To Eat on a Grey Winter Day

Eat grapefruit, that carnal pink fruit that one must rip apart in order to enjoy. Notice each juicy aril popping in your mouth; notice the slight bitterness left on your tongue that makes you appreciate the next sweet bite.

Eat a farm-fresh egg cooked simply, yolk runny, white just set. Stare into the unctuous sunshine upon your plate and imagine that the sun in the sky will take the yolk’s cue and be so bold tomorrow.

Nibble on herby olives, packed with rosemary and thyme and lemons and peppers. That little fruit has come a long way from being a hard, bitter thing hanging off of a silvery branch. Perhaps it has soaked in the Tuscan sun, or has drunk Greek rainwater. Perhaps this next one will implore you to close your eyes and travel to its origins.

Drink strong black coffee in a big mug for both of your hands to hold. No sugar, no cream, just deep topaz liquid sliding down your throat and warming your body. The farmers toiled in the heat to produce those beans, and the roaster kept a shrew eye upon them. That which you are drinking is the end product of life-long business, of historic origins thousands of years old. You are sipping time. It invigorates you.

On a grey winter day such as this, eat food guiltlessly, passionately, slowly to savor every layer of flavor. Eat juicy foods that muss up your shirt and stain your fingers, foods that burst between your teeth. Eat brightly colored foods so that the dreary air outside is counteracted by the joy you are relishing, spots of rainbow on your plate. Dare that grumpy winter to dampen your meal. Flaunt the foods you’ve found on a day that seems so devoid of life. Eat. Savor. Bon apetit! 

Gucci Accenti Perfumed Lotion, circa 1995

Why are old things the most beautiful?

     This pale apricot lotion soaks into my skin with its storied perfume, with its layers of wealth and memories. It contains qualities that I could never buy from Bath and Body Works. Those companies could never bottle a fragrance with components such as this: soft vintage feel, old lace, marble kitchen counters and leather chairs for my shoe buckles to persistently puncture; curling ribbons of salty snow-white cheese studded with black sesame seeds; tiny rooms indenting long echoing corridors, rooms lined with shelves of fine liquor or filled with classic furniture warmed once or twice by special guests or one curious niece; big dollar bills pressed into my hand by a doting aunt, along with this Gucci Accenti lotion several years ago. 

     It smells like childhood moments of delight and awe, of the reward for enduring ten hours in the car with siblings, of wonderment at the beauty within my aunt’s immense manor, of appreciation for her generosity. It smells like memories. It smells like elegance and adventures in New York City and the best hide and seek games ever. I spill some on my skin and massage it in so that I can smell like all of that, too. 

Why does this old lotion smell more beautiful than any other scent I've ever worn?

     I sniff the backs of my hands and relish eau du nostalgia. 

Pasta Carbonara: A Love Note

            Pasta carbonara is an evening dish for one. It’s a lazy food, a salty saucy indulgence. It cuts straight to the yolk, to the fat, to the part that I want and I want it all to myself. I read once in a Nigella Lawson cookbook that pasta carbonara is a food for post-coital lovers. I recalled this as I relaxed into my bed, bowl of carbonara in hand, and proceeded to slurp down every noodle in that greedy fashion which every lonely soul can surely recall.

            Nigella, maybe it is lovers’ food. But I’m going to argue that pasta carbonara tastes best alone, without sharing and without a shred of dignity. Should the peppery yolk sauce escape mouth and dribble down my lip, I’ll lick it away unabashedly.

            Perhaps this imagery is not encouraging anybody to date me or spend time with my pasta or myself.

More for me.

Pistacia Vera

I may be a little bit biased because I work in/adore German Village, but the little bakery that goes by the name Pistacia Vera is, in my humble opinion, one of Columbus' shining gems.
Upon walking inside, an impeccable display of sweets and treats greets you, complete with smiling sales associates behind it ready to help you pick something out: macarons in classic and unusual flavor combinations, chocolate bombes (large and small!), cakes, tortes, the list goes on. These are all made on premises and the detailed handiwork alone impresses me. As your eye wanders, a wooden block of MORE baked goods awaits. This is my favorite part: croissants (classic, rye, ham and cheese) are the best that I've ever had; brioche buns glistening with marmalade; all kinds of flaky, crusty doughs twisted and shaped by skills hands to form a dazzling variety of breakfast-y items. Pistacia Vera has so many options to choose from, and I've visited before to grab a sublimely perfect croissant before work, but on one recent occasion I took my lovely cousins for breakfast and we tried out three of their hot "brunch" menu items.

