Being home has offered an entirely different kind of travel.
More like what Tony Hiss calls Deep Travel, delving into the experiences of familiarity.
In Boston, it has been all about fermentation. After listening to the Splendid Table’s Lost Art of Bread, we started on a yeast-making adventure. That lead to a three-different-kinds of kimchee adventure, and the realization in this week’s New Yorker that we were now part of a trend of fermenters.
Living in the house I grew up in has made me fall in love with home a little more. Draping myself over the radiator in the living room and watching the sunset, new each time. It took me months to find that exact viewing spot. Waiting for that moment in the morning when the kitchen goes from being filled with sunlight to dim and dreary–I love the changing moods of our kitchen, and just the anticipation of that change gets me out of bed in the morning. I imagine never leaving the house and watching the snow fall and ordering groceries. I delight in dishes with strange ingredients scavenged from the kitchen and carefully folded clothes. It’s a subtle kind of love, loving things that have been there all along.
Like family–mine, and Jonah’s, and all of them together for Thanksgiving feasts. It’s the interconnectedness Hiss mentions, it’s that winter we had in Nicaragua. Everyone gathered around. The rhythm of family doesn’t feel stifling the way it felt when I was younger, I look forward to dinners, I run to the answering machine when I hear my sister saying funny things into it, telling me to stop screening calls. We talk more when I’m not moving around, and I love hearing about what she’s cooking for dinner, or what is making her laugh, or the one-inch of Seattle snow that has shut down the city. Pah, we say, one-inch is nothing, we are Bostonians. I like being a Bostonian again.
And I love what she makes. So here they are for you to love too.
More family artisans to come.