Kafisatz

Coffee addiction quenched for now, I am able to give due attention to short-crust K that balances on the spoon next to my hand. Pondering the remnants of foam that are encrusted on the metal, my mind retastes memories that I have recently chowed down in the past few months.
I have been travelling – capturing pictures of foreign lands and people, deleting whole roles of pictures from foreign lands and peoples, following people across countries, across seas, ravenously searching for an ‘authentic’ paella or confit’d Canard. Eating so much white bread in Spain that it was coming out of my ears and, being spectacularly and unexpectedly taken out to dinner by two Finnish business-partners in Zurich.
I have munched on perfectly juicy, slightly bloody Wild Deer and had tar-tare of Blue-Fin Tuna topped with Wasabi Mousse roll around my mouth. I have been baptised (or could have been) in a bucket of hostel-made Sangria in Barcelona and swamped my taste-buds with Tinto-Verano (a brick of red 0.60 euro Spanish wine with Coke) in Bilbao.
When comfort has been needed I have spread an essential but luscious amount of butter on Zopf and swathed that in turn with Nutella (Meret you are right, the combination just seems to work). While travelling and sleeping in a car in the south of Spain we barricaded ourselves against the wind with Bunsen-burner-cooked porridge and honey-sweetened Chai.
Oh that places I have been! They have been etched into my body via my stomach and tastebuds. The people to have been connected to my soul via the food we have shared and talked about. I can’t help it. If I can sit down with a stranger and talk food for a good half an hour, all the while making them and myself salivate, they will inevitably become a friend. In Paris, Sylvie offered up basins of Cous-cous and tagine that without a doubt made anything I ate (yes the touristy places) in Marocco look and taste like a toilet-turd. With Claudia I dreamt about Almond croissants and duck done in all ways . In Nice I bonded with someone dear to my heart by handpicking Tortellini. In Edinburgh my Haggis-cherry was plucked and delighted, and in Barcelona I drooled over pistachio ice-creams and olives with new-found friends.