As much as I probably don't seem the type, I think I am a nostalgic person. Sometimes little things will trigger distant memories that, pleasant or unpleasant, have me thinking and remembering, make the wheels in my mind spin round and round.
When tasting a seemingly run-of-the mill French goat cheese a few weeks ago, I turned to H and said, "This tastes just like France!" It was a simple crottin, aged for a little bit but still creamy in the middle, yet just had such an essence of France in its flavor that it stopped me in my tracks. As much as I love the domestic cheeses that have crept their way into our rotation, I don't associate them with a specific time in my life, a time when I can honestly say I loved almost every part of where I was living and what I was doing. This crottin, however, seemed to have more magical effects.
Exactly 3 years ago, I was packing up my bags to leave Paris after living there for 9 months. It was bittersweet, as I had always been madly in love with the city, but had also fallen in love with a certain Bostonian who was waiting for me on the other side of the Atlantic. I hadn't planned to work while there, but the quickly depleting bank account led me to take on random jobs that somehow fell my way: fixing computers for Parisian housewives, tutoring their children in English by cooking with them, and organizing a professor's personal papers among others. I even managed to do a brief internship at a 1-star Michelin restaurant.
My favorite job was one which David Lebovitz recommended me for, an amazing occurrence considering we had never met. This job was to give market tours to American tourists, something that exhilarated yet scared me. Yes, I trolled the markets almost daily, sampling, nibbling, and ogling the beautiful wares, yet the thought of sharing what I knew in exchange for a paycheck seemed a dream job. I'd like to think I would still be doing that if I were living in Paris.
So nostalgia hits you in ways unexpected, sometimes pleasant, maybe sometimes unpleasant. Luckily, the bite of goat cheese took me back to happy memories. Just last night, I tasted some of the Clay-Pot Miso Chicken I was braising and the combination of shitakes and chicken brought me right back to one of my grandmother's signature dishes. I can't wait to have it for dinner tonight to be transported back to her dinner table again.
Bon Appétit!
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