i always gauge where i am in the week in relation to wednesday. monday is two days before it. saturday is four days until the next. if i am permitted a brief vacation from the present moment it's either, oddly, to think about a snowy place or anticipate wednesday. on every hump day periodicals across america publish their food & dining sections. i am programmed to head to the closest coffee shop in my proximity with copies of the ny times, and give myself over to thirty minutes of macchiato/journalistic bliss. today i licked the chocolate-dulce de leche drips off the side of a jar from la salamandra in argentina, sucked down a cup of butterscotch egg nog, noshed on old school pigs in a blanket from liberty tree in our nation's capitol and paused on a perfect sentence from david tanis: "sheep, it turns out, adore bread." my fingertips get covered with newsprint, i inhale the perfume of glossy coffee beans, and in a single moment i know i will never be a digital reader.
i have a stack of ny times dining sections dated back to 2006 collecting in the northeast corner of my bedroom. an old issue instantly brings back where my head and heart were at on that particular wednesday. some have even been textured by rain, bicycle wheels, tears both happy and sad. they also remind me of why we write and read about food. there is an intense, incredibly slippery satisfaction in exchanging the ineffable. i would even venture to say that no other section of the newspaper is quite so much about sharing pleasure.
here i am smiling. only seven days until next wednesday.
notes
* this wednesday's issue includes a recipe for homemade chai masala, something i have been delighted to try my hand at in the kitchen. i'll include the recipe soon, but you can also find it in today's copy of the times, hopefully over a cup of something steamy and caffeinated.