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The Aisle of Sicily
[Editor's note: The best sentence FoodNerd has ever written appears in her post today. I've bolded it.]
In terms of taste and eating right now, I am caught somewhere between appreciation and anticipation. Nine days in the States remain before I'm off to Sicily, and so suddenly, everything I'm eating right now takes on new meaning and offers a new experience. With Italy imminent, I have been shaken out of my day-to-day rote consumption. Every bite has a sense of finality and is accompanied with this string of thoughts: Soon, I won’t be eating _____. Soon, I won’t be able to have ____. In fact, it’s likely I won’t be able to even find _____ soon.
Hence the newfound appreciation.
All the hippie foods I eat in the course of a work day, chosen so that I “have energy” and “feel good,” taste fresh and surprising. That chocolate rice protein smoothie replete with multiple amino acids and spirolina goes down creamy and rich. The seven-seed spelt toast is subtle—every seed finding its own place on my palate. My morning cup of ginger peach black tea is fragrant and delightful.
Does it need to be said? There’ s no way in hell I’m wasting my time in Sicily drinking a rice protein smoothie.
Hence the anticipation.
In the past few weeks, I considered doing test runs—seeking out Sicilian-specific dishes from the many Italian restaurants in town to build both my palate and vocabulary. But planning such endeavors began to feel like settling for generic when genuine is available in the next aisle. And I certainly don’t want to settle. I want the real thing.
Photo by celerrimus
So instead, I’ve allowed anticipation in—but not enough to take over because appreciation deserves its time too.
Hence the newfound appreciation.
All the hippie foods I eat in the course of a work day, chosen so that I “have energy” and “feel good,” taste fresh and surprising. That chocolate rice protein smoothie replete with multiple amino acids and spirolina goes down creamy and rich. The seven-seed spelt toast is subtle—every seed finding its own place on my palate. My morning cup of ginger peach black tea is fragrant and delightful.
Does it need to be said? There’ s no way in hell I’m wasting my time in Sicily drinking a rice protein smoothie.
Hence the anticipation.
In the past few weeks, I considered doing test runs—seeking out Sicilian-specific dishes from the many Italian restaurants in town to build both my palate and vocabulary. But planning such endeavors began to feel like settling for generic when genuine is available in the next aisle. And I certainly don’t want to settle. I want the real thing.
Photo by celerrimus
So instead, I’ve allowed anticipation in—but not enough to take over because appreciation deserves its time too.
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