Musings on Miso and Homesickness

The black plastic bowl with red interior, its geometrically rippled surface warm in my hands, emits the savoury steam of memory. And despite the fact that I'm tucked in the corner of a small Japanese restaurant in Toulouse, France, I am transported. Home.

It's been 383 days since I left Vancouver and today my every movement is tinged with melancholy. For the last six months in particular, I've been packing and unpacking without end: more intimately acquainted with my luggage than a home. My trusty backpack is indicative of my state of being; its 13 year old self shedding waterproof lining like dandruff flakes on its contents, its exterior bathed in a layer of travel grime. My soul too is battered and grey, littering sheets of hope in its rapidly traveling wake. I miss a sense of place, roots and connections, routine.

Using the chopsticks, I stir the contents of the bowl, idly watching the seaweed float up and sink, the swirling scallions, the thinly-sliced mushrooms slowly cooking in the broth. It's not just the variation of mushrooms for tofu that seeps into my thoughts with its difference. My eventual return to the familiar will be all too different as well. Same place of work, but with a new perspective and classes for which I'm trying to muster enthusiasm. There have been drastic changes in relationship status in my circle - not the least my own. The usual activities, face, plans - no longer. A new home and neighbourhood to find, connections to make, dreams to pursue - all within the loose context of my previous life. What still fits? What needs to be remade? Exciting, daunting, uncertain.

I take a sip of the steaming broth, this time allowing its familiar warmth to flood my senses with hope. This yearning for a home, a life that no longer exists as I know it - this too shall pass. The adventurous spirit will renew, the joy of discovery in constant surroundings will be reborn.

And for now, I have a bowl of miso soup to soothe my travel-weary bones with memories of rainy afternoons on the Wet Coast. And Di, a living, breathing representative of all that's right about home, across the table from me, her eyes sparkling over the rim of her bowl.

The Fearless Four

Traveling has been a serious passion of mine for years, but one that has been primarily a solo endeavour.  After all, many dream big, but the commitment required to actually plan, save and go is one that eludes a lot of people.  And so, I have usually embarked on adventures on my own.  It has been a tremendous gift - to meet others from all over the world and to experience places on my own terms.  Over the last few years though, it's become progressively more lonely.  Yes, I continue to meet great people, but that longing to live these adventures with people who matter to me has grown exponentially.

When I was accepted into this masters, two of my dearest girlfriends sat me down.  "We are coming to see you for your graduation, and we WILL be traveling together for three weeks.  Write this on your calendar, because it WILL happen."  And knowing these two women, that was a promise that would not be broken.

It wasn't.  Sure, the planned locations and the start date changed.  A boyfriend (who became a fiance on this same trip) was added to the mix.  But the four of us spent a few good weeks whirlwinding our way through Southern Italy and Spain before pairing off for different finales.  Frustrations, as always, emerge when crammed together for weeks on end in small locations, but they were small ones and easily dealt with.

And now, when I look across home tables, I see three people who hiked with me all across the Amalfi Coast, were "wrapped in the warm blanket of drunkenness in Rome", helped me perfect a sangria recipe in Sevilla, and ate tapas and gazpacho like it was going out of style.  This time, truly, was a tremendous gift.

Pizza in Napoli

Sorento Sunset



Buffalo Mozzarella Binging back at Inn Bufalito

Positano

Soccer playing boys in Napoli

Lemons the size of baby's head in Pompeii

Vesuvius view during a seafood dinner

Last night in Italy

My last true Italian pasta - in Rome

Gazpacho stop in Grenada





Tapas Crawl in Sevilla

Feasting in Grenada



Communing with bulls



Grenada's Spice Markets

Sherry Tasting





Last Thoughts - tba

My final blog post hasn't been written yet.

But school has ended, my bags are packed to the brim and currently winging their way across the Atlantic back home with my parents, and all of the photographs on hard-drive, notes and journals are tucked between clothes that thankfully all still fit, bottles of Chablis, wedges of 48 month Parmigiano, and other small mementos of this year. 

As for me, I'm traveling lighter today.  Waiting on 3 of my close friends to join me here in Rome for several weeks of travel, followed by a final challenge before returning home: the Camino in Spain.

While I can't promise even semi-regular updates for this next phase of una buona annata, and photos for some of the previous posts will have to wait until late July, these next months will hopefully show me how best to wrap up this year.

Until then, bon voyage et buon appetito a tutti!

Graduation Day

It seems to me the most meaningful experiences are often completely different than anticipated.  The flurry of lasts came and went in the blink of an eye this past week, and suddenly I found myself dressing for graduation in the middle of my beloved sun-drenched bedroom at 8am.