Tomato Provencal Baked Eggs ($11)

Perfectly cooked eggs, delightfully runny yolk, just-set whites, tomato fondue adding tang, a classic croissant on the side to dip into the yolk and then into this incredible berry-chambord preserves. This was my breakfast, and I was beyond satisfied.

Croque Monsiuer ($12)

Crispy house-baked brioche with cottage ham, emmentaler cheese, and mornay sauce. Served with a spring greens salad.

Mushroom Quiche ($12)

House-made crust filled with a creamy mix of mushrooms and cheeses. Served with a spring greens salad.

Overall, I was pretty impressed with these hot dishes. They were masterfully prepared and artfully plated. I always love going into Pistacia Vera, and this time was no different. Next time you're around German Village, swing by and tell them Celina from Winans sent you! 

Pistacia Vera

541 S. Third Street

Columbus, OH 43215

http://www.pistaciavera.com

Licorice Jelly Beans

Little rounded shining in a dull sort of way black as night jelly beans.

They stick to my molars at 10:16 at night, and my tongue seeks out the extra sticky bits on my canines after I swallow. Corn syrup sweetness and false licorice linger in the spaces between my taste buds and I chew thoughtfully on a few more, wondering why I am incapable of writing about anything but tiny, unimportant things like the creases forming between my eyebrows and spiders in the corners of my room where the walls greet each other in a fold of darkness and my relentless pursuit of pain and little rounded shining in a dull sort of way black as night jelly beans.

The Best Meal I've Ever Eaten

     I have had many amazing meals, but I have to say that the best one occurred while visiting my family in Syria. I was nine years old and it was our last day there; in fact, we had to leave for our flight in a matter of hours. But I was really, really hungry! So I told my grandma and she set about making me some chicken, rice and potato soup.           It sounds pretty plain and simple, but she made it something special. 
     She cobbled together this huge pot of soup and I sat down at the empty table with a bowl and the entire pot of soup beside it, and she ladled a serving into my bowl. And I slurped up every drop. She poured me another bowl, and I ate that one too. She kept filling my bowl until the ENTIRE pot of soup was gone. It must have been at least a gallon. My stomach felt like it was stretched as taut as a birthday balloon, and I was beyond satisfied.  As I left the table, treading sleepy slow steps with heavy-lidded eyes, I could feel that light but deeply flavorful broth sloshing around in my tummy. We left and I slept for hours on the plane.
     Thinking back on it now, she might have been deliberately trying to fill me up as much as she could. That soup was a symbol of her love and the meal itself represents her generosity. I may have eaten at some of Columbus' highly rated restaurants, and tried many adventurous dishes and creative flavor profiles, but that soup is without a doubt the best meal I have ever had. I was feasting on love, and I could have as much as I wanted. In fact, I could have all of it! And I did! I sat at the table ravenous and I left the table rounder, happier, fuller. Who could ask for more?

Best Hot Cocoa

I'm absolutely positive that I'm not the first person to think this up. But that fact did not hinder me from tasting this new hot cocoa concoction and falling in love. I don't have a picture, because I drank it too quickly, but here's how it went.

Step 1: Throw a teaspoon or so of cocoa powder (UNSWEETENED) into a mug.
Step 2: Add a few dribbles of honey.
Step 3: Add a splash of milk, stir, and microwave for thirty seconds.
Step 4: Stir, add the rest of the milk, microwave for a minute.
Step 5: Enjoy a really delicious hot chocolate beverage that isn't cloyingly sweet, and isn't bad for you either if you use lowfat or skim milk!

I don't think I will ever use ready mix hot cocoa, not even for the mini marshmallows. This hot cocoa tastes much richer, more deep, earthy chocolate flavor (which is even greater if you use a high quality baker's cocoa) and none of the saccharine additive flavor of store bought mix.
I know it's summer, but summer evenings get nice and cool. My room is air-conditioned. And even if it was two in the afternoon on a ninety degree day and I was going to sit outside, I would probably still enjoy this drink.
Okay, I am enjoying it more in my brisk sixty-five degree room. But I digress.

Chocolatey in Columbus,
Celina.