The part of me that squeals with delight any time I see something in miniature form actually did squeal with delight.
The part of me that is grown-up and curious about each new food my chef husband allows me to sample also squealed with delight.
Let's face it, I'll never have a dignified response to anything. Ever.
But once I stopped squealing and actually popped the micro-cucumber in my mouth, I was brought to tears. Not because it tasted so good. It was more than good.
The tears were because, in my mind, I was instantly transported to my paternal grandmother's kitchen on any given summer day from my youth.
I could feel the weight of the screen door in my hand, hear it clap shut behind me as I climbed the back stairs. I could hear her sweet, shaky voice greeting me with so much love and tenderness. I could feel the breeze flowing through the whole house, carrying with it the overpowering smell of boiled potatoes and chopped cucumbers.
It seemed she was always making potato salad. Enough to feed a family of nine. Even though all seven kids were grown and off raising families of their own.
It was nice to be reminded of those days in such an unexpected way. I wonder where/when my next dinner will take me?
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