Saffron, truffles, pesto, olives, parmigiano-reggiano, mustard, garlic, rice balls, fish sauce, lavender, cardamon pods, curry, chocolate, vanilla, carob, authentic, nuevo, moon cakes, pecans ... My eyes scan down the list, relishing favorites, wilting at loves that would never be and searching for some new and marvelous discovery. These things that traipse even in my dreams. Mysteries beyond my reach. Seeking flavors and textures I only can imagine, and what rises even above this height? Not even the glorious tools. The masters techniques. The ultimate wonder. No better example than pulled noodles, thin enough to fit three strands through the eye of a needle. Mousse whipped by hand. The perfect croisaunt. Pastry. Pie. Chocolate creation. The froth of hand made hot chocolate from mexico... some snippet of a travel show lodged in my brain. Roast and grind... nuts cinnamon vanilla chocolate cream... whirling molinillo... a beverage. Could even this mentally exaggerated perfection be better? Better than what is best. All the flavors... or simply one. A riot of texture to a single goal. Perfection.
My love affair with food.