A meal is never just a meal, no more than a kiss is ever just a kiss. Every meal is made of a puzzle’s worth of pieces—the hands and hearts that created the food, the flavors and fragrances, the memories they evoke. The people around the table, or not. The conversations, the candles or sunlight, the warmth of a restaurant or the cool air of a mountain picnic. Each meal changes us, some in ways so small we miss them entirely, while others take the compass needle of our lives, shift it in a new direction.
When I was in college, I met the man who would become my husband. He did not fit the profile I had in
