I spent some time with a dear aunt today. Besides her kindness and caring, my favourite memory of her was her grilled cheese sandwiches, Made with white bread and Velveeta and on an old-fashion sandwich press. Skinny and bursting with flavour.
It reminded me, as I sat in the back seat of her car, of my first flavour discoveries.
Remember the first time you had a glass of wine, not to get drunk as a teenager, but when it made your meal taste better?
Remember that time when you had a Snickers Bar after a hard day at work?
Or ate the Hawkins cheezies that brought you back to your grandfather?
Or had President’s Choice hotdogs that brought you back to your father?
Our memories are so sensitive to our tongue and our eyes and our smells and our tastes. A cheesie and a wine and a song and a perfume.
It is what art is made from, I suppose.
