Food is evocative. The mere aroma of onions slowly stewing, or bacon frying, or tortillas on the griddle will instantaneously summon a childhood memory or a long-forgotten moment. For me, a mere whiff of pasta cooking is a culinary trigger. Something about the steamy starchy vapors haunts me every time, and in my mind’s eye I see an old battered aluminum pot and colander—my mother’s. That pot produced some rather mundane dishes, but just the smell of boiling noodles, even now, carries a hint of nostalgia. And it’s strange how the nose can name a dish long before the eyes have noticed. Every ingredient has its own perfume.
Writing about food can be a way to document a culinary event. Indeed, it is a slower way than dashing off a quick tweet or photographing each dish in a meal and zapping the image to the known universe before eating it. Such technological advances are amazing, and a picture may well be worth a thousand words, but the images become obsolete at an incredibly rapid pace. The nuanced history behind these “sound bites” might deserve elucidation; often more words are required to tell the story well.
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