Dinner tonight was risotto, with wild mushrooms collected by my youngest brother in the forests of Saarsveld.
Mushrooms, garlic, wine, parmesan, risotto, topped with fresh rocket picked from my mother's garden not two hours before.
For dessert, chocolate brownies baked this afternoon by my sister-in-law.
What's noteworthy about this meal is not how incredibly delicious it was (and it was!), nor that it seemed to taste better for it's parts coming to us from those we love. What's worth noting is that that is what was exceptional about it, we knew where the ingredients came from, we know the kitchen in which those brownies were baked.
How is it we can say that about so few of our meals?
4 comments:
Good point. And also...the opening line to this post sounds like the opening line to a novel. (I think I want your life.)
Um,....fresh rocket?
@ dbs ~ sometimes I'd happily hand over my life :)
@ middle child ~ maybe you'd call it arugula? peppery salad leaves, fresh from the garden
"There are things you do because they feel right & they may make no sense & they may make no money & it may be the real reason we are here: to love each other & to eat each other's cooking & say it was good." ...taken from the Storypeople print I plan to hang on my kitchen wall
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