Escaping the anonymity of the professional kitchen, I sit at the table and eat with those I feed. In a sidelong glance, I note the warmth of the wooden table, spoons rising and falling, a sea of white bowls, bean soup and the percussion of spoon to bowl, chatter, spoon to bowl, glass to table, chatter, spoon, spoon, bowl, spoon, bowl.
I have nothing to hide behind when I serve such a simple meal, but when it’s right, it isn’t about me at all. I see that people laugh, linger, help themselves to more soup.
I wanted a place at this table and it saddens me that I still feel somewhere in between. I let my exhaustion lure me, curiously, into the unfolding of this moment.
24 February 2012
bean, barley and greens soup
Parmigiano Reggiano on the table
levain and olive bread
Eden’s bitter lettuces and roasted cauliflower romanesco with caper vinaigrette
apples and clementines
Bobby Previte and Andrea Kleine, I will miss you so much! Thank you for friendship, understanding and saying that you wanted to kidnap me at the dinner table last night.