing, the monthly delivery of our specialty items feels like Christmas.
One of the blessings of living here is settling into the basics. It is possible to be satisfied with less, to enjoy time without even thinking shopping, because...frankly....there aren't places to shop. Shopping isn't recreation anymore. And in the absence of good fresh ones, frozen green beans sometime taste pretty good.
It is no revelation that food is a powerful emotional trigger. I was reminded of that this week in Austin. Some of us had lunch on Thursday at a Middle Easterns restaurant and there was halvah on the menu.
My grandmother introduced me to halvah. Her father, an attorney, was sometimes paid by his Middle Eastern clients during the depression with halvah, a confection made of crushed pressed, sweetened sesame seeds wrapped up in oily brown paper. Eating it in the middle of a restaurant within spitting distance of the Texas capital building felt like home. It felt like Grandmas's warm kitchen and laugh. It felt like Grandpa watching football while reading the Wall Street Journal. It felt like family.
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