[If there is a philosophy implicit in these pages, it is that great pleasure in food is there for the taking. Food is not a metaphor for life. It is life, and eating is an art. Now, more than ever, in this era of obsessive self-denial, obsessive overindulgence and obsessive moderation, it is deeply satisfying to be reminded that, as Fisher writes, “often the place and time help make a food what it becomes, even more than the food itself.”]-Kate Christensen on NPR.
Last night I had dinner with my boys at Juliette, an early birthday indulgence, and we sat on the roofdeck, eating sugared dates, savory summer crab, buttery mussels with bay leaves, and rare, peppery steak. Three bottles of oaky white, a full tumbler of earthy tequila with sea salt. Sometimes eating well perfectly compliments the moment—which last night, was one of felicity and amusement and a pollyanna excitement for the next year—and a meal does become much more than the food itself. I am really so lucky to have the fantastic ones around me (and even luckier to realize that fact when it is easier to overlook it). They make it so much less difficult to get older.
