For one week, I went without mobile phone and the internet, and it was lovely.
I spent that time driving a tiny rental car in standard gear around an island in the middle of the Azorean Atlantic.
I interviewed restaurant owners who had been cooking practically seven days a week for forty years.
I balanced on a ladder in the trees of my deceased grandparents’ garden, collecting a fruit for which we have no equivalent and I still don’t know how to spell.
I ate an incredible amount of fish, and fresh beef, and fruit, and drank more wine labeled “Red Table” than I would have though existed.
I found a vineyard behind a green tin wall.
I explored a pineapple plantation and questioned a fifth-generation pottery maker.
I held the last uncle of my grandfather’s generation so tightly. His highly controversial political essays are still being published in the Azorean papers.
This weekend, a Foodbuzz 24×24 supper party and a Milk Bar Mondays Cinnamon Bun Pie adaptation, as well as interviews with Per Se’s Chef de Cuisine and one or two other chef names you may recognize.
Life is a juggling game, a balance. I’m just trying to keep it all as delicious as possible.
Until my post on Sunday,