You know how hearing a song can transport you to another time, a specific day, a season, or a person?
It’s the same with food. A couple of years ago, my best friend and I had a book event in New York City. We read and signed and mingled and then escaped to a shoebox-sized restaurant on the Lower East Side where we laughed ourselves silly and savored each bite of this salad. Each mouthful was fresh, balanced between the barely wilted kale, the sweet plump raisins, and the salty parmesan.
Later, we recreated the salad when we were both too miserable to eat it.
And after that we made it again in Mexico, asking at the organic farm for kale even though our host insisted kale is what the animals eat.
And now I make it for myself, for an easy lunch or side dish, amazed at the planet of time and events hat have happened since the first bite.
That restaurant has since closed.