My racing mind hadn't succumbed to sleep until 6am that morning.  My hair was unwashed, my eyes gritty, my heart in no way prepared for the ceremony to come.

And yet later that morning, I accepted my MA with honours to a barrage of camera flashes.  I laughed and cried at the hillarious Facebook-themed presentation by my fellow students.  I held onto my parents, told a sniffling Ale how much I love her, got swept up in a hug from Barny, teased friends through the myriad of photographs in the blazing sun afterwards.  My face ached from smiles I couldn't contain.  Between the ceremony and the buffet, several of us snuck over to the Agenzia terrace for a bottle of Arneis and a moment to savour the accomplishment.

That night, Wendy and I hosted a feast for 12:  a quiet way to mark a year of incredible growth.  Surrounded by laughter, free-flowing wine and the people who impacted our year beyond measure, my eyes met Wendy's from across the table.  We raised our glasses to each other, our eyes suspiciously wet, and smiled - conspirators till the end.

Master of Food Culture and Communications
Section B, Class of 2011

A Manifesto and an Ending

I went to Italy with a plan.  Oh sure, I was open-minded to new things.  But I found as the coursework continued that I was discovering more what I didn't want to do than what I did. 

A freelance food writer and photographer requires tremendous discipline in return for instability and low pay - and it turns out I'm not passionate enough to sacrifice.  A professional taster - well, let's just say I fight hard for every scrap of taste memory.  And as much as I fell in love with Food Anthropology as taught by the inimitable Carole Counihan, or revisiting my History degree through food with Allen Grieco, those are fields of further study, not jobs.

I didn't realize how attached I was to my plan to create a sustainable food studies curriculum at my high school until I received that email.  All funding has been cut, no food lab to be built in the foreseeable future.  Two years of planning, gone.

But what was a massive blow in the moment turned out to be a blessing.  Not only did it open my eyes to new opportunities in my internship and future, but it forced me to a personal, creative definition of food education, one that doesn't rely solely on a standard education system.

The Cookery School at Bordeaux Quay is only one of the many organizations leading the way in food education through community alliances.  But it is in being inspired by their people, programs and passion that my new ideas are taking shape.

What if the acts of preparing, learning about and eating food together are one of the agents of social change we as a society keep searching for so desperately?  That food education comprehensively impacts health, social awareness and personal fulfillment on a scale not achievable by other subjects?  After all - we must all eat to live - what could be more accessible than that?

And what if the policy of mandatory food education is only a part of the puzzle?  Clearly, food education  as a whole in the current school system isn't even close to reaching its full potential.  And with consistent cuts to education across the board, I believe the gaps can only be filled by community: teachers, school systems, cooking schools, local business and nutritionists working together and building on their individual strengths.

The pedagogy and might of the education system, the passion and practical knowledge of cooking schools, added to by the health and scientific understanding of nutritionists and the skills and funding of local business . . . therein lies an exciting path for food education.  And I intend to place myself smack in the middle of this new movement on my return home.

These ideas, the basis of my thesis, are fledgling.  There remain many gaps, points to ponder and always, questions to ask.  But being given a year, a school, an internship, access to passionate people and producers to expand my way of thinking and a vision for the future?  I'm still in awe.

As I pack my bags to end this beautiful, terrible, unexpected year, steeling myself for rounds of bittersweet goodbyes, I am continually struck by one buoyant thought:  Anything is possible.

And to my somewhat cynical, 33 year old self, that heart and head knowledge has made every single second of this year utterly worthwhile.

Post thesis-defence aperitivo with Carlo Petrini

East is Best

Maybe it was the discovery that pierogies should be a food group, and that eating well had never been so affordable or enjoyable.  Maybe it was the beauty of Poland and the Ukraine.  Maybe it was being reminded of loss in personal ways in Auschwitz, or finding unexpected ties to home and history in Jewish cemetaries and in Lviv.   Or maybe it was simply because this was mine and Wendy's final trip together this year that made this week so vivid and emotional for us both. 

Because Krakow and Lviv were truly unforgettable.

 Our first night's trip to the local ER... Apart from being given wrong directions three times, finding myself wandering through the paramedics building asking for help and discovering the examining room had a padded door - all was well.

Discovering Lviv, Ukraine

 Back to Krakow and the Jewish Quarter

Old Jewish Cemetary, restored after WWII

New Jewish Cemetary - complete with wild garlic

4 euros at our favourite Milk Bar for all this...