One must ask children and birds how cherries and strawberries taste. -Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
I've been tackling M.F.K Fisher's The Art of Eating for a few months now. I've
finished Serve it Forth, Consider the Oyster, and How to Cook a Wolf. It has
been, and continues to be, one of the best literary journeys I've had the
pleasure of taking. For all you romantic foodies out there, pick up a copy and
spend some time, preferably over some delicious bites and sips, losing yourself
in her rhetoric.
In Serve it Forth, M.F.K. discusses those food moments where
things change in the mind and on the palate of a budding gourmand. Those moments
when food transcends the molecular and nutritional certainty to
unapologetically reveal a hidden potential. She discusses how these moments are
often the simplest or most innocent encounters to start, a crust of bread
during a hike, a fruit dried on a radiator, but somehow melt like a Dali
painting into enlightenment.
I've had a few of these moments but I want to revive the
pinnacle. Poignant because it was during those first few wild days of
falling in love with Paris.
