I have been waiting for this since I started the CIA, this inspiration.
One of the few classes you can transfer out of in the beginning is Writing, especially if you have an AP credit for the class. I do, and I can very easily get out of writing, or I could. For those of you who cannot tell, I love to write. I decided against transferring credits to remove myself from writing in my excitement to write, and as it happened the class was nothing what I expected. It was middle school English all over again. However we had a young thing, who looked about in her mid to late twenties, teach us one class as she was a student teacher. This hour class with an inexperienced teacher gave me exactly what I have been waiting for.
Everyone in the culinary field has seen the Pixar movie "Ratatouille", including myself. Though out this class I kept picturing the scene where the grim reaper-like critic tastes and writes about the prepared ratatouille. Our assignment was to take four ingredients (tomatoes, chocolate, olives, and cheese), taste them, then write about the experience of tasting them without using well known schema for the descriptions. I could feel my soul flourish as I did so, please let me share what I chicken scratched on my torn, tomato stained college ruled paper.
The tomatoes were in a class oblong jar of the beautiful colors yellow, green, and red, but you see these colors were not just colors. The yellow was color of the bright yellow tulips in spring, or the paint that elementary children use to paint a sun smiling down at a house and stick figured family. The green was the color of a bright vibrant lime, long scallion, or freshly mowed grass. The color alone promised the fresh taste and smell that comes from laying down in the back yard on a summer day. The red, oh the red, was the color of a beautiful woman's lips, or the color of a hand drawn valentine, or the cocktail dress the perfect hostess wears. It was a perfect red. Our young student teacher, about our age, informed us that she picked the tomatoes from a garden 2 hours before the class from a friend's garden. The taste did not disappoint this promise. As I bit into that bright tulip colored tomato it gushed onto my paper in which I was scratching down my observations. The taste was light and tingled on your tongue, like the sun would dance upon a running spring, and that red, beautifully red tomato was gentle and tasted like the air smells after it rains. The tomato tasted like music, light and young.
Chocolate was passed around, exuberantly. As perfect chocolate is the flavor was harsh and demanding and lingered in your mouth long after you swallowed. I thought myself clever as I jotted down "fruity" for a description until I noted the piece of chocolate I was nibbling on had blueberries hidden in its crisp bark. Its strength and bold quality reminded me of a harsh winter or a nobleman speaking Russian standing as tall and as straight as he could. It was majestic and addicting, it dominated. The mint chocolate pieces gave a very surprising effect however. It soothed the noble taste as does hot chocolate and memories of my mother and celebration came to me. In a treat we would go to the movies and my mother would always buy the chocolate-mint candies, flavoring her goodnight kisses. It brought me bubbly joy and a light heart.
The olives, as the dark chocolate, were bold and loud. Olives seem to fit right in with a loud German festival along with spicy sausages, tart sourkraut, and fizzy beer. As the beer familiarity tingled my tongue so did the image of wine, Italy, and night lights. Parties, drinking, flirting all swelled with the olives, bringing that risque excitement of jazz, martinis, and smooth talking gentleman wooing giggling women in dark corners out in its sour little depths, hidden in that sexy round shape that perfectly can be popped into a flirting mouth.
Cheese, oh cheese!, again was so contrasting. The creamy, smooth fat coated the mouth and enveloped the soul like a warm blanket, speaking in soft French promises. Eyes started drooping and the body felt as though it was floating in calm water listening to the glass like chimes underneath its waves. In this came another memory. The cheese was a pleasant smoked Gouda that reminded me of the sandwich cheeses that lay waiting in the top self of my father's refrigerator in our white, warm, quiet kitchen. Sunlight would penetrate the windows and white curtains reflecting off of the white walls and floors. As a little girl I would sneak slices of this cheese and nibble on a slice at a time to enjoy its complex, distinct flavor that was lost in a sandwich.
Back and forth I switched between the olives and the Gouda as my supply of snacks shrunk and the feeling of happiness filled my entire being. The combination of the exciting, loud olives and my comforting, soft cheese brought about both the feeling of trust, relaxation, and jitters. This simple combination supports how foods bring out the best in each other, feelings and memories that they cannot alone do. This combination is so delicate and special that it must be enjoyed. Next time you go out for a meal, or spend more than 30 minutes making a meal, take small bites and concentrate what the flavors do. They speak to you, bring back memories, and provide the most valued experience that we have lost to fast food.
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