|Domenica Marchetti's Eggplant and Porcini "Meatballs" in Tomato Sauce
If you are like me my travels (whether it be to the neighbouring town or across the pond) are centred around food experiences. In speaking with friends I am certain I am not the only one who relives life's most intimate details through the sight, smell and taste of particular foods. Each of us seems to have a favourite or, in some cases, a most hated dish with which they can recall a particular moment of their lives. I am far more likely to associate a place with the stone cold and lumpy soup I had at the local pub or the shatteringly crisp crust on the lemon meringue pie than the art instalment I saw at the Louvre. For me memories have always been made in the kitchen. Sharing a table and breaking bread together is the best way to get to know a country and its people. The taste or smell of an enticing meal is capable of painting a picture with richer, deeper brush strokes than any snapshot in your photo album. I find it interesting that while I struggle to remember my cellphone number or remember what I did yesterday the merest sniff of bread baking in the oven will evoke a plethora of memories and has me gathered around the kitchen table with my dad kneading dough with 5 year old chubby little fingers with frightening clarity.